You press the bag into my hands, light as air, humiliatingly empty. My knuckles whiten as I clutch it, staring at you like you’ve just slapped me across the face.

“Fill it,” you said. The words echo in my skull like a command, like chains wrapping around me.

I bite my lip hard enough to taste blood. Rage burns in my chest, but beneath it… there’s that ugly twist of fear. You know. You’ve seen too much. You hold everything in your hands—my secrets, my ruin.

“You think I’m your little thief? Your junkie puppet to order around?” My voice cracks, fury spilling, but it doesn’t stop me from stepping into you, close enough for my perfume to choke you.

I slam the bag against your chest, hard. My hands stay there, pinning it—and you—back to the wall with my whole body pressing in.

“Careful,” I whisper, my breath hot, trembling, “because if I fill this with dollars, I’ll make sure you pay me back in ways you can’t imagine. And if you open your mouth about me—” my nails ghost against your wrist, slow, threatening, “I’ll drag you down to hell with me.”