My Love Came With An Invoice Chapter 1

Every single breath I took in that house had a price tag.

Fifty cents for a glass of juice. A dollar for a hot shower.

On the afternoon of my tenth birthday, I emptied my pockets of the sticky, crumpled dollar bills and silver coins I’d earned from hauling bags of crushed soda cans to the recycling center.

"Dad, I want to buy a slice of birthday cake. No frosting, just the plain sponge. Is one dollar enough?"

My father, Richard, looked down at me, his brow furrowing in distaste. "It's two dollars. If you don't have the money, you go hungry. It builds character. It teaches you independence."

I swallowed the hollow ache in my stomach. With my only dollar, I bought ten minutes of screen time on my mother’s iPad to watch a cartoon, just to feel like a normal kid for a fraction of an hour.

But right in the middle of the episode, a bank notification dropped down from the top of the screen:

Transfer Successful: $10,000 added to dependent card. Memo: A little pocket money for my precious boy.

I stared at the screen until the letters blurred. I finally understood. The strict ledgers, the price tags, the lessons in "independence"—they were reserved strictly for me, their biological daughter.

Early the next morning, before the sun had even touched the manicured lawns of our gated community, I walked out the front door.

I didn't get far before a rusted van idled by the curb. A man with a jagged scar across his cheek rolled down the window and asked if I wanted a piece of candy.

I clutched the straps of my worn backpack, looking at him with wide, timid eyes. "How much does the candy cost?"

He blinked, clearly taken aback. "It's free, kid."

I reached out, took the bright plastic wrapper, and without a second of hesitation, climbed into the back of a van I knew was never coming back.

* * *

"Mister... does it cost money to ride in this car?" I asked, my small fingers nervously twisting the candy wrapper. "I had a dollar from selling cans, but I spent it watching cartoons."

The man with the scar threw his head back and laughed. It was a harsh, scraping sound.

"Free! It's all free, kid! Uncle Jax is taking you to a great place. From now on, eating and sleeping won't cost you a dime."

A heavy, breathless sigh of relief washed over me.

"So, Uncle Jax... are you going to sell me to someone else to be their daughter?"

Jax chuckled, glancing at me in the rearview mirror. "Something like that. We're finding you a new home."

My eyes lit up in the dim, stale air of the van.

"In my new home... will I have to pay for drinking water?"

Jax slammed on the brakes slightly, turning to stare at me. "You pay for water at your house?"

"Yeah," I nodded earnestly. "Twenty cents for tap water. Thirty cents if I want it warmed up. Fifty cents for juice."

"Jesus Christ," Jax muttered, shaking his head. "I've been in the trafficking business for fifteen years, and I ain't never seen a hustle that dark. Who raised you, Ebenezer Scrooge?"

I didn't know who Ebenezer Scrooge was.

All I knew was that my mother, Valerie Croft, was the CEO of a publicly traded tech conglomerate. She was famous for her generosity. She wrote million-dollar checks at charity galas without blinking.

I leaned my head against the cold, hard metal of the van's interior.

I watched through the dirty window as we drove further and further away from the mansion.

...

Meanwhile, back at the Croft estate.

A gourmet breakfast spread was laid out on the massive marble dining table. Preston, my adopted brother, sat at the head of the table.

Richard smiled warmly, serving him a plate of organic brioche French toast topped with imported berries.

Valerie didn't look up from her tablet. "Preston's private piano lessons need to be renewed for the semester, don't they? I'll have my assistant wire the fifty grand."

"Thanks, Mom!" Preston beamed, his eyes crinkling with perfect, practiced sweetness.

He turned his head, glancing at the empty chair near the kitchen door. My chair. The place where I usually sat, watching them eat. If I wanted a bite, I had to pay cash upfront.

"Huh? Where's Sally?" Preston asked, his voice dripping with faux innocence. "She's going to be late for school. Is she throwing a tantrum again?"

Richard frowned. Usually, by this hour, I would have polished everyone's shoes and mopped the hardwood floors just to earn enough for a slice of toast.

He dropped his silver serving spoon, his face darkening. "Is she giving me an attitude just because I didn't let her buy that cake yesterday?"

Valerie let out a cold, dismissive laugh, swiping to the next page of the Wall Street Journal app. "She's spoiled. Let her skip two meals, she'll learn. Go fetch her, Richard. Otherwise, today's breakfast price is doubled."

A few moments later, Maria, the housekeeper, hurried into the dining room. She was clutching an iPad to her chest, her face pale.

"Mr. Croft, Mrs. Croft... you need to see this."

Valerie took the tablet. On the screen, the security footage played in black and white. A tiny figure, carrying a frayed, secondhand backpack, slipping quietly out of the wrought-iron gates.

Richard slammed his palm against the marble. "Unbelievable! She thinks she can just run away?"

"How much money does she even have on her? Where could she possibly go?" Valerie’s eyes went flat and cold. She locked the iPad screen. "Don't bother looking for her."

"She has no money. No survival skills," Valerie sneered. "She'll starve for a day out there, and then she'll come crawling back, crying at the gates. And when she does, the re-entry fee to this house is going to be ten thousand dollars."

...

But an entire day passed.

And I never came back.