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Lifting the piece of paper, I sigh loudly and place it on the already too-high pile of unpaid bills that I somehow need to find the money to cover. It’s another reminder from the hospital of what we owe.

What I owe.

After my mother passed, after a two-year battle with leukemia and endless medical bills that were only partially covered by her insurance, my father made thousands of promises to help me get the debts sorted—but instead, he ended up stealing the money that paid out from her life insurance and blowing it on his stupid gambling addiction.

It’s been two years since I lost her.

And instead of the debts going down, they only seem to be getting worse. Six months ago, my father somehow managed to get access to my savings account, and all the money I was planning to put toward the doctors’ bills—he stole it.

I lift another bill and place it on the ‘unpaid’ pile.

I’m fighting tears of frustration by the time I’ve gone through all of the statements and invoices for this month.

Working three jobs and some odd jobs here and there, I’m not making anywhere near enough to ever be rid of this debt. It’s astronomical. It’s way too much for one person to deal with.

The debt collectors are hounding me daily, and my stress levels are through the roof.

“Lara, did you finish up that section I sent you this morning?” Tammy asks, sticking her head around the wall of my small cubicle.

I quickly place a file over the pile of bills I was sorting on my lunch break.

I don’t want my boss to think I’m using company time for personal things. I need this job.

“I did. I sent it to your e-mail about thirty minutes ago.”

“Oh, thanks, sorry. I was out for lunch, I haven’t actually checked yet,” she smiles, tilting her head to the side.

“No worries. Don’t forget to send me the new batch of data. I can get started on it this evening.”

“I’ll send it in a few minutes when I’m back at my desk.”

She disappears, her high heels clicking loudly on the wooden office floors.

This is my afternoon job: a data analyst for a massive import and export corporation in San Francisco.

In the mornings, I do filing and basic accounting for a legal firm.

And then most evenings I do translations on technical documents—I’m grateful my mom had a passion for languages, which I inherited from her—and on the weekends I take pretty much any odd job I can get my hands on.

That could mean anything from dog walking to helping old ladies with their shopping or babysitting for the wealthier side of the city.

But even with all of that, I’m still struggling to pay off my mother’s bills, and the debts my father keeps adding to them.

I hardly speak to him anymore. He’s made far too many promises—all broken and useless. He’s never helped me financially. Not even once. I’m tired of holding on to any hope that he ever will.

Glancing at my watch, I see it’s already getting late. I’ll pack up soon and start heading home.

Grabbing my sorted piles of bills, I shove them all into a folder and shove that into my purse.

I live in a small, slightly damp apartment near the docks.

It’s not the nicest area, but I had to get away from my father and his toxic habits.

He won’t even get a proper job. I have no idea what he does for money, but every cent he gets, he wastes on gambling.

I had to put distance between us because I couldn’t deal with his lies anymore.

The afternoon sun is warm on my skin when I step out of the building. I tilt my face upwards and close my eyes for a moment to enjoy it. I love the warm weather; sunshine gives me energy and makes me happy. I love winter, too—it’s cozy and the rain always soothes my thoughts.

Turning left outside the building, I head towards the bus stop, hoping I won’t have to wait too long for one to arrive.

There was some kind of protest yesterday, and all of the buses got delayed. I got home so late I didn’t have time to do any extra work.

My phone vibrates in the front pocket of my purse, and I lift it out to see who’s calling. It might be another job opportunity.

Except the name on my screen makes my stomach knot.

Anton.

My father.

He lost the privilege of being called Dad a while ago.

I clench my jaw, trying to figure out if I’m in the mood for a conversation with this idiot today. Finally, I give in and answer, knowing I can hang up anytime.

“What do you want, Anton?” I say coldly.

“Hi, sweetheart. How are you? I told you to call me Dad,” he says.

“I don’t have any money for you,” I sigh, knowing that is the most common reason he calls.

“Oh, no, I don’t need your money. Things are going great at the moment. I did a good job this week, and work is paying out big time.”

Work. What a joke. It was probably gambling.

“How nice for you. Try not to blow it all at the track tonight. Listen—I’ve got to go,” I say, already regretting answering because of how it’s making my stress levels spike.

“Wait,” he shouts, his voice tainted with urgency.

“What, Anton?” I huff.

“I called because I did well, sweetheart. And I want to help you.”

I close my eyes, stopping my hurried walk towards the bus stop. I hate it when he does this. Makes promises he has no intention of keeping. I hate getting my hopes up.

“I’m not interested in your false offers,” I say miserably. “They never pan out. I’ve got to go.”

“Lara, please, this time is different—"

“That’s what you said last time,“ I groan.

“I know. I’m an idiot, sweetheart. I really am. I’m a horrible father. I know it. I do. But please, let me help you. I really can this time. It’s a lot of money, Lara. Enough to clear your mom’s medical debts.”

He sounds so sincere, almost desperate for me to believe him.

I press my fingers against my closed lids and try to reason with myself.

But the problem is that I’m desperate, too.

He’s never made a promise this big before.

It’s always been a hundred here or there, a hundred that never actually came through in the end, but never a proper decent amount.

Maybe he really did win big. Maybe he got lucky.

“Lara? It has to be now. Can you meet me now?” he asks.

“Of course it has to be now. We both know if I don’t come through now, there won’t be any money left by the morning,” I blurt out, angry and agitated.

I have no choice. If he really does have money and he’s willing to give it to me, I need to see him now.

This isn’t something I can take my time to think about.

“Will you come?”

“Where are you?” I sigh.

“Oh, that’s great news. Yes. I’m near the beach, there’s an office block, it’s massive. The Rostov building. You can’t miss it. Number Seven on Beach Boulevard.”

“I’m on my way.”

I hang up before he can say anything else and before I can change my mind.

You don’t have a choice, Lara.

But this is the last time.

If he fucks this up, I will never speak to him again.

I will never, ever answer his calls. I can’t keep doing this to myself.

Even now, the hope that’s flooding me is overwhelming.

If he really can clear my mother’s debts, my entire life would change so drastically I can’t even imagine how wonderful it would be.

I could get a nice, clean apartment. A place where I could leave my dinner on the kitchen counter and not worry about the roaches finding it.

I wouldn’t have to work every hour of every day. I wouldn’t have to answer twenty calls a day from debt collectors threatening horrible things.

I type the address into my phone and realize it’s not that far from where I am now. Waving a cab down, I climb into the back seat.

“Good afternoon, young lady,” the driver says cheerfully.

“Hi, can you please take me to the Rostov Building?”

“Beach Boulevard?” the driver asks, glancing over his shoulder.

“That’s the one,” I nod, settling in for the short drive. “Do you know what kind of building it is?”

He smiles into the rearview mirror. “It’s an office block. Very fancy place.”

“I’ve never seen it before,” I say, looking out of the window at people walking along the beachfront.

San Francisco is such a beautiful place.

I wish I had time to enjoy the beaches like other people do.

Maybe, after today, I will have more time.

If Anton really has the money, I can live a normal life.

I can have some free time. I might even start studying again.

When Mom got sick, I left college and focused on her, being there for her as much as I could.

After she passed, I took some short courses, just to get the jobs I have now.

My life will be completely different if I can clear those debts.

“We’re here,” the driver says.

“Oh, that was even quicker than I expected.” I tap my phone against the payment tab on the console in his cab. On the app, I add a ten percent tip.

“Thanks, young lady, you have a wonderful afternoon.”

“You too,” I say, already climbing out of the car.

My stomach is knotting at the idea of seeing my father.

I just want to get this over and done with.

Outside the building, I look up. It’s big. And it’s really sharp.

There are slick, glossed black letters on the front of the mirrored glass walls—ROSTOV.

With one last deep breath to try and ease my nerves, I walk into the foyer.

There is a black marble desk with a pretty blonde girl sitting behind it. I walk over to her. “Hi, I’m here to meet with my father. Um, Anton Abakumov.”

“Hi, you must be Lara, you can go right on up to the top floor. This is your temporary key code for the elevator. It will only work once.”

“Oh, um, thanks,” I say, taking a very crisp piece of white paper from her that she’s printed five numbers onto.

“Instead of selecting a floor number, just type this into the keypad,” she nods when I look up at her, confused.

“Okay, thank you.”

The elevator is like a sensory deprivation chamber. Its black mirrored walls and black marble floor are ominous and sleek. It matches the foyer.

I punch the code into the keypad as she instructed, and the doors slide closed. A smooth, but robotic voice says, “Thank you. Top floor.”

I wonder what in the world my father is doing in a place like this.

For a moment, I wonder what it would be like to actually have a dad again.

When I was much younger, he was my favorite person in the entire world. When Mom got sick, he changed, and when we lost her, he changed even more. Now he’s not someone I want to be around. He uses people and manipulates everyone around him.

He’s selfish.

I wish I could just have that dad back, the one I knew when I was young. But then again, maybe I was too young to see who he really was back then. Maybe he was always this selfish asshole that he is now.

The elevator doors slide quietly open, and I step out into a massive open-plan space.

Whoever designed this building loves power and black.

But despite the very masculine decor, clean and minimalist, the long wall of windows floods the entire place with bright, natural light.

As soon as I step into the place, I feel a sense of openness. Like I can breathe for a moment.

In the distance, there are three men talking.

One of them is my father.

The other man, standing much taller than my father, is the one who has my immediate attention. He’s scowling, his eyes piercing into Anton, his arms folded across his broad, muscular chest. The tone and shape of his body press against the fabric of his white shirt.

Black leather suspenders sit snug against his chest, over his shoulders, and down his back.

The sleeves of his shirt are rolled up over his thick, taut forearms.

His dark blonde hair is cut short and neat, his beard only a shadow of stubble across his square jaw and his eyes are piercing and bright, even from this distance.

He’s oozing sex appeal and danger. Just looking at him is making my heart race. For a moment, I’m frozen in place.

Across the open space, my father’s voice carries towards me. “I can pay the debts if you just give me a chance.”

“You’ve already had your chance, Anton. We’re tired of giving you chance after chance,” the third man says, scowling. “How do you plan on paying this amount back?”

“Roan, please, I-I-I—"

The gorgeous man shakes his head. “Roan, I’m done talking to him.” His voice is deep and dark and sends a shiver running down my spine. My heart races, and I press my lips together, reminding myself to breathe.

To my left, a young woman calls my name. “Hi, are you Lara?” she says, drawing my attention. I walk over to her desk.

“Hi, um, I’m here to see my father, that man over there.” I gesture towards where they’re standing on the other side of the space.

“Mr. Rostov is just busy talking to someone at the moment,” she says sweetly.

I chuckle. “Yes, I know . He’s talking to my father ,” I say more insistingly. “I’m here to see my father.”

“Oh, right, um—sorry. Yes, you can go through.”

On her desk, a small speaker cracks to life. “Samantha, take the afternoon off,” a voice demands.

“Yes, Roan. Do you or Mr. Rostov want anything?”

“No, just pack your things and go. We’ll see you in the morning again. Thank you.”

I narrow my eyes. The atmosphere is tense and uncomfortable.

“You can go through,” Samantha says, gathering her purse and walking around me towards the elevator.

I bite my lower lip.

“Thanks,” I grumble, walking towards the three men.