The ventilator hissed.The heart monitor beeped.
“I am scared,” I admitted.“I’m terrified, actually.I’m twenty years old and I’m running a hotel that’s falling apart and someone is trying to destroy me and I have no idea what I’m doing.”
My voice cracked on the last word.I pressed my knuckles against my mouth and breathed until I was sure I wouldn’t cry.
“You never taught me any of this.”The words came out harder than I intended.“You never let me learn.I asked you, Dad.Over and over.I wanted to understand the business, wanted to sit in on meetings, wanted to prove I could handle it.And you always said ‘tomorrow.’You always patted my head and told me not to worry about grown-up things.”
The anger felt good.Better than the fear, anyway.
“Well, now I have to worry about grown-up things.Now I have to figure it all out on my own because you’re lying here and you can’t help me and you never prepared me for this.”
I reached out and touched his hand.His skin was papery, cool despite the blankets.The IV line ran into the back of his wrist, held in place with surgical tape.
“I signed a contract,” I said quietly.“With Raphael Antonov.You probably know who he is.Everyone with money in this town knows who he is.”
The machines kept their steady rhythm.
“He’s paying off the debt.All of it.Twenty million dollars.In exchange, I… I belong to him.For a year.”The words tasted strange in my mouth.Shameful.“I’m living in his house.Doing whatever he wants.And I can’t even tell if that makes me brave or stupid.”
No response.Of course no response.
“You’d probably be horrified,” I said.“Your daughter, sold like property to save the family name.Or maybe you’d be relieved.At least someone’s handling the mess you made.”
I sat there for a while longer, holding his limp hand, listening to the machines.The heart monitor beeped.The ventilator breathed.Somewhere down the hall, a phone rang and was answered.
“I’m going to save the hotel,” I told him finally.“I’m going to figure this out, even though you never thought I could.Even though you never gave me the chance.”
I stood and smoothed the blanket over his chest.
“I’ll come back when I have good news.When I’ve proven you wrong about me.”
I walked out of the ICU without looking back.The fluorescent lights hummed overhead.The smell of disinfectant followed me to the elevator, down to the lobby, out into the cold January morning.
My phone buzzed again.
Unknown number:Twenty-three minutes with your father.You told him about our arrangement.
I stopped dead on the hospital steps, my breath forming white clouds in the cold air.He had people here?At the hospital?Watching me visit my comatose father?
Another message:Don’t look so shocked.I told you, Lena.You belong to me now.That means I know everything.Where you go.Who you see.What you say when you think no one’s listening.
My hands shook as I typed back:He can’t hear me.He’s in a coma.
His response came immediately:I heard you.
Three words that made my blood run cold.I heard you.Not “my people heard you.”Not “I was informed.”I heard you.As if he’d been standing right there in the room, invisible, drinking in every confession I’d made to my father’s silent form.
It wasn’t possible.It had to be a figure of speech.But the certainty in those words, the intimacy of the claim, made my skin crawl.
My phone rang.His name on the screen.
I almost didn’t answer.Almost walked to the car and pretended I hadn’t seen it.But something in my gut told me that ignoring Raphael Antonov would be far worse than whatever conversation awaited me.
“What do you want?”
“That’s no way to greet the man who just paid twenty million dollars for you.”His voice was smooth, unhurried, as if he had all the time in the world.“Try again.”
“I’m not in the mood to perform for you.”
