Chapter 1
Three years ago, Samuel Grant's father, after a catastrophic failure in the stock market, was left drowning in insurmountable debt. Faced with bankruptcy and ruin, he made a final, desperate choice—he jumped.
After his family was ruined, I mocked his so-called devotion, called it worthless trash, said just the sight of him made me want to puke, and then turned around and traded up for someone richer.
Three years later, Samuel was back on top, the hottest name in Riverdale—everyone looked up to him. Me? I was out on the streets, digging through garbage for scraps like a beggar.
Finally, on the night the snow shut down the city, we ran into each other again.
He was dressed to the nines in a sharp suit, looking like he owned the place. Me? I was wrapped in filthy rags, looking like a half-dead stray dog.
When I saw him, I instinctively clutched the dirty bread roll in my arms tighter, tucking it further out of sight.
I was saving this for someone. No one was going to steal it.
*****
Shiny leather shoes stepped down right beside my bread roll.
I looked up and saw a man in a long coat, his expression icier than the snow beneath our feet.
No! That was that person's dinner! I had to save it for him!
I crawled over on all fours, trying desperately to shield the bread roll with my whole body.
"Emily."
A voice, cold and tight with anger, sounded right above my head.
Who was he calling?
Emily? Oh, that was me, wasn't it? So he actually knew who I was.
The man sneered, saying, "Emily, where's that rich guy of yours now? Did he get bored and kick you to the curb?
"When my family fell apart, you ditched me faster than anyone!
"Bet you never saw this coming, huh? That broke loser you tossed out like garbage? He built his own company and went public in just three years—all from writing code.
"Now I've got more money than I could ever spend, and you? Emily, look at you now—aren't you just a stray dog?"
His words made no sense to me; all I felt was danger.
This man was so scary.
He was staring at the bread roll, his eyes hungry and desperate.
Did he want to eat it, too? No way!
Instinctively, I curled up, desperately scrambling into the corner, trying to make myself as small as possible.
"No one could take it... it's his... he needs to eat..." I murmured, my mind frantic.
Fear gripped me, and every instinct screamed at me to shrink back even further.
"Quit playing dead!" he snapped.
Suddenly, he reached into his coat.
I flinched, covering my head, thinking he was about to hit me.
Back when people tried to snatch my bottles, they'd always beat me up.
But the blow I braced for never landed.
A wad of bills hit me square in the face.
The sharp edges scraped my cheek, stinging a little. The bills scattered, fluttering down onto the white snow—the green so vivid it almost burned my eyes.
It was money.
Piles and piles of cash.
"Take the money and get lost.
"Isn't this what you ditched me for? Here, take it. Is it enough? If not, I've got loads more where that came from!" he roared.
I had no idea what he was talking about, but money was always useful.
With money, I could get some candy, and maybe... stash it away for that special someone.
The man didn't budge.
Instead, he fished out a cigarette, lit up right there.
The smoke stung my throat, making me want to cough.
That was strange. Why were his fingers shaking so much?
The ember at the end of his cigarette burned long, then suddenly dropped onto his hand with a sharp sizzle.
That was fire!
I had been burned before. I knew how much that hurt—it could really scorch your skin.
I wanted to shout for him to move, but he didn't even flinch—not a single muscle moved.
The man just stared at me, his eyes red and wild—like he was about to break down, or maybe devour me alive.
Fear gripped me, and I instinctively tried to yank my hand away.
But in the next instant, his whole vibe turned menacing.
He tossed his cigarette to the ground and stomped it out hard. Before I could even react, his shiny leather shoe lifted and slammed down hard on the back of my hand.
"Ow!" I yelped, the pain making tears spring to my eyes.
He leaned in close, mocking, "What, not enough for you? Emily, look at you—such a mess. You disgust me."
Disgust him? Was he saying I was dirty?
I glanced down at my filthy black coat, then at his spotless, perfectly pressed one. Yeah, I guessed I really was dirty.
I pulled my hand back, too embarrassed to touch the clean money, and couldn't even bring myself to look at him.
Feeling ashamed, I could only use my other hand to pick up the bread roll that had tumbled into the snow, scrubbing it hard on my sleeve. "I-I'm sorry... See? If I clean it, it's not dirty anymore..." I whispered, barely audible.
His foot, still pinning my hand, suddenly stopped moving.
His eyes locked onto the bread roll I was clutching, like he'd just spotted something out of this world—a monster or a freak.
After what felt like forever, he suddenly turned around, yanked open the car door, and slid inside.
"Drive!" His voice was so loud it made me jump.
The black car roared off, exhaust fumes washing over my face—hot at first, then quickly turning cold.
I sat there in the snow, staring at the pile of bills scattered on the ground, then watched as the car's taillights faded into the distance.
I felt empty inside, like I'd just lost something important.
Instinctively, I pressed my hand to my stomach, where the iron box was strapped. Just feeling it there made me feel a little better.
As long as it was still here, that was all that mattered.