The High Price Of Father's Freedom

Abbey woke up with a gasp, her sheets tangled around her legs like vines. The dream had been vivid-Paris rain turning into black ink, drowning her while Armond stood on the banks of the Seine, watching.

She sat up, her heart hammering a frantic rhythm against her ribs. Sunlight filtered through the grime of the window, illuminating the dust motes dancing in the air of her tiny bedroom. It was morning. She was safe.

She wasn't safe.

She grabbed her laptop from the floor and opened it. Her fingers trembled as she typed the name she had avoided for five years.

Armond Woodward.

The search results populated in 0.34 seconds. Over two million hits.

The first result was a Forbes profile from last month: "The Ice King of Media: How Armond Woodward is restructuring the family legacy."

She clicked the images tab. There he was, shaking hands with the French President. There he was, cutting a ribbon in Tokyo. He looked older than the boy she had loved. His jaw was sharper, the lines around his mouth etched with stress and cynicism.

A sidebar ad popped up: Woodward Family Trust Crisis. The clock is ticking for the heir apparent.

Abbey slammed the laptop shut. She couldn't look at him. Seeing him in pixels made him real, made the threat tangible.

"Coffee!" Liz, her other roommate, kicked the door open. She was holding a cardboard carrier with three Starbucks cups. "I stole Sophie's card. Don't tell her."

Abbey forced a smile, but it felt like the skin on her face might crack. "Thanks, Liz."

"So," Liz sat on the edge of Abbey's bed, her eyes gleaming with gossip. "Sophie said Miles Sterling brought you home last night? Or, tried to? And you ran away?"

"I didn't run away," Abbey lied, taking the coffee. The heat of the cup burned her palms, grounding her. "I felt sick."

"Miles is texting everyone that you're playing hard to get. He's obsessed." Liz took a sip of her latte. "You know he's worth, like, nine figures, right? This is your ticket out of debt, Abbey. Just let him buy you dinner."

"He's not a ticket, he's a person," Abbey muttered, though the thought of her student loan balance flashed in her mind like a neon warning sign. "And he's annoying."

Her phone buzzed on the nightstand. An unknown number.

Abbey stared at it. "Hello?"

"Look out your window," Miles's voice chirped.

Abbey dropped the phone. She scrambled to the window and peered through the slat of the blinds.

Double-parked on the narrow street below was a bright red Aston Martin. Miles was leaning against it, wearing sunglasses, holding a bouquet of roses that was so large it looked comical.

"Oh my god," Liz squealed, peering over Abbey's shoulder. "He is literally Prince Charming. Go down there!"

Abbey's gaze drifted past the Aston Martin.

Across the street, in the shadow of a bodega awning, sat a black Cadillac Escalade. The windows were tinted so dark they looked like voids. The engine was idling; she could see the faint puff of exhaust in the morning chill.

A shiver raced down her spine. The car didn't belong on this block. It was too clean, too menacing.

"Abbey! Go!" Liz shoved her.

Abbey pulled on a grey oversized hoodie, hiding her body, hiding herself. She walked down the three flights of stairs, her legs feeling like jelly.

When she pushed open the front door, Miles pushed off his car and grinned. "Morning, sunshine. Thought you might need a ride to campus."

He thrust the roses at her. The thorns snagged on her hoodie.

"Miles, this is..." Abbey took the flowers because she didn't know what else to do. "This is too much."

"Nonsense. Hop in." He opened the passenger door.

Across the street, the rear window of the Escalade rolled down. Just an inch.

Abbey froze. Through the sliver of open glass, she saw eyes. Dark. Cold. Watching.

Inside the Escalade, Armond Woodward sat perfectly still. The leather seat creaked softly as he shifted his weight. He watched the scene unfold with the detached interest of a scientist observing lab rats.

"Sir?" Ken, his assistant, sat in the front seat. He held out a blue folder. "The report on Miss Wynn."

Armond took the folder without looking away from the window. He opened it.

Abbey Wynn. Daughter of Marcus Wynn. Outstanding legal debts: $450,000. Law school tuition arrears: $32,000. Current account balance: $142.50.

She was drowning.

"Do you want me to intervene with Mr. Sterling?" Ken asked, glancing at the rearview mirror.

Armond watched Miles laugh at something, leaning close to Abbey. He saw Abbey flinch, a microscopic movement that only someone who had memorized her body language would notice.

"No," Armond said, his voice a low rumble. "Let him play. I want to see how much the little mouse will tolerate to survive."

On the street, Abbey stepped back from the Aston Martin.

"I can't, Miles. I take the subway. It's faster."

"The subway?" Miles wrinkled his nose. "Come on, Abbey."

"No." She turned, clutching the ridiculous roses to her chest like a shield. "I have to go."

She walked away, heading toward the subway station entrance. She could feel the gaze from the black SUV burning a hole between her shoulder blades. She didn't look back.

As she descended the stairs into the underground, her phone buzzed again. Not Miles.

BANK ALERT: Your tuition payment of $12,000 is due in 48 hours. Please remit payment to avoid un-enrollment.

Abbey stopped on the platform. The stale air of the subway rushed past her. She looked at the roses in her hand. Miles Sterling could pay that bill with the change in his cupholder.

For a second, just a second, she considered it. She could be the girl Miles wanted. She could smile and nod and let him save her.

Then Armond's face from the night before flashed in her mind. The mockery in his toast.

If she went to Miles, she was just a gold digger. If she stayed on her own, she was prey. But Armond... Armond wasn't offering to save her. He was waiting for her to break.

She tossed the roses into a trash can overflowing with newspapers.