I took one final step forward. Close enough to see her pulse hammering against her throat. Close enough to smell fear beneath her anger.
"Think about it," I said quietly. "Six months of your pride. Or your father's life."
I let her unravel. Didn't flinch when she shoved away from the counter. Didn't speak when she started pacing, words spilling out sharp and jagged.
"You're sick." Her voice climbed. "Absolutely fucking sick. What kind of person—" She whirled on me. "What kind of monster plans something like this? Buys someone's debt like—like property, like you own them?—"
"I don't own your father," I said quietly. "Just what he owes."
"That's the same thing!"
"It's not."
"Semantics!" She threw her hands up. "You're playing semantics while—Jesus Christ, you actually think this is acceptable. You think you can just walk in here and?—"
Her breath caught. Hitched.
Anger flooding into something rawer.
"This is manipulation. This is—it's blackmail, it's coercion, it's?—"
"It's an offer."
"It's vile."
I absorbed the word without reaction.
She kept going. Building momentum. Voice cracking at the edges but not breaking. "You planned this. Didn't you?" Her eyes burned. "The bookstore visit. The hospital. All of it. You've been—God, you've been circling like a fucking vulture, just waiting for?—"
"Yes."
The admission stopped her cold.
She stared. Mouth open. Fury warring with disbelief.
"You planned this," she repeated. Slower now. Like saying it again might change what I'd confirmed.
"Every detail."
"You bought my father's debt."
"Three days ago."
"You had someone track his medical records."
"Yes."
"You—" Her voice fractured. "You orchestrated this entire nightmare just so you could—what? Get me to fuck you because I said no once?"
"Twice," I corrected. "You've said no twice."
Her face went white.
Then red.
Then something beyond color entirely.
"You are a monster." The words came out quiet. Devastated. "An actual fucking monster."
