Chapter 3Playing By His Cruel Rules

The mocking, predatory stares of my colleagues burned into my skin.

My phone rang. It was the network director.

"Laurel, your program is being shelved effective immediately. We’ve flagged several topics from last week's broadcasts as potentially non-compliant with our sponsorship guidelines. You’ll also need to withdraw your name from the National Media Awards roster this year."

"Those segments were approved by standards and practices three weeks ago," I whispered.

"The landscape shifts," he said curtly, and hung up.

I stared down at my phone's lock screen. Phoebe was grinning back at me, holding up a crooked sunflower she had painted during art therapy.

I bit the inside of my cheek until I tasted iron, opened my messages, and texted Brandon three words:

"I will come."

He didn't bother replying. He had known the answer before he even threatened me.

The following evening, I brought my parents to the River Club.

During the entire cab ride, my father smoothed the creases of his worn Sunday suit, while my mother kept adjusting her collar, nervously asking me what kind of manners high-society dining required. A sharp ache pierced my chest. I reached across the seat and held their calloused, hardworking hands.

When we stepped into the private dining salon, the table was already laden with appetizers.

Delilah was seated directly beside Brandon, picking delicately at a plate of seared scallops. Brandon didn't even look up as we entered.

"Delilah hadn't eaten all day," he offered casually. "We're family here. No need to stand on ceremony."

My mother hurriedly forced a smile to diffuse the tension. "Of course, of course! If the young lady is hungry, she should eat."

She moved toward the empty chair next to Brandon’s mother, but before she could pull it out, the older woman’s voice rang out, sharp and cool.

"Mrs. Hall. You and Laurel can take the seats across from us. There’s no need to crowd over here."

My mother froze, exchanging a hesitant, humiliated look with my father.

"Across from us" meant right beside the service swinging door, where the waitstaff bustled in and out with heavy trays.

My father swallowed hard and forced a tight, polite laugh. "Right, right. Plenty of elbow room over here."

Throughout the meal, Brandon’s mother maintained a smooth, patronizing demeanor. "I caught the broadcast yesterday afternoon. Delilah, your voice is simply charming on the air. Such natural poise."

My mother’s face brightened, eager to stand up for me. "Oh, our Laurel has been running that show for years! Her ratings are always at the very top of the station—"

Delilah’s smile faltered, her head dipping into a delicate show of melancholy. "I know... I could never compare to Laurel's experience."

Brandon immediately shot my mother an icy glare. "Mrs. Hall, Laurel’s show was pulled this morning for editorial misconduct. Whatever numbers she pulled in the past were thanks to provocative, sensationalist tactics."

"Clang."

I set my fork down onto the porcelain plate. "Brandon. What the hell are you talking about?"

My father panicked, reaching out to touch my arm under the table. "Laurel, please. Let's not make a scene. What misconduct? Tell me you haven't done anything dangerous, sweetheart."

Brandon’s mother offered a thin, superior smile. "Well, taken off the air is taken off the air. Frankly, it’s unseemly for a young woman to be so exposed to the public eye anyway. Once you’re married, you should be focusing on home life. Now, let’s taste the entrees."

Every bite of food tasted like ash. Watching my parents shrink themselves, watching them walk on eggshells just to protect my future, made me want to scream.

The kitchen doors swung open, and the servers brought out the main courses: two ornate platters of traditional Southeast Asian satay and curries.

"Brandon," I said, my voice rising with unmistakable fury. "I told you three separate times that my mother has a severe, life-threatening tree nut and peanut allergy. Why did you order satay? It’s drenched in peanut sauce!"

Brandon was busy peeling a jumbo prawn, dropping the meat onto Delilah’s plate. "Then she doesn't have to eat it. Delilah loves Thai food, Laurel. We have to accommodate everyone's tastes, not just your family's."

My mother quickly patted my wrist. "It's fine, Laurel. Truly. I just won't touch that dish."

I looked at the nervous wrinkles around her eyes and squeezed my eyes shut against the burning tears.

A server stepped forward, dividing portions onto smaller plates. My mother took a bite of what was supposed to be a plain steamed vegetable side dish.

Within seconds, she went rigid.

"Wait—" I caught the scent of crushed peanuts dusted over the garnish. "Mom, spit it out!"

It was too late.

Her throat began to seize, her hands flying to her neck as she gasped for air, her lips instantly turning a terrifying shade of blue.

"Brandon!" I screamed, knocking my chair backward. "Call an ambulance! We need to get her to the ER right now!"

Brandon stood up, but just as he moved around the table, Delilah let out a sharp, choked cough, collapsing sideways against the table.

Brandon immediately spun around, pressing the back of his hand to Delilah's forehead. "She's burning up! Delilah's running a high fever. I have to take her to the emergency room immediately. Laurel, call 911 for your mother!"

I stared at him in utter horror.

Before I could even process his words, he had scooped Delilah into his arms. I lunged forward, catching only the edge of his tailored sleeve, but he ripped himself away without a second glance.

I fell to my knees beside my mother, my whole body shaking uncontrollably. Her breath was coming in ragged, whistling gasps. I pulled out my phone, dialing 911 with trembling fingers.

"The nearest unit is on another call," the dispatcher’s voice echoed through the speaker. "Estimated response time is twenty-five to thirty minutes."

"Thirty minutes." She didn't have thirty minutes.

I redialed Brandon.

He declined.

I called again. And again. On the fourth try, he finally answered.

"Brandon, please!" I sobbed into the phone. "There are no cabs out here and the ambulance is half an hour away! Turn around, please, she's suffocating!"

"If you can't find a cab, call an Uber," he snapped back, his voice frayed with irritation. "Where am I supposed to find you a car right now? It's just a mild reaction, she barely swallowed any. Delilah's fever is spiking over 103, I'm pulling into the hospital right now."

"Click."

The line went dead.

Tears blinded me as the restaurant manager finally rushed over with a first-aid kit, holding an emergency EpiPen.

It took forty-five excruciating minutes for the paramedics to arrive.