The Eviction Notice

She gasped briefly as her hands began to shake. "Due to unpaid debt, foreclosure procedures are set to start in seven days." She reread the letter in the hopes that the words would change, but they remained as firm as the home's bricks.

She spent seven days searching for money. She searched for the sort of money she had never seen for seven days. No matter how many more hours she committed to her best friend's small company or how many shifts she worked at Bernard's flower shop, she would never be able to raise the funds required to save her house.

She crushed the paper in her hand with all of her irritation, but it had no effect. Nothing at all would be helpful. Her parents had gone dead. Apart from their accumulated debt before their early deaths, their life insurance barely paid for the funeral expenses. And now here she was, battling by herself against a system unconcerned about her effort or suffering.

Desperate, her chest tore apart. Her bare feet softly clicked on the wood floor as she moved across the empty rooms back into the house. Now, the house seemed like an empty shell; only a few years ago it was so vivid. Every step acted as a reminder of the last piece of her history she would be losing.

She startled out of her dream when her phone buzzed on the kitchen counter. She knew without seeing who it was. The Bank Manager. She had tried to phone him earlier that morning, but every time she got back the same answer: there was too much to cover, no hope, no alternative options. Still, she went for the phone and raised it up to her ear.

Said, "Ms. Langston, I'm afraid the auction date has been moved up," the voice, so calm and professional that it almost seemed separated from the fear racing through her thoughts. The current plan is to hold the auction in seven days. You will have to pay the money by then; else, we will have to sell.

She closed her fist around the phone, but it had no effect. The words were already freely available. Seven Days.

She hung silent, and the receiver's click seemed far too forceful. Her gaze strayed as she returned to the front door. She couldn't wake up from it, like a terrible dream. She wanted to shout, shatter something, run from the weight of truth. She could only stand there, gazing at the place that no longer felt like home.

Her phone then buzzed once more, as though fate were playing games with her. Gazing is time; the bank manager was involved. On the screen, Bernard's name showed.

"Hey, how are you? She seemed casual, but her voice cracked.

"Scarlet," Bernard answered in a troubled voice. "I recently learned this. I... have no words to say.

Her thoughts were unrestrained. She could not let him know. She wasn't ready to share her feelings just yet. She wanted not to feel his pity or sense of weight from his sympathy. It's OK. I will sort that out.

He said, "Scarlet," again in a softer voice. "You don't have to labor on this alone. But have you truly given it much thought, asking him? You know with whom I am referring.

The first time the words struck her, the pain of guilt tore through her chest. Beaufort Tucker.

She closed her eyes as though to avoid the memories. She had not seen Tucker in five years and had not heard from him since that terrible night. She had walked off that evening. She could still feel the heat of his anger and taste the bitterness of his rejection.

Not yet. She avoided approaching him. She could not. She wasn't following all the rules.

"Don't," she replied in a hardly audible whisper. "Please don't bring him up."

She knew, nevertheless, that Bernard was right. There was nothing more she could do. And the whole thought of it made her queasy. Tucker was well-off. He had enormous power. And he might save her house. However, at what cost?

Her heart was a confused muddle of feelings: anger, guilt, and fear. Still, she understood deep down that confronting him was her only choice. She had seven days to squander very slowly.

She closed her eyes and inhaled long, the weight of the choice already down on her. "I'll go approach him," she said. "I'll go see Tucker."

The bell above the flower shop door jingled as Scar entered, her slow and deliberate feet as if the weight of her thoughts slowed every inch of movement. Bernard turned from the counter and widened his gaze at her face. She was pale; her eyes were ringed red from a night of hardly any sleep.

"Scarlet?" he asked, his voice full of anxiety. "What happened?"

Not bothered that one of the wooden chairs squeaked under her weight, she walked near him and sank onto it. "I am unable to... I am unable to maintain it. The house is no longer there.

He exhaled loudly and ran his hands over his face. I apologize. I'm at a loss for words. Still, listen; we will work out something.

She shook her head, biting her lip to stifle the tears that threatened to pour forth. "I've tested everything." Everything, exactly. And it's overindulgent. Unpossible is what I mean here.

Bernard sat down next to her, worry wrinkled across his brow. You cannot quit just now. You have to battle.

"I have no choices right now." She drew in a long breath. I have no idea what to do.

"Have you considered...? Bernard paused and said, "Tucker?"

Her eyes flew up to his. You're not sincere.

"Look, Scarlet." I am aware of what transpired. He accomplished what? Tucker, though, is not only a wealthy manager. For loud shouting out, he is Tucker Beaumont. He could help to correct this. And he is rich. You are not alone in having to do this.

"I'm not going to ask him. After all that has transpired... " She trailed off with a trembling voice.

"I'm not saying beg," Bernard said, his voice strong. But you really have to ask. The worst that might happen is what?

Scarlet stared at him while her head whirled. Bernard had it exactly. One person could assist her: the person she vowed she would never see again.

Deep down, she knew he was correct. She lacked options.

She said, looking at the floor as though the answers were buried there, "I'll think about it."

The trip to Beaumont Constructions seemed like an eternity. Scarlet's hands clutched the steering wheel hard, her knuckles whitening against the leather, her heart a continual drum of fear in her chest. She passed known sites, the old coffee shop they used to visit, and the park where they first kissed.

She battled the recollections, which seemed ready to drag her beneath. This has nothing to do with history. This revolved around survival. Her survivability.

She arrived at the tall glass structure built by Beaumont Constructions, where the surface reflected the sky and surrounding city glittering. She inhaled deeply as she parked, straightening herself for what lay ahead.

The security guard at the door watched her approach, his eyes lingering a minute longer than required as though he had already heard about the lady who had once been Tucker Beaumont's everything.

Her voice was firm, but her nerves were fraying; she replied, "I'm here to see Mr. Beaumont."

The guard paused, then nodded and buzzed her through. She tried to concentrate on anything other than the unplanned reunion she was about to have as she headed into the lift.

There he was when the elevator doors opened.

Tucker Beaumon.

Although it had been five years, he looked the same. He was still tall and broad-shouldered, but his appearance had suddenly become even more frightening. His precisely made outfit fitted his physique like steel; his dark hair was rather longer than she had remembered.

As the doors closed, his chilly, impenetrable eyes locked with hers. The years that had elapsed between them appeared to vanish from the air, leaving just the sour traces of their fractured past.

"Scarlet," Tucker whispered, his voice low and edged to cause her heart to quicken. "I never assumed I would see you again."

His words weighed down her chest and threatened to choke the air from her lungs. His eyes were like ice, but the flutter of something she couldn't quite place flashed in them: was it wrath? In regret? Alternatively, something more profound buried under years of quiet.

She pushed back the stream of feelings wanting to burst out, trying to steady her hands. "I didn't expect to be here either," she said, her voice a fraction more than she felt.

Tucker walked forward, towering above her, his jaw taut and his lips curved into a tiny, cynical smirk. "Funny. You disappeared for so long, but here you are seeking my assistance.

Her muscles stiffened and her heart sped. She had not envisioned this reunion.

He moved forward and pointed to the door as the elevator groaned to stop on his floor. Come inside. We can talk about your intended payback schedule for all you owe.

Her mind screamed at her to turn away, to run, but the debt was real, so real she couldn't afford to turn down his offer, no matter how nasty it felt. Her feet moved almost of their own will; she passed him, barely conscious of her own motions.

Like Tucker personally, the air within his office was too cold. His gaze never left hers as he walked to his chair, beckoning her to sit across from his commanding desk. Their quiet was dense and packed with a difficult-to-overlook intensity.

She knew how much he had changed in the years they had been apart as she sank herself into the chair. The untouchable, hardened by power and resentment, had replaced her once-loving boyfriend. She could still sense the traces of the man she had walked away from without ever fully expressing why, but, in the back of her mind, she could still feel his gentle, even nature.

Finally, Tucker muttered, breaking the quiet, "five years." "Five years, and you show up on my front door seeking assistance."For what cause, Scarlet? After what you've done, what could possibly make you believe I would want to aid you?"

Stung, like glass fragments tearing into her chest. Correct was what he said. She had not been by his side when he most needed her.

She started to talk, but he cut her off with a stern gesture.

"I'll make it simple," he murmured, his voice low and under control yet charged. You are going to marry me. Annually. There were no inquiries asked. I will handle your debts in exchange. You are free of them. Nor will you have to worry about your house being sold."

Scarlet froze, her gut turning over with incredulity. It was a contract of marriage. Was this kind of twisted joke?

She shook her head, doubt coloring her words. "Your seriousness?"

Tucker's facial expression stayed the same. "Dead seriously."

Her pulse accelerated as the frigidity in his voice seemed like a slap. At the ridiculousness of it, she wasn't sure whether to laugh or cry. She had just one choice here. This was the only way she could save her meager remaining possessions.

Before she could reply, though, the door to his office opened unexpectedly, and a tall, sharply dressed assistant carrying a file entered.

The assistant reported, "Mr. Beaumont, the papers are ready for your signature."

Scar's stomach flipped over. He had already polished the contract. It was an ultimatum, not a suggestion.

Scarlet's heart dropped as the helper laid the papers between them on the desk. Time for thought was running out.

Tucker turned to face her, his gaze never straying from hers. "Sign the contract, Scarlet. Alternatively, turn away and lose everything.

Glancing at the documents in front of her, the weight of the choice felt like a thousand pounds.

Her hands shook, her head whirled, but ultimately she knew she had no option.

She leaned out to take up the pen, and the room fell silent, deafening. And as she was about to sign the contract, she heard her pulse loud, urgent, as though her whole essence were alerting her to go. But already it was too late.