Chapter 3

Brenda's POV

The truth was, I had sold my phone and any properties I own to pay for mom's hospital bill. Adams barely believed or cared about any words I utter, but he hadn’t bothered to press further. He didn’t need to. His disgust for me was written all over his face, sharp and cold like a blade.

After the tense dinner, I trudged to the new apartment they’d given me, collapsing onto the king-sized bed. I didn’t even remember falling asleep.

The next morning, I opened my eyes and glanced the clock, which read 6:30 a.m. I rushed myself through the motions—brushing my teeth, showering, dressing. It all felt hollow. The memories of my dying mother, and the manipulative contract clawed my mind, each scene more vivid than the last.

That morning, Adams was nowhere to be seen. The mansion felt eerily empty, except for a few maids scrambling about. One of them, an older woman with gray streaks in her hair, called out to me as I made my way to the door.

“Miss Brenda, don’t leave the mansion!” Her voice cracked with urgency. “Master is against it. Please, my dear, don’t go. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

Her words stopped me for a moment. She looked older than I’d thought at first glance, her features lined with worry that seemed far too personal. She could have been Adams’s mother.

I shook my head, forcing a small smile. “Don’t worry. I’ll be fine,” I said, as much for myself as for her.

Her protests continued, along with the guards’, but I ignored them. The streets outside felt both too wide and too close, the air pressing heavy against my skin. The cab ride to the restaurant felt like an eternity, my pulse hammering with each passing second.

When I finally stepped inside the café-Hops and Giggles, Samantha was the first to spot me. Her face lit with shock and relief, but it quickly twisted into concern.

“Where have you been?” she demanded, rushing over. “It’s been four days! We were so worried. I was about to call the police. And—oh my God, Brenda, you’ve lost so much weight. Have you been starving yourself?”

I forced a shaky laugh. “It’s nothing. I’m fine now,” I said, though my voice wavered. The truth burned in my throat, desperate to escape, but I swallowed it down. Sam didn’t need to know. No one could know.

But as I glanced around the restaurant, fear coiled in my gut. What if they’d followed me? What if this wasn’t over?

“Sam,” I said suddenly, my voice trembling, “can I borrow your phone?”

She handed it over without hesitation, and I quickly typed Damian Adams into the search bar. The results that popped up were a tidal wave. His name was everywhere—countless blogs, news articles, and estimates of his staggering wealth. His companies spanned the globe, and his name was synonymous with power. But there was more. Darker rumors. Whispers of underground deals, illegal operations.

My hands shook as I read, the screen blurring through unshed tears. This was the man I’d married. I was sold to a monster.

I handed Sam’s phone back, my movements wooden, and excused myself to the kitchen. I needed a distraction—anything to stop the spiraling thoughts. The kitchen was a whirlwind of noise and movement, and I forced myself into it, arranging meals onto a trolley and delivering them to the tables.

But my thoughts refused to quiet down. Maybe I could run. But where would I go? My mother was still in a coma, fighting for her life. I needed to know how she was doing.

Without hesitation, I borrowed Sam's phone again and quickly dialed the hospital. A nurse answered on the first ring.

"Hello, this is Brenda," I said, my voice trembling. "How's my mother?"

The nurse's tone was warm and filled with relief. "Good news! She's responding to treatment. Now that the hospital bills have been paid, she'll receive the care she needs."

I exhaled, the tension in my chest easing slightly. Maybe selling myself off wasn’t as terrible as it seemed, after all.

"But when will you come to see her?" the nurse asked gently.

My stomach twisted painfully, and my heart felt like it might shatter. I would never come. Not now. Maybe not ever.

Unable to respond, I ended the call abruptly, my mind spiraling with guilt. Lost in thought, I stumbled over my own feet, only to be startled back to reality as the manager tapped me on the shoulder.

“That man over there wants you to serve him,” he said, nodding toward table nine. “After that, come to my office.”

I turned, my stomach flipping. Three men sat at the table, their dark sunglasses hiding their expressions. One of them turned his head slightly, and something about him seemed… familiar. No. That’s impossible.

Taking a deep breath, I approached their table. “Good morning, sirs,” I said, forcing a smile. “Is there anything you need?”

The man at the center didn’t respond. Instead, slowly and deliberately, he reached up and pulled off his sunglasses.

My blood turned to ice.

It was Adams.