The Silent Bride's Billion Dollar Contract

The next morning, the rain had stopped, but the humidity remained. The air was thick and gray.

Dawn sat in the back of the town car. Her hands were sweating. She was wearing jeans and a simple white t-shirt from the new closet, but she felt like she was wearing armor.

The car pulled up to the crumbling brick building in Queens. A group of teenagers on the stoop stopped talking and stared at the shiny black vehicle.

"Wait here," Dawn told the driver.

"Mr. Holcomb gave strict instructions to accompany you, ma'am," the driver, a large man named Frank, said.

"Please," Dawn said. "Just give me ten minutes. If I bring you in, she'll scream. It will take longer."

Frank hesitated, then nodded. "Ten minutes. Then I'm coming up."

Dawn got out. She walked to the front door. She tried her key. It didn't turn.

Lydia had changed the locks. Of course she had.

Dawn banged on the door. "Lydia!" she shouted, her voice cracking with the effort.

She heard shuffling inside, then the locks turning. The door swung open.

Lydia stood there. She was wearing a stained bathrobe. Her hair was a bird's nest. When she saw Dawn, her face twisted into a snarl.

"You have the nerve to come back here?" Lydia shrieked. "Mr. Vane called me fifteen times! He said you weren't there! He said you made a fool of me!"

She reached out to grab Dawn's arm. Dawn stepped sideways, dodging the claw-like hand.

"My... things," Dawn forced out, the two words feeling like gravel in her throat.

"Your things?" Lydia laughed, a harsh, barking sound. "You don't own anything! I paid for the roof over your head! Everything in here is mine!"

Dawn didn't argue. She ducked past Lydia and ran down the hallway to the small utility room she used as a bedroom.

It was a disaster zone. Her clothes were scattered on the floor. Her books were ripped.

Dawn dropped to her knees. She felt under the bed.

Her fingers brushed against cold metal.

Thank God.

She pulled out the rusted iron box. It was heavy.

"That's mine!" Lydia screamed from the doorway. She lunged at Dawn.

"No!" Dawn curled her body around the box.

Lydia grabbed Dawn's hair and yanked. Dawn cried out. She tried to stand up, but Lydia shoved her.

Dawn fell backward. Her head hit the corner of the wooden dresser.

A sharp, hot pain exploded in her forehead.

She touched her head. Her fingers came away red. Blood dripped down into her eye, blinding her on one side.

Lydia froze. She stared at the blood. Then her eyes narrowed. "Look what you made me do! You clumsy idiot!"

She reached for the box again. "Give me that! Your father owed me money! Whatever is in there is payment!"

Dawn scrambled back, clutching the box to her chest. The pain in her head was throbbing, making her dizzy. But a cold rage was rising in her gut.

"Don't," Dawn whispered, the single word a raw, guttural sound.

"Or what?" Lydia sneered. "You'll cry?"

Dawn didn't speak. She couldn't. The words were locked away. Instead, she acted. She held up her left hand. The pink diamond caught the light from the singular, dirty window. It blazed like a star in the dim room.

Lydia's eyes widened. She stared at the ring. The greed on her face was instant and terrifying.

"Who..."

Dawn shook her head, her throat too tight to form a name. She fumbled for her phone, her fingers slick with a mixture of sweat and blood. She had prepared for this. She opened a note she had typed in the car and held the screen up for Lydia to see. The text was simple, brutal, and legally vetted:

ANY FURTHER CONTACT OR HARM WILL BE MET WITH IMMEDIATE LEGAL ACTION FROM HOLCOMB INDUSTRIES' COUNSEL. CEASE AND DESIST.

Lydia stepped back. She looked at the ring, at the blood on Dawn's face, and at the name on the screen. Fear flickered in her eyes.

"You're lying," Lydia whispered.

Dawn just stared, her silence more damning than any shout.

She used the moment of shock to scramble to her feet. She hugged the box tight and ran. She pushed past Lydia, ran down the hallway, and burst out the front door.

Blood was running down her face, dripping onto her white t-shirt.

She didn't care. She had the box.