Mated to My Fiancé’s Alpha King Brother - Chapter 165

Chapter 165: Chapter 165
Seraphina’s POV

I stared at the business card until my eyes burned.

The white card felt impossibly heavy in my trembling fingers. Like it weighed more than my entire future. Which, considering my current situation, it probably did.

*Underground fighting. Good money. Very good money.*

His words echoed in my head, mixing with the memory of that alley. The drunk man’s hands on me. The satisfying crunch when my knee connected with his face. The fear in his eyes when he realized I wasn’t as helpless as he’d thought.

*Female fighters are especially popular.*

My stomach churned. I set the card down on my nightstand and rubbed my face with both hands. This was insane. I was actually considering this insanity.

But what choice did I have?

I looked around my pathetic excuse for an apartment. The peeling wallpaper. The radiator that clanged like a dying animal. The single window that looked out onto a brick wall.

Tomorrow at noon, all of this would be gone. I’d be homeless. Sleeping in my car if I was lucky. On the streets if I wasn’t.

*No. There has to be another way.*

I grabbed my phone and scrolled through my contacts. Margaret and Robert Morrison were three hours away, and I’d already burdened them enough. Caleb would help if I asked, but what was I supposed to say? *Hi, I’m broke and about to be homeless because I’m too stupid to manage my own life?*

There was really only one person left to try.

Mia.

My fingers hovered over her number. She’d promised. Cross her heart and hope to die, she’d promised to pay me back by Friday. It was Sunday now, but maybe she’d just forgotten. Maybe she’d been busy with family stuff and lost track of time.

Maybe she wasn’t a lying, manipulative little bitch who’d stolen my last forty-three dollars and disappeared.

I pressed call.

*”The number you have dialed is not in service.”*

My heart sank. I tried again, thinking maybe I’d misdialed.

Same message.

*Shit.*

I tried texting instead.

*”Mia, please call me. I really need that money you borrowed. My landlord is evicting me tomorrow.”*

The message failed to send. *Message not delivered.*

*What the hell?*

I stared at my phone in confusion. Her number had been working all week, even though she hadn’t been answering. But now suddenly it was disconnected?

Unless…

Unless she’d blocked me.

The thought hit me like a punch to the stomach. She’d blocked my number. Cut off all contact. Disappeared with my money like I meant nothing to her.

*No. No, that’s not possible. Mia isn’t like that.*

But even as I thought it, I knew I was lying to myself. I barely knew Mia. We’d worked together for two weeks. We weren’t best friends. We weren’t sisters. She was just some girl who’d been nice to me because she needed someone to cover her shifts.

I tried calling from the store phone at work the next morning, using the landline in Gary’s office when he went to lunch. Maybe Mia had just blocked my cell number specifically.

It rang.

My heart leaped with hope.

One ring. Two rings. Three rings.

Then: “Hello?” A sleepy, irritated voice. Definitely Mia.

“Mia!” Relief flooded through me so fast I almost started crying. “Oh thank God. I’ve been trying to reach you all week. Your phone kept going straight to voicemail and then—”

“Who is this?” Her voice was sharp, suspicious.

“It’s Sara. From the store? You borrowed forty-three dollars from me last Tuesday for a bus ticket, remember?”

Silence. Then: “Sara? Sara from work?”

“Yes! Mia, I really need that money back. My landlord is evicting me today if I don’t pay rent.”

More silence. I could hear voices in the background. Laughter. Music. The sound of people having fun.

“Mia? Are you there?”

“Yeah, I’m here.” Her voice had changed. Colder. Distant. “Look, Sara, I’m really busy right now. Can we talk about this later?”

“Later? Mia, it’s later! You promised you’d pay me back by Friday! It’s Sunday!”

“Did I? I don’t really remember that.”

The words hit me like ice water. “You don’t remember? You promised! Cross your heart and hope to die, those were your exact words!”

“Sara, calm down. You’re being kind of psycho right now.”

*Psycho?* I was being psycho for asking for my own money back?

“Mia, please. I gave you everything I had. I’m literally about to be homeless.”

“That sounds like a you problem, not a me problem.”

I stared at the phone, unable to process what I was hearing. This was Mia? Sweet, bubbly Mia who brought sunshine to the grocery store and called everyone honey and sweetheart?

“You said Derek hit you,” I said weakly. “You said he stole your purse. You were crying—”

“Oh that? Yeah, Derek and I worked that out. We’re actually back together now. Turns out it was just a misunderstanding.”

“So you didn’t need the bus ticket?” My voice sounded strange in my own ears. Distant. Like it was coming from someone else.

“I guess not.” She laughed, and the sound was like nails on a chalkboard. “Anyway, like I said, I’m really busy. Talk to you later!”

The line went dead.

I sat there holding the phone, my whole body numb with shock. She’d hung up on me. After stealing my money and lying about everything, she’d hung up on me.

I dialed again. This time it went straight to voicemail.

*”Hi, you’ve reached Mia! I’m probably doing something way more fun than talking on the phone—”*

I hung up and tried again. Same result.

She’d blocked me again. Our brief conversation had been enough for her to decide I was too much trouble to deal with.

I tried calling every few minutes for the next hour, getting more desperate each time. Finally, around two o’clock, my phone buzzed with a text from an unknown number.

*”Stop calling me or I’ll have my boyfriend’s friends come find you. Derek knows people. Don’t test me, bitch.”*

I read the message three times before it sank in.

I set the phone down with shaking hands and put my head in my hands.

*You stupid, naive idiot.*

Tears burned behind my eyes, but I didn’t let them fall. I was done crying over people who didn’t give a shit about me.

The rest of my shift passed in a haze of numbness. Customers came and went, their voices sounding like they were underwater. I scanned items mechanically, made change, smiled when required.

But inside, something had shifted. Hardened.

By the time I clocked out at six PM, I knew what I had to do.

—

Back in my apartment, I sat on the edge of my bed with Rico’s business card in my hand.

The evening light filtering through my single window made everything look orange and desperate. In a few hours, it would be dark. In a few more hours, it would be morning. And then Mr. Peterson would show up with the sheriff’s department to escort me out.

Unless I did something.

Maybe Rico was right. Maybe I did have talent. Maybe I could turn the one thing I was apparently good at—violence—into something that would keep me alive.

My hands weren’t shaking anymore as I picked up my phone.

I dialed the number on the card before I could lose my nerve.

It rang once.

Twice.

Then: “Well, well, well.” Rico’s voice was warm, amused, like he was talking to an old friend. “I was wondering when you’d call.”

My throat went dry. “How did you—”

“I knew you’d call eventually.” I could hear the smile in his voice. “They always do.”