TRAPPED WITH THE DEVIL: MY FATHER'S BEST FRIEND

I woke up to seventeen missed calls. My phone vibrated against the nightstand, drilling into my skull like a second hangover. I groaned and reached for it, squinting at the screen through crusted mascara. Dad. Dad. Dad. All seventeen calls. My stomach dropped. I sat up too fast, and the room tilted. My borrowed red dress was crumpled on the floor where I had torn it off at 3am, and my black mask stared up at me from the carpet like an accusation. The kiss. The man. The bracelet. My hand flew to my bare wrist, and the absence of my mother's bracelet hit me all over again. A thin gold chain, delicate and worn, the only thing I had left of her. Gone. I pressed my palms into my eyes and tried to breathe. It was just a kiss. A stupid, reckless mistake. He was a stranger at a club. I would never see him again. I had to believe that. My phone buzzed again. Dad: Aria, please. Call me back. Guilt twisted in my chest. I swiped to call him, my throat dry. He answered on the first ring. "Aria." His voice cracked. "Thank God." "Dad, what's wrong?" I asked, my pulse spiking. "Are you okay?" Silence. Too long. "Dad?" "I need you to come home," he said finally. "Right now." "I have clinical rotation in two hours---" "Aria." His voice broke. "Please." I had never heard my father beg before. "Okay," I whispered. "I'm coming." --- The apartment looked the same as always. Peeling paint. Cracked linoleum. The faint smell of cigarettes and instant coffee. My father sat at the kitchen table, his head in his hands, and he looked older than I had ever seen him. Smaller. Broken. "Dad?" I set my bag down carefully, my nursing instincts kicking in. "Are you hurt?" He laughed, bitter and hollow. "I wish." I pulled out the chair across from him and sat. My hands were shaking, but I folded them in my lap and kept my voice steady. "Tell me what happened." He looked up at me, and his eyes were red-rimmed. "I'm sorry, sweetheart." Dread pooled in my stomach. "For what?" "I owe money," he said quietly. "A lot of money." I closed my eyes. Of course. Of course he did. "How much?" I asked. He flinched. "Four million." The number didn't make sense. It was too big. Too impossible. "Four million dollars?" I repeated, my voice climbing. "Dad, what the hell did you---" "I thought I could win it back," he said quickly. "I thought---" "You gambled four million dollars?" I stood up so fast the chair screeched. "Are you insane?" "I didn't have it," he said desperately. "I borrowed it. From a lender. Marcus Kane. He said---" "A loan shark." My voice was flat. "You borrowed four million dollars from a loan shark." He nodded miserably. I wanted to scream. I wanted to cry. I wanted to shake him until he understood what he had done. But I didn't. Because I had been managing my father's disasters since I was twelve years old. "When is it due?" I asked. "A week ago." My blood turned to ice. "What?" "Kane's men came by yesterday," he said, his voice shaking. "They said if I don't pay by the end of the week, they'll---" He stopped. Swallowed. "They'll kill me, Aria." I sank back into the chair. Four million dollars. We didn't have four thousand. We didn't have four hundred. "We'll go to the police," I said, grasping at anything. "We'll---" "They'll kill me before the cops even show up," he interrupted. "Kane owns half the precinct." "Then we'll run," I said. "We'll leave the city. We'll---" "He'll find us." I stared at my father, this man who had raised me and ruined me in equal measure, and I felt something inside me crack. "Then what do we do?" I whispered. He looked at me, and for the first time, I saw hope in his eyes. That should have been my first warning. "I found someone," he said. "Someone who can help." "Who?" "My oldest best friend. He's willing to pay the debt." I blinked. "What? Who would---" A knock sounded at the door. Three sharp raps. My father stood, his hands trembling as he smoothed down his shirt. "That's him." "Dad, wait---" But he was already at the door, already opening it. And the man who stepped inside stole the air from my lungs. Tall. Broad-shouldered. Immaculate suit. Steel-grey eyes that locked onto mine with the precision of a predator. No mask this time. I didn't need one to recognize him. The man from the club. The man who had kissed me like he owned me. He stood in my father's apartment, and in his hand--- My bracelet. "Hello, Aria," he said, his voice low and smooth. "I believe this belongs to you." I couldn't breathe. Couldn't move. My father was smiling. Actually smiling. "Aria," he said, "this is Dominic Sterling. My oldest best friend." Dominic's eyes never left mine. "We've met," he said softly. And the world tilted beneath my feet.