Sophie’s POV
Six months ago
The elevator to the twentieth floor had never felt so long.
I stood with my back pressed against the mirrored wall, watching the numbers climb while dread pooled in my stomach. Dad's assistant had called that morning, her voice shaky in a way I'd never heard before.
"Sophie, you need to come in. Right away. There's been... developments."
Developments. Such a clinical word for what turned out to be the complete destruction of everything I'd worked for.
The elevator doors opened onto chaos.
Accountants with grim faces huddled around laptops, their fingers flying across calculators. Lawyers spoke in hushed, urgent tones by the windows, their expensive suits doing nothing to hide the panic in their voices.
Employees I'd known for years sat crying at their desks, packing personal items into cardboard boxes.
"Sophie." Janet, Dad's assistant for over a decade, approached with red-rimmed eyes. "I'm so sorry. I'm so fucking sorry."
"What's happening?" But even as I asked, part of me already knew.
The signs had been there for months—Dad's increasingly erratic behavior, the closed-door meetings that stopped when I entered rooms, the way he'd started avoiding direct questions about our financial projections.
"The company's bankrupt," Janet said simply. "Has been for months. Your father... he's been hiding it."
The words hit like physical blows. "Bankrupt? That's impossible. I've seen the books—"
"Fake books." One of the lawyers approached, his expression grave. "Ms. Chen, I'm afraid your father has been maintaining two sets of records. The real numbers are... catastrophic."
"Where is he?" I looked around wildly, expecting Dad to emerge from his office with some explanation, some plan to fix this nightmare.
Janet's face crumpled. "Gone. His office is empty. Security says he left around midnight with several boxes. No forwarding address."
The floor seemed to tilt beneath my feet. "Gone?"
"No note. No explanation. Just an empty office and..." The lawyer gestured helplessly at the chaos around us. "All of this."
I spent the next six hours in meetings with accountants and lawyers, learning the scope of the disaster Dad had left behind. The company wasn't just bankrupt—it was drowning in debts I'd had no idea existed.
Loans taken out using the business as collateral, credit lines extended based on falsified financial statements, money borrowed from sources that didn't appear on any legitimate paperwork.
"How much?" I asked finally, when the numbers became too abstract to process.
"Total liabilities? Just over two million."
The number was so big it felt meaningless. Like play money in some terrible game I'd never agreed to participate in.
"What does this mean for me? I'm just an employee."
"You're listed as co-owner," the lawyer interrupted gently. "Your father transferred forty-nine percent of the business to you three years ago. For tax purposes, he said."
My blood turned to ice. "What does that mean?"
"It means you're legally responsible for the debts. All of them."
The rest of that day passed in a blur. Meetings with creditors who smiled politely while delivering threats wrapped in corporate language. Forms to sign and statements to give. The systematic dismantling of everything I'd thought was real.
But the worst part came three days later.
I was in my apartment, staring at bankruptcy paperwork I couldn't afford to file, when the knock came. Not the polite tap of a neighbor or delivery person. Heavy and insistent. The kind of knock that said we know you're in there.
I opened the door to find two men in expensive suits. The kind of expensive that whispers instead of shouts, but somehow manages to be more threatening than any obvious display of wealth.
"Ms. Sophie Chen?" The taller one smiled, but it never reached his eyes. "We represent some business associates of your father's. We need to talk."
They pushed their way into my apartment without waiting for an invitation.
"Your father borrowed money from our clients," the shorter one explained, settling onto my couch like he owned it. "Substantial amounts. With interest rates that reflect the... informal nature of the arrangement."
"I don't know anything about that."
"Ignorance isn't really a defense in our line of work." The tall one examined my bookshelf with casual interest. "Your father disappeared. Left us with a substantial financial shortfall. Someone needs to make good on those debts."
"I didn't sign anything. I didn't agree to any loans."
"But you did inherit his business interests. And with those interests come responsibilities."
They made their expectations very clear. The money, nearly eight hundred thousand dollars with accumulated interest, was due within six months.
They didn't believe in payment plans or negotiation. They wanted their money, and they made it very clear what would happen if they didn't get it.
The weeks that followed were the darkest of my life. I couldn't eat. Couldn't sleep. Jumped at shadows and flinched at unexpected sounds.
I looked into loans, but no legitimate lender would touch me with the company's debts hanging over my head. I considered bankruptcy, but the lawyer explained it wouldn't protect me from these particular creditors.
I was drowning when Blaze's parents reached out.
The call came on a Tuesday morning. Mrs. Wilson's voice, warm and concerned, asking if we could meet for coffee. She'd heard about my father's business troubles through mutual acquaintances, she said. Perhaps she could help.
I should have known it was too good to be true.
They laid out their proposal over expensive lattes in a boutique café downtown. They needed someone to help their son through a difficult period, they explained. Someone he trusted. Someone who could help him make better choices about his personal life.
The euphemisms were careful, but the meaning was clear: they wanted me to seduce their son away from men and back toward what they considered normal.
"We're not asking you to lie to him," Mr. Wilson had said, his tone reasonable and measured. "Just... be yourself. Be the friend you've always been. If feelings develop naturally, then everyone benefits."
But the money they offered—enough to pay off the creditors with some left over—made their real intentions obvious.
My stomach turned as I listened to them talk about their son like he was a problem to be solved rather than a person to be loved.
This was Blaze. I had only good memories of him from college—his easy laugh, his fierce loyalty to friends, the way he'd always made me feel valued and heard.
"I need to think about it," I'd said.
"Of course. Take all the time you need."
I'd almost said no. Almost walked away from their blood money and found some other way to deal with my disaster of a life.
Then my phone buzzed as I sat in my car afterward. A text from an unknown number: Payment due in 90 days. Don't make us remind you again.
I stared at the message until my vision blurred, imagining all the ways this could end if I couldn't find the money. The creditors hadn't been subtle about their preferred collection methods.
I typed my acceptance to Mrs. Wilson with shaking fingers.
I told myself it was survival. Told myself anyone would do the same when faced with impossible choices. Told myself the guilt would fade eventually, that I could find a way to make this right once I was safe.
That was six months ago.
The guilt hasn't faded. If anything, it's gotten worse as my feelings for Blaze have become real despite how they started.
Some choices haunt you forever, no matter how good your reasons were for making them.
And sometimes survival comes at a price that makes you wonder if it was worth surviving at all.