Chapter 25
“Mom? What’s wrong?”
Her voice came through broken by sobs. I could barely make out her words. Then my brother Brian
took the phone.
“Becca, it’s Dad. The tumor’s grown. The doctors say it’s pressing on his brainstem now.”
The room seemed to tilt around me. My father had been diagnosed with a brainstem glioma six months ago, but the doctors had been optimistic about managing it with medication.
“How bad is it?” I asked, my voice barely audible.
“He needs surgery. High–precision neurosurgery.” Brian’s voice was strained. “The local hospital doesn’t have the specialized equipment or experienced neurosurgical team. They’re trying to get him
a referral to a specialized center, but the waiting list is months long.”
After I hung up, Sofia handed me a tissue. I hadn’t even realized I was crying.
She asked, “What are you going to do?”
My mind raced. “I spent almost all my savings on the wedding preparations. And that night at the
bar…” I trailed off, thinking of the expensive cocktails I’d ordered to drown my sorrows after
discovering William’s betrayal. “I need to find a job. Fast. Dad can’t wait months for a referral. His
symptoms are getting worse every day.”
I barely slept that night. As dawn broke, I scrolled through job listings on my phone, calculating how
long it would take to save enough for even a fraction of the surgery costs. Months. Maybe years.
Then it hit me. There was one person I knew who had the financial resources to help me.
Dominic Sterling.
The thought made my stomach clench with anxiety, but desperation pushed away my pride. I got up and rummaged through Sofia’s closet, borrowing a navy pencil skirt and a cream blouse that looked professional but still accentuated my figure.
“Where are you going so early?” Sofia asked sleepily from her bedroom doorway
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“To find a job,” I replied, applying a touch of makeup to hide my sleepless night. “The only person I can think of with the financial resources to help me right now is him.”
An hour later, I stood in the gleaming lobby of Sterling Enterprises, Dominic’s business card clutched in my hand. I took a deep breath and approached the reception desk, pulling out the card.
“I need to see Mr. Sterling,” I said, trying to project confidence. “He gave me his card.”
The receptionist gave me a cool once–over. “Do you have an appointment? Mr. Sterling’s schedule is
fully booked today.”
My heart sank, but I thought quickly. “Please tell him Rebecca Brown has important information about William Moretti violating Silver Moon rules.”
The receptionist’s eyes widened. She quickly picked up her phone and spoke in hushed tones.
“Please wait a moment, Miss Brown,” she said, her attitude suddenly more deferential.
I waited, already regretting using such a heavy card to get in, but knowing it was my only chance to
see Dominic. When I was finally ushered into his office, his piercing blue eyes locked onto mine immediately.
“So,” he said, leaning back in his chair, “what’s this important information about William breaking
rules? Or is this just another one of your little tricks?”
I flushed with embarrassment. “I’m sorry for disturbing you like this, but I needed to see you, and
they wouldn’t let me up otherwise.”
“You could have called,” he said, raising an eyebrow. “My direct line is on my card.”
I explained my father’s situation, my voice steady despite my nerves. “I’m looking for any job
opportunity you might have. Receptionist, assistant, anything.”
“Why would I give a limited position to you, a human, rather than someone from our pack who needs work?” he challenged, his expression unreadable.
I felt tears threatening but refused to let them fall. “If I had other options, I wouldn’t be asking you, Mr. Sterling,” I said, my voice catching. “My father’s tumor is growing daily. He needs specialized surgery that costs more than my family will ever have. I’m not here because I want to be. I’m here because I’m desperate.”
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Dominic leaned forward in his chair, studying me intensely. His blue eyes seemed to look straight through me, assessing every micro–expression, every hint of vulnerability.
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“Desperate,” he repeated, rolling the word on his tongue as if tasting it. “And what makes you think I care about your desperation, Miss Brown? What makes you think I would help you, after you refused me and walked away last night?”
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3 days ago
Her mother is calling her at 2 AM to say that the tumour has grown, like this couldn’t wait till the morning?
