Chapter 9

"Hey, pumpkin. You made it! I was starting to lose hope," my dad said, pulling me into a tight hug.

"I told you I'd try my best to make it, and I meant it," I replied, wrapping my arms around him.

A breath of relief, contentment, and happiness escaped me. I was finally in my father's arms after so long.

It felt like a lifetime since I'd been hugged like this, and I missed him more than words could express.

"So, you didn't miss me, huh?" came a familiar voice I knew all too well. It was him-Asher, my younger brother.

The only man I'd love endlessly and unconditionally.

"Oh, shut up," I said, releasing myself from my dad's embrace to hug Asher. He was everything to me, my rock.

"Look at you, all buff and polished. I guess all that heavy lifting finally paid off," I teased, grinning at him.

Asher always dreamed of becoming a boxer. Interesting, right?.

His dream began the night I almost lost my life. It was late, and Asher and I were stuck waiting for Dad to pick us up because we didn't have the money for a bus ride.

Walking home wasn't an option either; the journey was over thirty minutes on foot. I had called Dad, and though he reassured us he'd be there soon, he was caught in heavy traffic.

So, we sat at the deserted bus stop, passing the time by talking about random things-complaining about school, venting about teachers we didn't like, and imagining what dinner might be.

Anything to distract ourselves from the waiting. Then they came-three men, their steps unsteady and their eyes wild. They approached us, asking for money.

We told them we had none, but they didn't believe us. They seemed high on drugs, and the longer we protested, the angrier they became.

One of them raised his hand to strike me when I started to scream for help. He might have succeeded if not for a young man who stepped in just in time.

I'll never forget him. He couldn't have been more than twenty-something, but he exuded strength and confidence.

He was built like an athlete, with broad shoulders and a calm yet commanding presence. He tried reasoning with the men, even offering them money to leave us alone. But they didn't back down, and the situation escalated into a fight.

That's when I noticed the man's bodyguard-a figure I'd initially missed because I was too preoccupied with admiring how handsome he was.

Once the danger had passed and the men had fled, we thanked the stranger profusely. Asher, in his childlike innocence, declared that he would one day become a boxer to protect women in danger, just like our savior had. We laughed at how adorable he sounded.

But there was a moment-a fleeting yet unforgettable moment-when the man's eyes lingered on me. It wasn't the kind of look that made you uncomfortable. It was as if he were studying me, like I was a rare work of art. He asked for my name, and when I told him, he smiled-a smile so breathtaking it left me speechless.

He told me to stay out of trouble and walked away. I never got his name. Over the years, my memory of his face has faded, but the impact of that encounter has stayed with me, etched into the fabric of my mind.

"We've got vanilla gelato in the fridge," Dad called as he carried my bags inside. "Go help yourself."

Without hesitation, I rushed to the fridge, grabbed the tub of gelato, and took my first spoonful. It was heavenly, a comfort I didn't know I needed.

"Calm down, tiger. No one's going to steal it from you," Asher teased, smirking at me. I rolled my eyes. He had no idea how much I'd been craving this.

"Hey, love," came Erica's voice from the kitchen. My heart warmed instantly. Erica. I'd missed her too-so much it hurt. She walked over and pulled me into the kind of hug that felt like home.

Dad met Erica seven years after Mom left. He had been cautious, scared to fall in love again after everything he'd been through. But Erica proved, time and time again, that she wasn't Mom.

Slowly, she won his trust and showed him how to love again.

"Hey, Mom," I said, returning her embrace. Erica was more than a stepmother to me-she was my mother in every way that mattered.

"You look so thin, sweetie. Are you eating properly? Has something been bothering you?" Her concern was palpable, and it warmed my heart.

"I'm fine, Mom. I just needed to lose a little weight. I was getting chubby." "Thick," she corrected gently. "Not chubby. And you're absolutely beautiful the way you are." I rolled my eyes, a small smile tugging at my lips. I wasn't fat-just a little curvier than I wanted to be. But I loved my body's gifts: my curves, my confidence.

"Naughty girl," she teased, before adding, "Now hurry up and bring a man home. You're not getting any younger."

"Mom!" I groaned, exasperated. She and Dad never missed a chance to bring up marriage.

"What?" she called from the kitchen. "Charles is already married, and here you are, still single!" I rolled my eyes and focused on my gelato. This house, this family-it was my safe haven.

My escape from the madness I'd left behind. The memory of him crept back into my mind. His proposal-that audacious, absurd proposal-still replayed like a bad dream.

"What do you mean, 'Let's get married?'" I had asked, anger simmering in my voice.

"I need you, trust me when I say this." he replied, his tone cold and detached.

"This is about sex, isn't it? What about your fiancée, Annabel? Does she know what you're up to?" My blood boiled at his audacity.

"That's none of your concern," he snapped, his voice laced with venom. The mere mention of Annabel's name seemed to cut him deeply, but I didn't care.

"You've got the wrong person," I said, standing to leave. "I don't love you, and you certainly don't love me. Find someone else."

"Seven million dollars," he said, stopping me in my tracks. I turned slowly, disbelief written all over my face.

"What did you just say?". I asked, not sure if I heard him clearly.

"A house in any country, a car, and seven million dollars," he repeated, his tone unwavering. I scoffed.

"Is that what you were taught? That money can solve everything?" He looked away, pain flickering across his face. But I didn't care.

"I'm not interested," I said firmly, walking toward the door.

"One year," he called after me, his voice softer now.

"Just one year, Amanda. I'll be good to you-I promise." I turned back, my eyes blazing.

"I don't need your promises or your money. And I certainly don't need you." His expression darkened, fury simmering beneath the surface.

He rose from his chair and walked toward me, his presence overwhelming. "I'll let you think about it," he said, his voice low and dangerous.

"But remember, Amanda, I'll have you-by hook or by crook." I fled his office that day, trembling with anger and fear.

That night, I sent my resignation letter and booked a ticket home.

Now, sitting here with my gelato, surrounded by the people who loved me unconditionally, I knew I'd made the right choice. There truly was no place like home.