Chapter 3

Unexpected events can set you back or set you up. It's all a matter of perspective.”

-Mary Ann Radmacher.

The world spins as I make my way out of Bellanoire Fashion Company. Tears sting my eye and my head throbs. I manage to walk a couple of streets down before crouching on the sidewalk and bawling my eyes out.

How did I manage to rack a debt of almost fifteen thousand dollars in less than 24 hours?

My phone rings and I stop crying to check the caller. My heart skips when I see Emma's name on the screen and a fresh batch of tears roll down my face. I ignore the call and get to my feet when I notice a lady with her camera pointed at me. Thank goodness I had a cap on, covering half of my face.

I feel woozy as I walk but I don't stop, and I get to my house after an hour. Slumping down on my bed, I replay the last twelve hours of my day.

If only I had refused to go to the ball. If only I had removed the cape earlier. If only a total stranger hadn’t torn off the cape in the ladies room. If only.

I wallow in my regret for minutes as tears pour down my face. Then I steel myself. What's done is done. What matters now is to get some sleep and wake up in time for my job at the bar.

I only have a week to pay up for the damages done to the dress, and the fact that I had other debts to pay just made me feel helpless.

My phone rings and I groan as I pick it up. Better to face Emma now than to prolong the situation. But it isn't Emma's name on the screen but an unknown number.

My heart beats frantically as I put the call on speaker and place it on my bed, too nervous to hold it to my ear.

“Alisha baby,” my mother's enthusiastic voice fills the quiet apartment.

“Mom…” I reply dryly, not sharing her enthusiasm. She either needs money or wants money. There's no other reason why she would call me.

“Baby, can I get a little cash from you? I promise to pay by the end of the week.” I almost scoff out loud.

We both know she wouldn't pay back but before I think too much about it, I hear myself asking, “How much do you need?”

“About a thousand dollars, sweets.” I suck in an audible breath at that. Where am I supposed to get that kind of money? I'm neck deep in debts right now as it is, and she's partly responsible for that. Besides, I'm penniless at the moment.

“Mom, I don't have that kind of money right now. It's–” I don't get to complete my sentence before she butts in.

“You know I wouldn't ask about it if it wasn't important, Alisha. I know you have the money, you're just being stingy.”

“Mom…” I draw out. Where's all these coming from? I have always helped her with her bills and she had never asked for more than a couple hundred before. I'm confused as I stare at my screen, tears stinging my eyes.

“Don't mom me. I saw you on the internet, Alisha. You went to a Masquerade ball last night and that dress you were wearing was estimated to be around half a million dollars. All I'm asking for right now is a thousand. Is that too much to ask?” She rushes the words out in a single breath and I go slack in shock.

“I'm going to have to call you back, mom.” I hang up before she says anything else.

My hands are shaking as I type in ‘King of the Night Masquerade Ball’ into the search bar and I keep on scrolling till I come across my picture.

I stare at my picture, regret churning in my belly. I see the scar running down the upper side of my left arm, visible in the picture and I gasp. I had made a conscious effort to cover it with the cape but somehow, it was as clear as day in the picture. My head throbs as if to remind me of all the bad decisions I made last night.

Luckily for me, the press didn't know who I was and I sigh in relief. That relief was cut short, however, by the message that popped on the screen.

Unknown number: It seems like the press are looking for the anonymous lady who was rich enough to buy Bellanoire’s newest design. I wonder how much they'll pay if I offer to tell them your name.

My mom. My breath hitches as I read and reread the message. She's blackmailing me. I collapse on my bed as my head spins. I need air. It feels like the walls are closing in and I frantically get up to go for a run.

Just as I'm slipping my feet into my running shoes, a knock sounds on my door. I still, sighing softly as I prepare for whatever speech Emma has prepared for me.

I know she would already be informed by the company about the damaged dress I delivered and I can't even bear to think of the implications of my actions on her job.

But I'm shocked when I open the door and a muscular man in a suit walks into my small apartment. He exudes authority and his presence is domineering.

He glances around and I'm embarrassed by the shabbiness of my one room apartment.

“Alisha Thompson,” he says and I nod nervously. “My name is Damon King. Do you remember me?”

Of course I do, I want to say but my throat closes up. Those glassy green eyes stare at me intensely. The same eyes that have haunted me since last night.

The only difference is that he's not wearing a mask and my eyes roam over his features. His angular jaw seems perfectly chiseled and they compliment his high cheekbones. When he blinks, I notice his long lashes. He's handsome, I begrudgingly admit to myself.

Wait, did he just say he's Damon King? As in the King of the Night?

“So I take it that you do recognize me. I have a proposition for you.” He hands me the folder in his hand as he remains standing. I note in embarrassment that I don't have any other furniture in my apartment apart from my bed.

Moving towards it, I open the folder and read. “You want us to get married?” I ask in disbelief when I was done reading.

“Yes. We only need to last six months and you'll be heavily compensated.”

I suck in a breath as I check the contract again for the figure and I see a lot of zeros. This is enough to clear all my student loans and mom's debts. Besides, I can pay off my debt at Bellanoire and even compensate Emma. My mouth waters as I read the contract over and over again.

“You have until tonight to decide. Call me when you do,” he hands over a business card.

As he turns to leave, I can't help the question that spills from my mouth.. “If I accept, how soon will I get the money?”

“Immediately, Miss Thompson.” He replies and walks out, leaving me with a torn mind and a crumbling will.