Chapter 9 - The Impossible Choice
My phone dropped from my trembling fingers, clattering onto the floorboards of the car.
"What is it?" Ethan asked, instantly sensing the violent shift in my demeanor.
I couldn't speak.
I could only stare blankly through the windshield at the rainy Chicago streets.
My mother was supposed to be safe in a nursing home in Wisconsin, paid for by the meager savings I sent her every month.
Vivian had found her.
Ethan reached down, picked up the phone, and read the message.
His jaw locked so tightly the muscles in his cheek twitched.
"We call the police," Ethan said immediately, reaching for his own phone.
"No!" I screamed, grabbing his wrist with desperate strength.
"Julian owns the police commissioner."
"If you make that call, my mother is dead in five minutes."
Ethan slammed his fists against the steering wheel, letting out a roar of absolute frustration.
"So what do we do?" he demanded.
"If we throw the match, Julian wins the company, my sister loses her transplant funding, and my father still puts a bullet in my head tomorrow morning."
I closed my eyes, the agonizing reality of our situation crushing me from all sides.
I had to choose between the life of my mother and the life of a dying little girl I had never met.
"We go to the tournament," I said, my voice eerily calm.
"We dance."
"And we figure out a way to break Vivian before the final round."
Ethan nodded slowly, though the dread in his eyes mirrored my own.
We arrived at the Ashford estate, an opulent mansion hidden deep within the forests outside the city limits.
The underground ballroom was terrifyingly lavish, filled with foreign diplomats, crime bosses, and corrupt politicians.
In the center of the room sat Walter Ashford and Julian Vance, watching the floor like emperors at a gladiator match.
Daniel was standing near the edge of the floor, wearing a perfectly tailored suit, a mocking smile on his face.
"Welcome, victims," Daniel whispered as we walked past him.
The announcer, a man with a booming, theatrical voice, stepped into the spotlight.
"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the Ashford-Vance Invitational."
"The rules are simple."
"Three rounds of elimination."
"The winning couple secures the legacy of this empire."
The music started with a fast, aggressive Tango.
I stepped onto the floor, the corset digging painfully into my gunshot wound.
I looked up at Ethan, his eyes silently asking if I was ready to throw the match to save my mother.
I took a sharp breath, making my decision.
"Lead me," I whispered fiercely.
We didn't hold back.
We exploded across the floor, our movements fueled by pure, unadulterated rage and desperation.
Every snap of my head, every sharp kick, was a message to Vivian that I would not be intimidated.
We dominated the floor, completely outshining every other couple in the first round.
As the music ended, the crowd erupted into thunderous applause.
We advanced to the semi-finals easily.
I looked up at the VIP balcony, expecting to see Vivian fuming.
Instead, Vivian was smiling brightly.
She raised her champagne glass to me in a mocking toast.
May you like
Then, she pulled out her phone, pressed a single button, and held the screen up for me to see.
It was a live video feed of a warehouse rapidly filling with gasoline, and my mother was sitting right in the center of it.
