Page 6 of His By Contract
Adrian’s presence weighed on her skin like a steel edge, each silent second carving deeper into her resolve. He stood there, statue-still, not bothering to waste breath on arguments or pleas. His gaze stayed fixed on her trembling fingers, his jaw a granite line of certainty. The ticking of her wall clock echoed through the apartment, and with each sound, Georgia felt her defenses crumble a fraction more, felt the walls of her tiny sanctuary shrink beneath his immovable shadow.
Georgia set the contract down on her coffee table. The expensive paper whispered against the cheap wood, a sound that echoed through her cramped apartment.
“No.” The word came out softer than she intended, but firm. It felt like the first real choice she’d made since opening her door.
Adrian’s features remained carved in marble, his assessment as clinical as ever. No flash of anger creased his brow, no hint of surprise softened the sharp angles of his face. Only his eyes moved, dissecting her refusal with the same cold precision he probably used to evaluate a business acquisition.
The silence stretched between them, thick enough to choke on. Georgia’s heart hammered against her ribs, but she kept her chin lifted, her gaze steady on his. The contract lay between them like a loaded gun.
His eyes held hers for a long moment. His mouth moved slightly, an expression that acknowledged her defiance the way one might note a crack in a glass. Interesting, but irrelevant.
“Friday.” He straightened his already perfect jacket. “The offer stands until then.”
He turned and walked to her door. The handle clicked under his grip, and he paused, framed in the doorway.
“Choose wisely, Ms. Phillips.”
The door closed behind him with a soft finality. Georgia stood frozen, staring at the space he’d occupied. His presence lingered like smoke, choking her with possibilities and consequences.
The contract remained on her coffee table, the white pages stark against the worn wood. She couldn’t bring herself to touch itagain, but she couldn’t look away either. It sat there, patient and poisonous, waiting for Friday. Waiting for her surrender.
Georgia’s hands shook as she stared at the red notice plastered on her apartment door. Final Warning: Pay or Leave. The paper crumpled in her grip as she unlocked the door and stepped inside, the familiar knot of dread tightening in her stomach like it had every day this month.
Her phone buzzed. Another message from the hospital’s billing department flashed across the screen.Payment Overdue.Her mother’s treatment couldn’t wait. The cancer wouldn’t pause while Georgia figured out how to conjure money from thin air. Wouldn’t give her a grace period just because she was drowning.
The memory of her mother’s hands, always moving, always creating, filled her mind. Those same hands had sewn countless dresses, mended torn clothes, worked until they were raw and aching. Evelyn Phillips never stopped, never complained, even when exhaustion carved lines into her face.
“We’ll manage,” her mother always said, smoothing Georgia’s hair back with callused fingers. “We always do.”
But now those steady hands lay still against hospital sheets. The woman who’d carried their world on her shoulders couldn’t fight this battle alone. And God, how Georgia wished she could be half as strong, half as resilient.
Georgia opened her banking app. The same numbers as before glared back at her. Not enough for rent. Not enough forgroceries. Not enough to keep her mother alive. Each digit seemed to mock her efforts, her failures.
She’d called every contact in her phone. Former clients. Industry connections. Even her mother’s old friends. Each conversation ended the same way: polite refusals, awkward silences, empty promises to keep her in mind for future work. The phantom weight of their pity followed her long after she hung up.
The hospital bill sat on her coffee table, the amount due burning into her retinas. Fifty-two thousand dollars. The number that would haunt her forever if she didn’t find a way to pay it. How could a life be reduced to numbers on a page?
Her mother’s voice echoed in her memory: “Never let anyone own you, Georgia. Your independence is everything.”
But independence wouldn’t pay for chemotherapy. Pride wouldn’t keep her mother breathing. And she was running out of principles she could afford to keep.
Georgia’s phone rang, the hospital’s number flashing on the screen. Her stomach dropped as she answered, a cold wave of premonition washing over her.
“Ms. Phillips? Your mother has collapsed. We need you to come in immediately.”
The words hit like physical blows. Georgia grabbed her keys and rushed out, not bothering to lock her apartment. The bus crawled through evening traffic, each stop an eternity. She gripped the metal pole, knuckles white, while the city lights blurred past the grimy windows. Every red light felt like a personal betrayal.
A baby wailed somewhere behind her. An old man coughed. The normalcy of it all felt wrong when her world was falling apart. How could they all just continue, oblivious, when her mother might be—no, she couldn’t finish the thought.
The hospital loomed ahead, its windows gleaming like dead eyes in the darkness. Georgia sprinted through the automatic doors, past the gift shop with its cheerful balloons, down corridors that reeked of disinfectant. The smell always reminded her of failure, of battles lost.
On the oncology floor, the nurses’ station stood empty. Her footsteps echoed against linoleum as she approached her mother’s room. The door hung open, revealing rumpled sheets and medical equipment, but no sign of Evelyn. The empty bed sent a spike of terror through her chest.
A nurse appeared, clipboard pressed to her chest. Her face revealed nothing.
“Ms. Phillips?”
“Where’s my mother?” Georgia’s voice cracked.
