Page 107 of Isaia

Ice floods my veins, freezing me in place, but I grit my teeth and force myself to stay composed. “What are you getting at?”

“She’s already on the fence about treatment.” He tilts his head in that infuriatingly calm way, like he’s explaining something trivial. “You know how uncertain she is. It wouldn’t take much—just one doctor, her doctor—to convince her it’s not worth the fight. To convince her that she should spend her final days in peace.”

The words hit like a hammer to my chest. “You wouldn’t.”

His shrug is maddeningly indifferent, his expression unreadable. “Wouldn’t I? Her doctor works for me, Everly. A few carefully placed words from him, and she’ll be too convinced, too afraid to even consider treatment. And when she refuses, well… that’s the end, isn’t it? She’ll die, and you’ll lose her.”

“No.” The word barely escapes my lips, a whimper more than a protest, as the weight of his threat crushes the breath from my lungs.

Michele steps even closer, his cold eyes locking on mine. “It’s simple. Do what I say, or watch the cancer eat its way through her until there’s nothing left of the mother you so dearly love.”

My body is shaking, my vision blurred with unshed tears, and he’s looking at me like he’s soaking it all up, like his victory is right there, welling up in my eyes. Every bone in my body feels like it’s breaking, and I clamp my jaw shut, forcing the hot rush of emotion down until it churns in my stomach like poison.

“Imagine what it’ll feel like standing beside her grave knowing you could have saved her, but you were too selfish, putting your own life above hers.”

My fists clench at my sides, nails digging into my palms so hard it feels like my skin might break. “You’re a monster.”

“I’m a realist,” he counters. “And you’re going to do as I say. You’ll convince Anthony that marrying him is exactly what you want. Otherwise…” He trails off, letting the weight of his threat suffocate the air between us, and the silence is more chilling than any words he could have spoken.

My legs wobble under me, but I lock my knees, refusing to let him see how close I am to breaking as I spit, “You’re disgusting.”

“You know how this works, Everly,” he says with maddening calm, shrugging as if he hasn’t just dismantled my world. “Sacrifices must be made. The question is, will it be you… or your mother?”

“Don’t do this,” I plead, my voice cracking as tears blur my vision. My chest heaves as I struggle to pull in air that feels too thick to breathe. “Please don’t do this.”

He doesn’t even flinch.

Car headlights sweep across the living room window, cutting through the darkness. Michele glances toward the light and straightens his cuffs with casual precision.

“Our ride is here,” he says like he’s announcing the weather. He steps past me, brushing against my shoulder, his scent making my stomach churn. “You have ten minutes to pack. Don’t make me come back in here.”

I don’t move as he walks away, his words echoing in my mind, sharp and inescapable. My fists are still clenched, my body frozen in place as images of my mother flash before me. If she doesn’t get the treatment she needs, she’ll die. I can already seeher tired eyes and frail frame as she slowly fades away. And he won’t care. He doesn’t have a heart; he’s incapable of feeling.

He’s not bluffing. I know enough of my stepdad to know he never fucking bluffs. He’s holding her life in his hands—the key to getting me to do what he wants.

A sob catches in my throat, and I choke it back, but the tears come anyway, slipping silently down my cheeks. I clench my fists so tightly my nails bite into my palms, trying to hold myself together, trying to stop the panic threatening to rip me apart.

This can’t be happening.

Tell me this isn’t happening.

Oh, God. Please.

Dread claws at my chest, tightening its grip with every shallow breath. I can’t think, can’t catch the air I desperately need as the walls of the room press in on me, trapping me in a reality I can’t escape.

My mind races, searching for an answer, a way out, but every path leads to the same suffocating truth—thereisno way out. No clever plan. No miraculous savior. Every choice is a trap. If I fight, I lose my mother. If I give in, I lose myself.

I try to focus, to push through the chaos in my head, but it’s impossible. The fear is everywhere now, settling into my chest, curling down into my stomach, and spreading like poison through my veins. It’s sharp and endless, gnawing at the edges of my resolve, and with every second, it eats away a little more.

God, I hate him.

I hate his smug smile, his calm, calculated tone, the way he makes cruelty feel like it’s perfectly reasonable. I hate the way he’s turned my mother into a bargaining chip, wielding her life like a weapon against me.

My hands tremble as I wipe my face, but the tears keep falling, hot and unrelenting. My body feels like it’s caving in on itself, my knees threatening to give out under the unbearable weight of it all.

I force myself to stay upright, trying to get my breathing under control, but the truth floods me. Drowns me.

I can’t win.

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