My phone buzzes on the desk.
I look at the screen. It is an unknown number.
I frown. I usually ignore unknown numbers, a lingering habit from the week the paparazzi were hunting us. But the area code is local, and I am expecting a call from a contractor regarding the steel reinforcements for the West Loop project.
I hit accept. "Audrey Jennings."
"Audrey."
The voice on the other end of the line is thin, reedy, and incredibly familiar.
My blood turns to absolute ice. The pencil slips from my fingers, rolling across the drafting paper and dropping onto the hardwood floor with a sharpclack.
"Mom?" I whisper.
"Hi, sweetie." My mother’s voice shakes slightly. She sounds older than I remember. I haven't spoken to her in six months. The last time we talked, she asked me for a loan to cover a "temporary setback," and I told her I couldn't do it anymore.
"How did you get this number?" I ask, my heart hammering a frantic rhythm against my ribs.
"I saw the news," she says, ignoring the question. "I saw the articles about Simon. And about... about the new man you’re with. Malcolm Vance."
A cold, heavy knot forms in my stomach.
She doesn't care about Simon going to prison. She cares about the fact that I am engaged to a billionaire.
"What do you want, Mom?" I ask, my voice dropping to a flat, defensive register.
"I just wanted to see how you were doing," she says, the forced, bright tone in her voice making my skin crawl. "It’s been so long. I know we left things on bad terms, but I’ve been doing better. I really have. I have a new job, and I’m trying to get my finances in order."
She hesitates, the silence on the line stretching out.
"I got a letter in the mail yesterday," she continues, her voice dropping to a nervous whisper. "From a collection agency. They said my medical debts were paid in full. The entire balance. And the... the other people. The ones I owed money to on the South Side. They called me. They said the account was settled."
I close my eyes, pressing the heel of my hand against my forehead.
I erased it. I paid off the remaining medical collections.
Malcolm fixed the problem. He buried the debt to protect me from Preston. But he didn't realize that by paying off the syndicate, he was sending a massive, neon flare directly to my mother.
"Did you do it, Audrey?" she asks, the desperate hope in her voice suffocating me. "Did your new fiancé pay them off?"
"Mom, I can't talk about this right now," I say, my voice tight.
"Audrey, please. If he has that kind of money... I just need a little help to get back on my feet. Just a small loan to secure an apartment. I promise I’ll pay it back. He won't even notice it’s gone."
The knot in my stomach twists into a sharp, violent ache.
It never ends. The cycle never ends. She will always find a way to ask for more, and she will always use guilt as the lever to pry it out of me.
"I have to go," I whisper.
"Audrey, don't hang up! Please, I—"
I end the call.
I drop the phone onto the desk. My hands are shaking. The calm, secure world I have been living in for the last three days shatters completely.
I stand up from the drafting table. The room starts to feel too small. The walls are closing in.
