Ring!

"Your pizza's here!"

Anne-Marie called out as she pushed through the door of the auto repair shop, her arms struggling to balance the stack of large pizza boxes. The door swung open just in time, and the familiar clamor of the repair shop greeted her. The men, who had been engrossed in their work, dropped their tools and rushed over to relieve her of the boxes.

She could feel the relief wash over her as the weight was lifted from her arms. It had been a non-stop day, and though she was far from tired, the physical strain was beginning to take its toll. She'd been running deliveries all morning, determined to earn every penny she could. Every delivery meant another step closer to what she needed—money for Abel's treatment, money to survive.

Why was everyone ordering pizza today anyway? It seemed like the whole city had the same craving.

"You have no idea how many lives you just saved, Anne-Marie," one of the men said with a grin, already reaching for a slice.

Anne-Marie couldn't help but smile as she watched them dive into the pizzas. The men at Canaan automobile were always friendly, a stark contrast to the cold, indifferent world outside. She had grown fond of them, especially since the shop was run by her father's best friend, Canaan. Being here felt like a small piece of home, a brief respite from the storm of her life.

"It's a really great day today as people from all over the world come together to celebrate the annual coronation anniversary and royal engagement of Prince Aiden-Cree, the prince of the kingdom of Breton."

Anne-Marie's attention was drawn to the flat screen TV mounted on the wall. The news anchor's voice filled the room, painting a picture of a nation in celebration.

"The entire country of Breton is filled with a lot of celebration as you can see, as citizens surround the royal palace to celebrate with the royal family. This event could bring a lot of blessings to the kingdom of Breton, don't you think so, Mark?"

"Of course, Elizabeth. The royal family of Breton not only happens to be the most famous, powerful, and respected family and symbol of authority for the people of Breton, but they are also known all around the world for their amazing diplomacy..."

Anne-Marie held her breath, she couldn't believe it, he was getting married. She couldn't explain it but she felt her heart get heavy, a weight tolling on it that made it difficult for her to breathe. Was it sadness, or just loss?

She let out an exhale, miserable just at the thought of it.

What did you lose exactly Marie? It's not like you ever stood a chance in the first place.

What on earth was she thinking and why did she even care what happened in the Royal family? Whatever it was her feelings were, were of no consequence, she had bigger problems on her plate.

"Pfft," one of the men scoffed, his mouth full of pizza. "The royal engagement is today?"

"It looks like it," another replied. "My wife wouldn't shut up about it this morning. She's probably at the palace gates right now."

As the men continued to banter, Anne-Marie's smile faded. Their words, casual and thoughtless, dug into her like a dull knife. The contrast between their lives and hers was glaring, and it stung.

"Yeah, tell that to the eleven percent of poor people who can't afford to buy tickets for the bus, let alone get a roof over their heads." one of the men muttered. "Or to kids like Anne-Marie, who's running themselves ragged with deliveries and working a thousand jobs to keep her family alive."

The room went silent. The men's eyes flicked toward Anne-Marie, guilt and pity written across their faces. She stood there, frozen, the smile she had worn now a distant memory. She hadn't expected to be the example, the reminder of the harsh realities outside their pizza-filled sanctuary.

One of the men cleared his throat. "You must be waiting for payment."

Anne-Marie forced a small smile, shoving the hurt deep down where it couldn't reach her. "Yeah, thanks," she replied softly.

"Caleb's in his office," another said, gesturing toward the back.

Anne-Marie forced a small, tight smile, trying to push the sting of their words to the back of her mind. They weren't wrong; Abel was on the brink, and she was doing everything she could to keep him from falling over the edge. She had to stay focused, had to keep moving, no matter what.

"Oh, I heard both the Prince and princess-to-be were going to play a song together. Word is they used to play the same song on the piano together when they were kids, fate can be really crazy sometimes can't it?"

The news anchor's voice faded as Anne-Marie nodded absently at Michael's suggestion to see Caleb.

"Thank you, Michael," she murmured, barely hearing her own voice as she made her way to the small, brown door at the back of the shop. She exhaled a shaky breath, trying to steel herself for the conversation she was about to have.

As she approached, she heard the muffled exchange between the men behind her, one of them whispering sharply,

"Why'd you have to bring up her brother like that?"

Anne-Marie's heart tightened, but she kept moving. There was no time to dwell on what they thought of her situation. She had a job to do, more like a mission.

Anne-Marie paused at the door, her hand hovering over the knob. She knocked twice, then turned the knob slowly, not bothering to wait for permission to enter.

The office was warm—stuffy, even—and as Anne-Marie stepped inside, she instinctively glanced around at the old, worn furniture. The two-seater cushion in the corner looked like it hadn't been sat on in years, and the table was cluttered with stacks of files, a small computer, and various tools.

"Ah, you're here," a voice called out, drawing her attention to the tall, slightly chubby man who was shuffling papers at the table. He looked up briefly, his round face flushed, and his blonde, spiked hair appeared hastily styled, as if he'd barely had time to get ready that morning.

Canaan Grey.

Her godfather, or at least that's what he was supposed to be. But ever since her parents had passed away, the title felt hollow. He'd distanced himself, only showing up when it was convenient for him—or when Anne-Marie had a delivery to make at his shop. It wasn't the relationship she'd once hoped for, but she'd grown used to people walking out of her life.

Canaan placed a pen behind his left ear and glanced up at her.
"How much is it again?" he asked, his voice flat, as if they were strangers.

"One hundred and twenty-two Brents," Anne-Marie replied, her voice steady but with a hint of unease.

He nodded, reaching for his wallet. He counted the money, handed it to her, then immediately returned to the booklet in his hands, as if the exchange meant nothing to him.

Anne-Marie slipped the money into her pocket, her fingers trembling slightly. She rubbed her hands together, trying to steady her nerves. She could feel the tension building inside her, but she wasn't sure how to approach what she needed to say. Finally, she gathered the courage.

"Is there something else?" Canaan asked, his tone carrying an edge of impatience as he noticed her lingering.

"Uh..." Anne-Marie hesitated, her voice faltering. Now that she had his attention, the weight of what she was about to ask felt even heavier. "I was wondering if... if you had some time to talk?"

Canaan's brow furrowed as he closed the booklet and set it down. "You want to talk?" he repeated, a slight note of surprise in his voice.

Anne-Marie nodded, feeling the anxiety knotting in her stomach.

He sighed and leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest.
"About what?"

She took a deep breath.

"I heard Abel got transferred to another hospital again," he said before she could begin. "How is he?"

A faint, almost bitter chuckle escaped Anne-Marie's lips.

"Not good," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. "He's getting worse every day. The doctors say he needs to start chemo immediately, but they won't do anything without an insurance or upfront payment. That's... that's what I wanted to talk to you about."

Canaan sighed heavily, rubbing his brow as if he were already tired of the conversation. Anne-Marie's heart sank; she hadn't even gotten to the hard part yet, and he was already checked out.

"All I'm asking for is a loan, Uncle Canaan," she blurted out, her desperation seeping into her voice. "Just enough to get the hospital to start treatment while I figure out the rest. I swear I'll pay it back, with interest if you want. I just... I'm out of options."

He looked at her for a long moment, his expression unreadable, before he let out a scoff.

"How much loan are we talking about here?"

"About three thousand,"

"Three thou- Anne-Marie," he He shook his head, disbelief in his voice. "Where on earth am I supposed to get that kind of money from?"

Like he didn't have it.

Canaan shook his head again, the finality of the gesture hitting Anne-Marie like a punch to the gut.

"Three thousand is a lot of money, Anne-Marie. I have my own problems, I've got to pay the boys, keep up with the rent on this place, and take care of my own kids. My hands are tied, I hope you understand."

Anne-Marie felt her heart sink. He wasn't going to help her. He was going to let Abel die, even though he had the power to save him. The realization drained the strength from her, leaving her standing there, weak and defeated.

She swallowed hard, forcing herself to nod. "Thank you," she managed, her voice cracking. "I understand. I'm sorry to have bothered you."

She turned to leave, the weight of hopelessness pressing down on her shoulders. She'd wasted enough time. She had to get back to work, to the only thing that might give her a chance to save Abel.

But as she reached for the door, Canaan's voice stopped her.

"How about I cut you a deal?"

Anne-Marie froze, her hand hovering over the door handle. Was this hope? She turned back to face him, her eyes wide with cautious anticipation.

"What if I can help you," he said slowly, his voice taking on a strange tone, "for a price of course, you do something for me in return."

Her heart fluttered in her chest, hope and dread mixing in equal measure.

"Of course," she said quickly, desperate to grasp at any chance to save Abel. "Anything, I'll do anything."

He raised a hand, as if to caution her.

"Don't be so quick, Anne-Marie."

She frowned, confusion creeping in. "But it's Abel's life we're talking about," she insisted, her voice cracking slightly. "Whatever it is, I'll do it—just tell me."

"Have sex with me."

The words hit her like a slap, the air leaving her lungs in a sharp gasp. She stared at him, her mind refusing to process what he had just said. Her hands began to tremble, and she felt the blood drain from her face.

"W-what?" she stammered, her voice barely a whisper. Surely, she had misheard. Surely, he hadn't said what she thought he had.

Canaan's expression didn't change. He didn't flinch, didn't look away.
"You heard me," he said, his voice cold and calculating. "Sex is a simple word, Anne-Marie."

Her heart pounded in her chest, and she felt a wave of nausea rise in her throat.

"I don't understand," she whispered, her voice trembling. "Why would you... why would you say that to me? Ask me that?"

He took a step closer, his eyes dark and predatory.

"You're not a child anymore, and we both know it's not going to be your first time either. You're a woman now—a beautiful woman, and I've been waiting a long time for this."

She recoiled, her back hitting the door as she tried to put distance between them.

"I'm seventeen," she said, her voice shaking with fear and disbelief. "I'm your goddaughter."

He paused, as if the word had no meaning to him.

"All the more reason," he murmured, taking another step toward her. "I've known you all your life, watched you grow into the woman you are today. And I've wanted you from the moment I first held you."

She felt sick, her mind spinning as she tried to comprehend the horror of his words. This was her father's best friend, the man who was supposed to protect her, not prey on her. "You're sick," she spat, her voice quivering with disgust

Canaan's face twisted into a mask of frustration and desperation.

"I know," he admitted, his voice breaking. "I know, but I can't help it." He took a few steps to her, causing her to cringe towards the door in fear.

He reached out, but she flinched away even further, her back pressing harder against the door, as if she could somehow disappear into it.

"This is wrong, Canaan. You know it is." she repeated, her voice trembling but firm

"Wrong?" His voice twisted with a mockery that made her stomach churn. "It's only wrong if you make it that way, Anne-Marie. I can help you, help Abel—but only if you help me."

Anne-Marie's breath was coming in short, panicked bursts. She could feel her world crumbling around her, the one person she had hoped might be able to save her now revealing himself as something far worse than an enemy.

"I trusted you," she whispered, tears now spilling freely down her cheeks. "My father trusted you."

Canaan's expression hardened, and he stepped even closer, his presence looming over her.

"Your father's not here anymore, Anne-Marie," he said coldly. "No one is, it's just you and me. So, what's it going to be?"

"What if I report you to the police instead?"

"Tell them what Anne-Marie?"

"That you're a pedophile, an abuser?"

Canaan rolled his eyes, his condescending gaze making her feel small and powerless.

"And who the hell is going to believe you, Anne-Marie?" he sneered, taking a step closer, his presence suffocating. "Are you really that naive? No one is going to buy that story, and you know it. I've got friends-powerful friends—in the force who will make sure of that."

The words hit her like a punch to the gut, each one chipping away at the last shred of hope she had.

"What?" she whispered, her voice trembling, unable to fully grasp the extent of his influence. Canaan's expression softened into something resembling false sympathy, though his eyes still gleamed with malevolence.

"I'm only trying to help you, Anne-Marie. If anyone stands to lose here, it's you, not me. Just take my offer and let's get it done and over with, It'll be over before you know it."

Anne-Marie's mind raced, trying to make sense of the horror unfolding before her. The man she had once seen as a guardian, a remnant of her father's legacy, was now her worst nightmare. Her stomach churned with a mix of fear and disgust, but amidst the panic, a flicker of defiance sparked within. She drew a sharp breath

"You know what? I was wrong to ask for your help. I don't want it anymore. I'm going to save my brother's life with or without you, and I hope you rot in hell."

She turned on her heel, intending to leave and never look back, but Canaan's hand shot out, grabbing her arm with a vice-like grip. He yanked her around to face him, his eyes blazing with a dark, twisted anger. Without thinking, Anne-Marie slapped him hard across the face, her hand stinging from the force of the blow.

She tried to pull away, but Canaan's grip tightened as he began to force himself on her, his breath hot and repulsive against her skin. He was trying to kiss her, his intentions clear and horrifying.
Anne-Marie fought with everything she had, but he was too strong. Panic surged through her as she realized how much danger she was in.

She struggled against him, managing to push him off momentarily, but before she could escape, he grabbed her by her ponytail, yanking her back with brutal force. He slammed her against the table, and she felt the sharp sting of his slap across her face. The pain was blinding, and her vision blurred.

She tasted the metallic tang of blood on her lips, and her hands trembled as she wiped at her mouth, her fingers coming away stained red.

"I told you," Canaan growled, the sound of his belt buckle rattling as he fumbled with it. "Resisting will only make this worse."

Tears blurred her vision as the gravity of the situation threatened to overwhelm her. She could feel her energy draining, her body wanting to give up, but she couldn't-she wouldn't let him win.

She scanned the table, desperate for anything that could help her. Her eyes landed on a small golden trophy, one of Canaan's few prized possessions.

"Stop resisting," he hissed again, his voice thick with lust and menace. "

Anne-Marie's heart pounded in her chest, every instinct screaming at her to act. She reached for the trophy, but it was just out of reach. Her tears streamed down her face, her breaths coming in shallow, panicked gasps. She was terrified-more terrified than she'd ever been in her life.

"Come here," Canaan growled, grabbing her arm and yanking her back toward him. He seized her jaw, forcing her to look at him, his grip bruising and painful. "Good girl," he whispered, a sickening smile spreading across his face.

In a final act of defiance, Anne-Marie spat in his face, her spit mingling with the blood that dripped from her mouth. She was shaking, her chest tightening as a full-blown panic attack gripped her. It was like she couldn't breathe, the air trapped in her lungs as if her own body was betraying her.

Canaan wiped the blood and spit from his eye, his expression darkening.

"You-" he began, but Anne-Marie cut him off. In a desperate move, her hand groped for anything she could use as a weapon. Her fingers brushed against something hard—a small, golden trophy on the table. Without thinking, she grabbed it and swung it as hard as she could.

The impact was immediate. The trophy connected with the side of Canaan's head, and he stumbled back, clutching his face with a cry of pain. The pressure on her jaw released, and Anne-Marie took the chance to shove him away from her with all the strength she could muster.

"I can't see!" Canaan yelled, staggering back, his hands covering his eye where she had hit him. "You stupid little—"

But Anne-Marie wasn't listening. She was already at the door, her hand gripping the knob so tightly her knuckles turned white. She wrenched it open and bolted from the room, her heart pounding in her chest as she fled.

The men in the shop turned in surprise as she burst out, but she didn't stop, she couldn't. She ran as fast as she could, out the door, away from the shop, away from Canaan, away from the horror she had just escaped.

Tears streamed down her face as she ran, her breath coming in ragged gasps. The world around her was a blur, her mind a storm of fear, anger, and overwhelming sadness. She had no idea where she was going—all she knew was that she had to keep running. She had to get away.

Anne-Marie's legs burned with the effort, her chest aching with each breath, but she didn't stop. She couldn't. Not until she was far away, not until she was safe. The memory of what had just happened was already searing itself into her mind, and she knew it would haunt her forever.

But she was alive. She had escaped. And now, she had to find a way to save Abel—on her own, without the help of anyone like Canaan. She would find a way, no matter what it took.

The tears blurred her vision as she kept running, her feet pounding against the pavement, the weight of the world on her shoulders. But she kept going, driven by the desperate need to protect her brother, to survive, and to somehow find hope in a world that had shown her so little.