Chapter 10 LINES ARE DRAWN
POV: Selena
Chapter 10: Lines Are Drawn
The car door closed behind me with a dull thud, and the sound felt final, like something had ended whether I agreed or not.
I leaned my forehead against the window as the city blurred past, my reflection faint in the glass. Senator De Luca’s voice replayed in my head, calm and dismissive. Your Uber is waiting. He had not raised his voice. He had not insulted me. He had simply erased me.
That was somehow worse.
By the time I reached my apartment, the humiliation had settled deep in my chest. I unlocked the door, stepped inside, and let it shut behind me. The silence was heavy. Too heavy.
I dropped my bag on the chair and kicked off my shoes. My phone buzzed with a notification from work. A reminder about an early meeting. As if tonight had been normal. As if I had not been escorted out like a liability.
I pressed my lips together and told myself to breathe.
I went to the kitchen, poured a glass of water, and drank it too fast. My hands were still unsteady. I leaned against the counter and closed my eyes.
Get it together, Selena. This is what power looks like. You knew that.
A soft sound near the door made me open my eyes.
Something white lay on the floor just inside the entrance.
My stomach dropped.
I set the glass down slowly and walked toward it. Each step felt heavier than the last. I already knew what it was before I picked it up.
An envelope.
My name was written on the front in neat, unfamiliar handwriting.
I locked the door.
My fingers trembled as I opened it. Inside were crisp bills. More than before. I counted without meaning to. One thousand dollars. And beneath the money was a photograph.
I stopped breathing.
It was my mother.
She stood behind the counter at the diner, hair pulled back, apron tied at the waist. She was looking down, focused on something out of frame, unaware she was being watched. The angle was wrong. Too distant. Too deliberate.
My vision blurred.
A small card slid out of the envelope and landed on the floor. I picked it up with numb fingers.
Some people should know their place.
The words burned.
I sank onto the couch, the envelope spilling open beside me. My chest felt tight, like there was not enough air in the room. They knew where my mother worked. They had taken the time to watch her. To photograph her.
This was not a warning anymore.
This was a threat.
I pressed the heel of my hand against my mouth to keep from making a sound. My thoughts raced, colliding into one another. Who would do this. Why. Was it because of the numbers. The gala. Adrian.
Adrian.
His face rose in my mind, serious and angry, standing between me and danger. You are better than all of them.
I shook my head. This was not about comfort. This was about control.
I stood abruptly and began pacing. My apartment felt too small now, every shadow suspect. I checked the lock again. Then the window. Everything was secure, but the feeling did not leave.
I picked up my phone and hovered over my mother’s contact. My finger froze. What would I say. That someone was watching her. That my choices were putting her at risk.
I could not do that to her. Not yet.
I shoved the envelope into a drawer and locked it, even though I knew a thin piece of wood could not protect me from this. I sat on the edge of my bed, fully dressed, lights on, waiting for my heart to slow.
It did not.
Sleep came in fragments. Every noise pulled me back to the surface. Every shadow felt wrong. When my phone rang, I was already awake.
2:00 AM.
My breath caught when I saw the name on the screen.
Adrian.
I answered immediately. “Hello?”
“Selena,” he said. His voice was tight. Urgent. “I need you to come to the estate right now.”
My pulse spiked. “What happened?”
“Everything is about to explode,” he said. “I cannot explain over the phone.”
I sat up straighter. “Is this about the foundation?”
“Yes. And more.”
I glanced toward the locked drawer. The envelope felt like it was burning through the wood. “Is someone in danger?”
There was a pause. Too long.
“Please,” he said. “I would not ask if it was not necessary.”
Fear and anger tangled in my chest. This was exactly what the message wanted. To scare me into backing down. To make me feel small.
Instead, something else settled in me. A line drawn where fear used to be.
“I will come,” I said.
“Thank you,” he replied. “I will have security meet you at the gate.”
The call ended.
I sat there for a moment, phone pressed to my ear, listening to the silence. My hands were steady now. That scared me more than the shaking had.
I grabbed my bag and slipped the photograph of my mother into it. I needed proof. I needed to remember why I could not turn away.
As I stepped out into the night, one thought repeated in my mind, clear and unyielding.
They wanted me to know my place.
But I was done accepting the one they chose for me.