Clara gripped her phone tightly, her knuckles turning white as the voice on the other end grew colder.
"You've ignored our calls for weeks. If we don't receive payment by the end of the month, we'll escalate this to the authorities."
She opened her mouth to respond, but the call ended with a sharp click, leaving her staring at the black screen. A tremor ran through her hands, and the phone slipped from her grasp, landing on the threadbare carpet.
Her apartment, once filled with warmth and laughter, now felt suffocatingly empty. The faint echo of footsteps from her neighbors above only heightened the silence around her. She glanced at the pile of unopened bills on the small coffee table. Red stamps screamed words like Final Notice and Overdue Payment.
She didn't need to open them to know what they said. She was drowning, and no lifeline was in sight.
Her gaze shifted to the empty couch opposite her. She could still see flashes of Sophie, her best friend—no, ex-best friend—sitting there, laughing over their late-night movie marathons. Sophie, who had vanished three months ago, taking more than just Clara's trust with her.
Clara's stomach twisted as she recalled the discovery. A stack of envelopes addressed to her, all containing loan agreements she had never signed. Sophie's neat signature stood out at the bottom of each contract, her own name forged beside it.
The betrayal had been like a knife to the gut. The one person Clara had trusted completely had left her to face the consequences alone.
And now, the walls were closing in.
The loud knock at the door snapped Clara out of her thoughts. She froze, her heart pounding. It wasn't her landlord—she had begged him for another week just yesterday.
The knocking came again, sharper this time.
"Miss Rivers," a man's voice called from the other side. "We know you're in there."
Her chest tightened. She stumbled to her feet, every step toward the door feeling heavier than the last. Peering through the peephole, she saw two men in dark suits, their expressions unreadable.
Creditors. Or worse.
"Please," she whispered to herself, backing away from the door. "Not now."
The men knocked again but didn't wait long. She heard the shuffle of their retreat, followed by the unmistakable sound of paper sliding under the door.
Clara hesitated, her breath catching in her throat. When the silence stretched on, she finally mustered the courage to move. The envelope on the floor looked plain, unassuming, yet the sight of it sent a chill down her spine.
She crouched to pick it up, her fingers trembling. Her first guess was another legal threat—another nail in the coffin Sophie had built for her.
She tore it open and pulled out a single sheet of paper. As her eyes scanned the bold print of the Final Demand Notice, something fell out—another slip of paper, folded neatly.
Her brow furrowed as she opened it. The paper wasn't from the creditors. It was cream-colored, with an embossed symbol at the top—a circle with an intricate "H" in the center.
The message was handwritten in elegant script:
"Your life doesn't have to end here. If you want out, come to 47A Redwood Avenue at midnight. Bring nothing but yourself."
Her breath caught. The words felt like a lifeline, yet they sent a shiver down her spine. Who would send something like this? And why her?
Her first instinct was to crumple the paper and toss it aside, but she couldn't ignore the nagging feeling that this might be her only way out. With creditors closing in and no one left to turn to, the choice was clear.
She folded the note and slipped it into her pocket, her resolve hardening. If this was a trap, it hardly mattered. She was already at the edge of ruin.
As the clock ticked closer to midnight, Clara found herself stepping into the unknown.