Chapter 5

At 5:00 AM, my cheap phone vibrated loudly, breaking the silence of the bus stop.

I stared at the caller ID, a number burned into my very soul. Laughing dryly, I swiped to answer.

"Amara, I heard you got fired from the pharmacy. You don't even have a place to stay now?"

Julian's voice was as gentle and caring as ever.

My knuckles turned white as I gripped the phone. "Did you put a tracker on me, Julian? Or are those reporters just your personal bloodhounds, watching me twenty-four hours a day so you can enjoy the show?"

A soft chuckle came through the receiver, carrying the casual amusement of a predator playing with its prey.

"Amara, you're still as prickly as ever. I'm just looking out for you. In this world, who else actually gives a damn if you live or die?"

"You're thirty-two, you've spent eight years in prison, and your right hand is ruined. Do you honestly think any company in this country would hire you without my permission?"

My breathing turned heavy, my eyes burning with absolute hatred.

"You did this to me. Julian, you know exactly who altered those medical records, and you know exactly who hired those inmates to shred my nerves."

Julian's voice suddenly turned freezing cold, carrying a sharp warning.

"Watch your words, Amara. That case was closed years ago. If you start babbling about conspiracies now, people will just think you had a psychotic break in prison. Be a good girl. Come back to New York."

"I have already set everything up for you. There is an opening for a file clerk in the archives department at Grace Hospital. The pay isn't high, but it's enough to get you off the streets. And... Chloe is now the deputy chief of surgery. Since you're so experienced, you can work as her personal technical advisor. Guide her a bit."

"You want me to assist the murderer who ruined my life? Guide her?"

I laughed so hard tears came to my eyes, each word squeezed through my gritted teeth.

"In your dreams, Julian! Even if I starve to death on this street, I will never go back to beg for your scraps or be your sick PR prop!"

"Is that so?"

Julian's voice remained calm, almost pitying.

"Amara, you're always so stubborn. Do you really think you have a choice?"

Before I could reply, loud, chaotic screaming erupted on his end of the line. Suddenly, my mother's shrill, hysterical voice cut in.

"Amara! You curse! Who did you offend out there?!"

"The nursing home just threw your father and me out on the street with all our luggage! Your father still has his feeding tube in! They said our account is delinquent and pushed his wheelchair right onto the pavement!"

"Julian said we could live here for free forever! Why did he change his mind? Did you offend him again, you ungrateful bitch? I swear, if your father dies on the street today, I will jump off the roof of this building! I'll write a suicide note in blood blaming you!"

My mother's shrieking voice pierced through the speaker like a red-hot wire, wrapping tightly around my neck, making it impossible to breathe.

I knew my parents too well.

They were incompetent, selfish, and ignorant.

When I got arrested, they didn't hire a single lawyer for me. Instead, they forced me to confess quickly so I wouldn't ruin my younger brother's college prospects.

Later, when Julian put them in a luxury nursing home.

They immediately treated him and Chloe like their savior and viewed me as embarrassing garbage.

If my father really died because his treatment was cut off, my mother would absolutely keep her word. She would commit suicide in front of the media to completely destroy whatever little reputation I had left.

Julian took the phone back. His voice was smooth as silk again.

"Amara, your parents are old. They can't handle this kind of stress. If you get on the morning bus back to New York right now, the nursing home's account will be funded in five minutes."

"You're a smart girl. You know what to do. I'll expect your employment paperwork in my office in three days."

The line went dead.

The dial tone echoed in the empty bus stop, sounding like a chorus of mockery.

I slowly bent over, burying my face in my knees, and finally let the tears pour out.

Eight years ago, they stole my innocence, my career, and my hand.

Eight years later, they were dragging me back to that hell, wanting to leash me like a dog at their feet just to show the world how "forgiving" they were.

I squeezed the dirty, wet business card I had picked up from the puddle.

Julian. Chloe.

Since you refuse to let me go, since you are forcing me back to New York.

Then I will see you in hell.