They Called Me a Squatter in My Own Home

Amber stalked toward me, holding a bottle of red wine like a weapon.

I recognized it. Dad’s prized 1947 Romanee-Conti. A fifty-thousand-dollar bottle.

"Wow, a real treasure trove in here," she said, her eyes gleaming as she scanned the walls of vintage wine. "The old man really knew how to live."

"Those were my father's," I said, struggling to my feet. "Don't touch them."

"Your father?" Amber’s laugh was a screech. "Stop pretending, you whore!"

She raised a wine bottle high, her eyes locking onto the hand I had planted on the floor for support. She aimed for my fingers.

"These are the hands you play the piano with, right?" she sneered. "The same hands you use to play the whore and seduce men."

"No..."

CRASH!

The bottle slipped from her grasp, shattering on the floor right next to my hand.

Dark red wine splashed everywhere. Shards of glass flew like tiny daggers.

A razor-sharp piece sliced across the back of my hand. A deep gash instantly split the skin open. Blood welled up, dark and thick.

"Ah!" I gasped, yanking my hand back on pure instinct. The searing pain made my vision tunnel to black.

"Look at that color. So pretty," Amber cooed, crouching down to dip a finger in the puddle. "Just as red as the blood you’re spilling."

She stood up and waved at her goons.

"You two, have some fun. Smash it all."

"No!" I lunged for the wine racks. "Those are priceless!"

The tattooed man shoved me back. I hit the wall, hard.

They went on a rampage. A 1982 Lafite. A 1990 Dom Pérignon. The bottle of Screaming Eagle Dad had bought to celebrate my award.

Every crash was a knife in my heart.

The wine pooled on the floor, a dark red sea mixing with the smell of my own blood.

"Stop!" I scrambled to get up. "I'm telling you, Liam is my brother! Call him right now if you don't believe me!"

Amber walked over and stomped on my hand. Her sharp heel dug into my skin.

"Still talking tough?" she sneered, looming over me. "I know your type."

I curled into a ball, blood seeping from the wound on my hand.

"Thinking Liam's going to ride in and save you?" She knelt, patting my cheek. "Not a chance, little bitch."

Her fake nails left red marks on my face.

"I'll give you two choices," she said, her voice turning cold. "Either you give me eight hundred thousand dollars right now as a 'breakup fee,' and you disappear from Liam's life forever."

"Or..." She pulled out her phone. The flash blinded me again and again as she snapped pictures. "I post these online. Then I call the cops and tell them the sugar baby attacked me."

"You've been a sugar baby long enough to get a house out of it," she sneered. "Eight hundred thousand dollars should be pocket change for you."

I gritted my teeth against the pain.

Blood dripped from the gash, pooling on the floor and mixing with the spilled red wine.

I had to give in, just for now, to stop this from getting worse.

My hand shaking, I pulled out my phone.

I called my best friend, Chloe.

"Chloe..." My voice was hoarse. "I need a million dollars. Cash. At my house. As fast as you can."

"Stella? What's going on? You sound—"

"Please, just trust me," I cut her off. "Just come. Don't ask why."

I hung up.

Amber's eyes lit up. A starving wolf staring at a steak.

"A million?" She licked her lips, surprised I'd offered more than she asked. She figured I was scared and trying to buy my way out for good.

She smiled, patting my cheek again. "Now you're being smart."