Page 6 of His Angel

My mom gasps. “Michele?—”

“I took you in. Gave you a roof over your head. The kind of education most teenagers can only dream about, and this is how you choose to repay me?”

“I never asked you for anything.” I try to yank free, but his fingers bite into my skin as he pulls me close, his disgusting breath scraping against my ear.

“I gave your mother a life your piece of shit father never could,” he whispers, my mom unable to hear. “I gave her a life of riches, of luxury, but as easily as I can give it, I can take it away.” He lets go of me, eyes blazing. “You’ll do well to remember that.”

Michele storms out the room, his footfalls echoing in the hollowness as he heads toward his favorite whiskey to calm his nerves. My mother turns her face away as though the sight of me is too revolting for her, like I’m her biggest disappointment.

“Mom.” Tears sting sharply. “Can you not see what kind of man he is?”

Angered eyes cut to mine, her expression harder than I’ve ever seen before. “Yes, I can see what kind of man he is,” she replies bitterly. “I see a man who cared enough to take in a widow and her daughter. A man who gave us a chance at a better life after your father destroyed it.”

I let out a sob, catching it with my palm over my mouth, and she steps closer, her irises filled with rage.

“He’s doing what he thinks is best for you.”

“That’s a lie. He’s doing what’s best for him!”

“By finding you a good husband? A man who will take care of you? A man who will give you everything and more?” She settles her hand on her hip, slanting her head. “He’s right. You are an ungrateful bitch.”

Everything breaks. Tears uncontrollably stream down my face as she shatters my heart with her words, each syllable jagged glass through my heart.

She turns her back to me, effectively closing the conversation, and I’m left standing, torn and scorched, the walls around me suddenly a prison.

My feet spring into action, almost instinctively, as I hurry toward the elevator, driven by an urgent need to escape the suffocating atmosphere. The elevator doors slide shut with a hollow clang, sealing me in a steel box that feels more like a coffin as I stumble back against the wall, my legs quaking under the weight of Michele’s venom and my mother’s betrayal.

Marriage? Arranged?

What kind of hell am I living in? How can Michele think he has the right to marry me off? I’m not his daughter. I’m not related to him by blood. But my mom…how can she support this? Trade me like I’m cattle?

Cold dread stomps into my chest and tightens, a vise clamping around my ribs, and I gasp. But the air won’t come, each breath a shallow wheeze that scrapes my throat.

The frosty bite of metal seeps into my back, but it’s the panic that chokes me, my lungs seizing, the sterile sound of the elevator buzzing like a taunt.

Desperate to force oxygen past the knot of sobs and rage, I press a trembling hand to my sternum, but it’s useless, and the more I struggle to breathe, the thicker the air becomes.

My fingers claw at my throat, nails digging into skin, as if I can tear the air free, but it’s stuck, lodged behind a wall of panic and pain, my ribs aching with every shuddering wheeze.

The fluorescent light flickers overhead, casting shadows that blur with the black spots swimming in my vision, and I slump lower, my back sliding down the metal, knees buckling until I’m a crumpled heap on the floor.

Michele’s threat—“I can take it away”—loops in my skull, my mom’s bitter words—“ungrateful bitch”—slicing deeper, and the betrayal fuels the attack, tightening the noose around my windpipe. With trembling hands, I fumble for a grip on nothing, and a choked sob escapes, sharp and thin, drowned by the elevator’s mechanical hum as it descends, counting floors like a death knell.

I’m fading, the edges of my world fraying, when the doors chime and slide open with a soft hiss. Anthony’s there, framed in the light from the lobby, his broad shoulders tense, eyes wide with alarm as they lock on me.

“Everly—shit.” He drops to his knees beside me in a heartbeat, his presence a sudden anchor in the chaos. Instantly, his hands are on me, one cupping my face, thumb brushing my cheek, the other digging into his jacket pocket. “Hold on. I’ve got you.” He pulls out an inhaler, shakes it, pops the cap, and presses it to my lips. “Breathe with me, okay? In, slow—come on, you can do this.”

I nod weakly, tears stinging my eyes, and suck in a shaky breath as he presses the canister, the cool mist flooding my mouth. My lungs burn, resisting at first, but he holds my gaze, his bright eyes steady, unwavering, a lifeline pulling me back.

“Again,” he urges, and I obey, another puff, the tightness easing just enough for air to trickle through, my wheezes softening into breaths.

His hand slides to my back, rubbing slow circles, grounding me as my breathing steadies, and I lean into him, forehead dropping to his shoulder, the familiar scent of his cologne washing over me like a balm.

“There you go,” he murmurs, voice softening. “You’re okay.”

I clutch his shirt, fingers twisting into the fabric, and he wraps an arm around me, pulling me closer.

“I couldn’t breathe.” My voice cracks.

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