Dr Phil Thompson had once been a respectable doctor— one of the best in the field of cardiology— until a little boy was rushed into his unit years ago, and then everything changed.
Concealing the boy's condition had barely pricked his conscience with the amount of money he had been offered. He had thought it was all over— a reckless folly he regretted now that he was no longer the money hungry young man of the past— but then she strolled into his office again.
Of course Phil had refused her; he had made a mistake once and refused to repeat it— the job of a medical doctor was to save lives not end them— but she had evidences; things that could ruin his career, his life if they were to be published in the media.
Phil made his choice— a cowardly one— it was his life or the boy's and he chose his. It was easy to hypnotize himself that he was the victim anytime he handed the pills— that could have been poison to the boy— she blackmailed me, he would tell himself, I have no choice.
Now he has gone from a respectable doctor to a street rat running for his life— people were after him and he had been lucky to escape in time.
Phil shared a cheap storage room in a brothel in Downtown Area with cockroaches and rats. He couldn't get a proper sleep at night— the paper thin walls couldn't hide the loud moans, wet sounds, loud laughter and the sound of skin against skin— the thick smell of smoke, incense and sex choked his lungs and the soup— he was always served for an exorbitant price— tasted like sand paper.
Of course Phil had complained to the Mistress— a woman who always had a cigarette around her lips that had Phil wondering how she wasn't keeling over from lung cancer yet— but she had barely spared him a glance from the accounting books and told him in a sharp voice that if he wasn't comfortable he could get himself another place— after all she was running a brothel not a guest house.
Her words shut Phil up, he accepted his fate with a stiff huff— cockroaches and loud filthy sex was better than the fate that awaited him if he was caught.
Like most days Phil was lying on the rotten mattress, sweating in the dimly lit room, shorts hanging on his knees and furiously jacking off— there's only so long a healthy Alpha can cope when surrounded by sex—when he heard a knock on the door-— he tensed with suspicion.
Phil didn't have guests here; at first the girls and boys has been all over him but had quickly given up when it became apparently he had no money and lacked interest— he couldn't risk picking up any sexual disease and his wallet was fast growing thin under the greedy rent of the mistress.
"Mr Sam are you in?" It's the fake name he gave to them. "You have a guest." It's one of the brothels girls; the saccharine cloying voice is recognizable.
With a sigh Phil wipes his hand on an old rag and pulls up his shorts — he didn't even finish yet— and opens the door with annoyance.
"Hello Mr Sam." Standing next to the prostitute, is a familiar face— the lady who got him into this mess in the first place.
"How did you find me?" Phil growls at her feeling panic set into his veins.
"Are you sure you want to have that conversation here Mr Sam?" A mocking smile curled on her lip.
Phil looks around; a few prostitutes who aren't sleeping— since it's day time— are watching them with open curiosity, even the girl who escorted her here has her brows furrowed in confusion.
"Come in." Phil opens the door wider allowing her to step inside.
As he turns to close the door, he's meet with knowing smiles on the prostitutes face— they think Phil has called her here to have fun— he sighed and shut the door.
"I have to say I am disappointed." She wrinkles her nose— the natural stench of the room and Phil's unreleased pent up frustrations have mixed together to form a pungent odour. "Doctor Phil Thompson now reduced to this."
"What did you expect?" Phil arched a brow. "A five star hotel with a glittering tiles." He scoffed, arms crossed around his chest as his eyes take in her form.
Even though she's wearing cheaper clothes to blend in with the residents, it does little to hide her beauty. Her natural golden locks are hidden beneath a black wig, brown contacts hiding her sky blue eyes, the jean trouser she wore accentuated her curvy hips perfectly and Phil can't help himself when his eyes linger on her ample cleavage for a second too long.
She caught him staring if her disgusted scowl is anything to go by— but it's not Phil's fault that her V-line just leaves the thing open.
"People are looking for you." Phil appreciates the way her hips sway when she walks to the window. "People who want to do bad things to you." She opens the window and gazes down as though there's something interesting about the crowded dirty street.
"You got me into this mess, you have to fix it." Phil argues, fear creeping into his tone.
"Oh please!" She scoffed. "Don't play victim with me, you knew damn well what you were doing when you took the money." She laughed coldly.
"If I go down, I will drag you down with me." Phil's threat only earns him an amsued laugh.
"Oh will you now." Her voice is deceptively sweet, but the coldness in her eyes chills him.
"It's only a matter of time before Vicente's people find you." She doesn't bother to give Phil an explanation of who Vicente is, but he comes to the conclusion that he is the man after him. "And I will be damned if I let you expose me." She glared at him.
"So what are you going to do?" Phil meets her dark glare. "Kill me?" He shifts closer to the door.
"Kill you?" She laughs humorlessly. "No darling Phil I won't kill you, because you're going to kill yourself." She adds coldly.
"Your delusional." Phil yelled with anger.
"I am more than delusional, I am a deranged woman." She smirked. "You will do as I say, or little penelope is going to lose that pretty little head of her's soon." Phil's breath catches in his throat as his daughter's picture— her cute smile and short pigtails— staring at him from her phone screen.
"Don't hurt my daughter." Phil cried.
"I won't if you do what I say." She is unmoved by his pathetic display of fatherly love.
"You are a monster." Phil glared at her with red rimmed eyes.
"I have been called worst." She moves away from the window. "Jump out of the window or your daughter dies." She spoke coldly.
Phil moves sluggishly towards the window— it's a high jump and he knows he won't survive it— the street is busy, people casually living their lives without knowing a man is about to fall on them soon, he feels nauseous, dizzy and faint.
"Go on, I don't have all day." She glared at him angrily. "Or do you prefer Penelope replace you instead?" She asked coldly.
Funnily enough, Phil never knew the name of the woman who pushed him to his death. He closed his eyes, allowing the salty tears to roll down his cheeks.
"I hope you burn in hell." And he jumps.
She gazes out the window, watches the dazzling red of blood spread on concrete road, people are screaming— some scrambling away from the scene and others rushing towards it— utter panic and chaos.
"They still scream as though the sight of a dead body is something they aren't used to." A hoarse chuckle sounded from behind her.
She turned and faced the new occupant of the room— black hair, blue eyes, red painted lips, a lit cigarette hanging delicately from her fingers and a transparent red dress— the mistress can give any of the prostitutes here a run for their money.
"I assume you and your people will not breath a word about this?" She asked coldly.
"With the amount you paid?" The Mistress laughed. "As far as we are concerned, nobody ever saw you here." She takes a drag of her cigarette
"Good." She smiled coldly. "I wouldn't have it another way." She moves to leave.
"Leaving so soon?" The Mistress arched a brow. "Won't you sit with me for a drink? For old times sake Regina." She laughed.
"Regina is dead." She shot her a cold glare.
"Right, I forgot you go by Isabella now." Something cold flashes in the Mistress eyes as she exhales smoke.
"It's good you understand that Theresa." Isabella said.
"You're one of our own Isabella, we won't sell you out." Theresa scoffed.
"I am not part of you people." Isabella bristled in disgust. "I haven't for a long time." She adds.
"No matter how hard you deny it Isabella, this is the house you grew up in, the family that brought you up and I pray you never forget that." Theresa stomped the cigarette on the floor.
"Goodbye Theresa." Isabella said coldly.
"Goodbye Regina, and next time you visit bring Isabella's son— Ian, that's his name right." Theresa leaned against the wall.
"Ian is my son." Isabella said coldly.
"Whatever helps you sleep at night Regina darling." Theresa winked.