Hold Her

Nora's

POV

I stood by the window, expressionless, listening to the voice on the phone, hoping the cold wind seeping through the glass might clear my head. Outside, Flora City stretched beneath a gray November sky, filled with people who still had futures.

The person on the other end was polite, professional, and utterly devoid of sympathy. "I'm very sorry, Ms. Ellison, but given your company's current financial situation, we've decided to terminate our partnership effective immediately. The penalty for breach of contract—$340,000—must be paid within seven business days, or we'll be forced to pursue legal action."

My fingers tightened around the phone until the plastic case creaked. Three hundred and forty thousand dollars. Another bill I couldn't pay. Another creditor joining the line of vultures waiting to pick apart what remained of my family's legacy.

"I understand," I heard myself say, my voice steady and distant. "I'll have my attorney contact you."

I didn't have an attorney anymore. I'd had to let her go two weeks ago.

The intercom shrieked to life. "Ms. Ellison, the creditors are here—they're in the lobby—"

"Send them up." I checked my reflection in the darkened computer screen. The woman staring back looked like a stranger—hollow-eyed, pale, her navy suit hanging looser than it had three months ago.

The intercom crackled again. "Also, Mr. Mercer's office called. He'll be arriving in thirty minutes."

Callum Mercer. The name sent an unexpected jolt through my exhaustion. Two weeks ago, I'd sent his office a desperate plea for investment. I hadn't expected a response.

The door opened, and they filed in like pallbearers at a funeral. Three men in identical gray suits, and a woman—mid-fifties, steel-gray hair pulled into a severe bun, her expression as cold as a spreadsheet.

"Ms. Ellison." She didn't offer her hand. "I'm Vivienne Ashford, representing the consortium of creditors for Ellison Trade and Logistics."

I gestured for Claire to leave, but Vivienne raised a hand. "No. Let her stay. In fact, bring in the rest of Ms. Ellison's staff. They should all witness this."

My heart dropped. "That's not necessary—"

"I disagree. Your employees deserve to understand reality."

Within minutes, my remaining staff crowded into my office—five people who'd stayed loyal through three months of nightmare. They looked confused, frightened.

Vivienne pulled out a document. ""Your company currently holds debts totaling $12.47 million, while your liquidatable assets amount to approximately $630,000. We will begin asset liquidation within seventy-two hours.""

Twelve million. Six hundred thousand. Seventy-two hours.

"I have real estate," I said, my voice small. "My parents' house, my condo—"

"Already mortgaged to First National Bank. Even if liquidated, the proceeds wouldn't cover a third of your obligations. Your company is dead. Your employees will be unemployed by Friday."

I heard Claire 's sharp intake of breath behind me. Felt the weight of their stares, their fear.

"There has to be a way. Some kind of restructuring—"

"There isn't." Vivienne leaned back, something predatory flickering in her eyes. "Unless you have undisclosed assets, or a wealthy benefactor willing to absorb twelve million dollars in debt, this meeting is merely a formality."

"Then why are you here?"

"To give you one final opportunity to... negotiate alternative arrangements." The way her gaze traveled over me made my Mercer crawl.

Vivienne stood, moving around the desk. "You're an intelligent woman, Ms. Ellison. I have connections in the medical field. Your blood, your kidneys, even your womb—they can all be put to use. Sign a voluntary donation contract, and you'll receive enough to start over. Your employees get severance packages."

Nausea rolled through me. "You're talking about organ trafficking—"

"I'm talking about a solution." Her hand shot out, grabbing the collar of my blouse. "But since you're too proud—"

She yanked hard. Buttons scattered across the floor with terrible clicks, and my blouse tore open, exposing my white bra to everyone in the room.

Gasps erupted from my employees. Claire 's hand flew to her mouth. I tried to cover myself, but Vivienne grabbed my wrists, wrenching them apart.

"Look at her,""Vivienne announced to the room. "This is what happens to women who think they're too good to compromise. Who think their dignity matters more than survival. Who let pride destroy everyone who depends on them."

Tears of humiliation burned my eyes. My employees stood frozen, horror written across their faces. This was worse than bankruptcy—this was the complete annihilation of everything I'd tried to be.

Vivienne released one wrist to pull a bottle from her briefcase—expensive whiskey. "Since you won't sign willingly, let's see how you feel after a drink."

"No—" I tried to pull away, but her grip was iron.

"Hold her," she said to her associates.

Two men grabbed my arms. Vivienne forced the bottle to my lips, her other hand clamping my jaw, prying it open. The liquor burned down my throat as she tilted the bottle. I choked, coughing, but she didn't stop. She kept pouring until I'd swallowed what felt like half the bottle, alcohol searing my empty stomach.

"Please—" I gasped when she finally pulled back. The room was already spinning.

"Get out," Vivienne said to my employees. "All of you. Now. And if any of you speak about what you saw here, I'll make sure you never work in this city again."

They fled. I heard Claire sobbing in the hallway, and I was alone with these strangers who'd stripped away the last shreds of my dignity.

The alcohol hit fast—too fast. My vision blurred, and my legs gave out. I collapsed against the desk, my torn blouse hanging open, and felt warmth spread down my legs. No. Not this final humiliation.

But my body betrayed me. Urine soaked through my skirt, running down my legs, pooling on the expensive carpet beneath my feet.

Vivienne watched with cold satisfaction. "Pathetic. Sign the contract, Ms. Ellison. It's the only dignity you have left."

I couldn't speak. Couldn't move. Could only stand there in my own filth, tears streaming down my face.

Through the haze of alcohol and shame, I heard wood splinter. The door exploded inward with a sound like a gunshot, and suddenly Vivienne stumbled backward, fear cracking her confident expression.

Callum Mercer stood in the doorway, and he looked nothing like the polished businessman from the Forbes profile. His suit jacket was gone, shirt sleeves rolled up to reveal corded forearms, and his silver-gray eyes—

They weren't gray anymore. They were gold. Bright, burning gold, fixed on Vivienne with an intensity that made the air feel charged and dangerous.

"Get. Out." Each word was soft as a whisper and deadly as a blade.