Romance

love-triangle

Possessive

Billionaire

contract marriage

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

“...there are no wrong turns, only unexpected paths.” -Mark Nepo.
 
It is a well known fact that I am a weakling. I'm shy and easily intimidated. I get bullied at the cafe where I work during the day and the bar where I work at night. I never start a conversation with people. The only place where I find solace is when I'm at home and alone.
 
So what the hell am I doing in a limousine on my way to the King of the Night Masquerade Ball?
 
That is the question I have been asking myself for the past ten minutes, even though I already know the answer.
 
It all started with a call from my best friend, Emma.
 
***
I had just stepped out of the shower when my phone rang. I checked the time and it was some minutes past 11. I should be sleeping by now, I absently thought as I answered Emma's call.
 
“I'm on my way to your house, Lisha. Freshen up before I get there.” I heard the beep that signified that she had ended the call. Weird.
 
Sighing, I plopped down on my hard mattress as I waited up for her. Minutes later, she texted me to open the door.
 
Without a greeting or preamble, she barged into my small apartment, hauling a suitcase as she made her way to my bed in a corner of the room. I was perplexed and I locked the door quickly before following after her.
 
She started dumping the contents of the suitcase on my bed, ignoring me.
 
“What's going on, Emma?” I asked as I took everything in.
 
“You, my friend, are going to a ball and I need you dressed and ready in about…” she paused and glanced at her watch, “...thirty minutes.”
 
“No,” I told her sharply. “I need to be at work in 7 hours, Em. I can't go to a ball.” I looked at her in disappointment. Did she forget I had gotten a new job?
 
I know work has been tedious for her but that was an important turning point in my life and she didn't even remember.
 
She however didn't even notice my mood as she continued laying out her makeup box on my bed.
 
“So Bellanoire needs a model to wear this dress to the King of the Night Masquerade Ball, and I recommended you.”
 
“But I have never modeled before, Emma,” I told her as I tried to understand the situation.
 
“Well, they needed someone to wear the dress and none of their contracted models were available. Since you fit the description, I didn't see any reason why I didn't recommend you.” I tried to assimilate the information. I was tall with a small waist and narrow hips while Emma was shorter and curvier than me.
 
“Mind you, this dress is a masterpiece and they just finished designing it some minutes ago. Anyway, a limousine will be here in about thirty minutes to transport you to your destination. I have sent your address to the driver,” she finished.
 
Emma is a freelance makeup artist and for the past six months, she has been working with different fashion companies.
 
“Didn't you hear what I just said?” The volume of my voice must have shocked her because she froze and turned to me.
 
“I apologize, Lisha. I'm really freaking out here. This was a last minute decision and I just want everything to work out fine. The company will pay you five thousand dollars tomorrow. All you need to do is walk the red carpet in this dress, be photographed, mingle with people at the ball and voila, you get your money. I have your best interest at heart, trust me.”
 
My expression softened at her words and I signed softly. I had a lot of questions but Emma was having none of it.
 
“You can question me all you want later, Lisha. For now, come and step into this dress, let's get you ready before your ride arrives.”
***
 
And that is exactly how I found myself in a posh limousine, heading to one of New York’s finest balls. I am too nervous to do anything apart from gape at the luxurious interior and pick at my nails.
 
The limousine stops and I nervously prep myself. I make sure my mask is in place just as the driver opens the door and extends a hand to help me down.
 
The rest is a blur as I take some pictures on the red carpet. When I finally ease into the grand ballroom, I let out a soft gasp as I'm immediately blown away by the exquisite decorations.
 
I don't fail to notice the stares my outfit attracts. The dress is a diamond studded strapless gown with a sweetheart neckline and a high slit on the side. My height is elevated silver strappy heels and a similarly colored cape is fastened over my shoulders, giving royalty vibes. The hem of the cape is studded with diamonds, matching the dress.
 
I suddenly remember Emma telling me to remove the cape once I'm inside and wrap it up in my purse, so I decide to do just that.
 
The sheer size of the crowd intimidates me as I make my way to the restroom and my heart rate picks up. If I'm lucky, I'll be able to hole myself up in there till it's time to leave.
 
Except I didn't make it to the restroom. I feel the tug first before I hear the tearing of fabric. Someone has stepped on my cape and before I could properly analyze my predicament, I'm falling backwards.
 
I hit the ground with a thud and the silver comb Emma used to style my hair in an updo digs painfully into my skull. But I'm not concerned about the pain.
 
The dress is ruined. The. Dress. Is. Ruined. I can still hear Emma warning me just seconds before I got into the limo to avoid damaging the dress. I don't know how many minutes I lay there, trying to wrap my head around the fact that I would need to pay for damages. Hopefully, the money I'm going to be paid will cover it.
 
I don't register the man standing above me until he leans down and gathers me in his arms. I'm still in shock and I don't ask where he's taking me. Moments later, I find myself in the ladies room. He sets me down on my feet and that's when I realize that one of the heels attached to my sandals is broken. Tears run down my cheeks as I panic.
 
Faintly, I hear the man that brought in, instructing someone not to let anyone in but I'm still lost in my own head–regretting my decision to attend the ball–that I don't stop to think of the dangers of being in an enclosed space with a stranger.
 
I jump slightly as I feel a hand in my hair and I notice the man standing behind me. His black hair covers one side of his mask and I gulp when the other visible eye meets mine in the mirror. His eyes are the lightest shade of green I have ever seen and he holds my stare as he gently tugs the silver comb away, letting my hair cascade down my shoulder in curls.
 
He places the comb on the sink and I dart my eyes away to observe the comb. My heart jumps in my throat as I notice blood on the teeth. My blood.
 
I touch my hand to the back of my neck and it comes off smeared with blood. I'm devastated at the moment and I hear stumble back, almost tripping on my dress when a hand steadies me.  
 
Slumping forward on my hands, I close my eyes and try to fight the dizziness that suddenly overwhelms me. I hear the tear of fabric for the second time tonight and I open my eyes to see the bottom half of the cake in the stranger's hands.
 
“What have you done?” I whisper in disbelief.
 
He doesn't seem to hear me as he comments, “Who wears a goddamn cape to a ballroom full of people anyway?”
 
I can't think, I can't even breathe. Bending down to remove my sandals, I hold them in one hand. I snatch the comb off the sink and run.


Damon. “An omission is a lie when it is calculated to conceal information that, were it known by the other party, would be materially relevant to her.” — Franklin Veaux. A loud growl slips through my lips as I slam my hands on the table. I'm currently pacing around in my office, disoriented and frustrated. “Why haven't you been able to stop the stories circulating in the media?” The question is thrown at Dean who sits lazily on a chair across my desk. “I'm highly honored that you think I'm a god but believe me Damon, I have tried everything I can, including working with your media team. The rumors just keep popping up everywhere,” he replies flippantly as he adjusts in his seat, his gaze fixed at the floor-to-ceiling windows behind me as if he's pained to admit his shortcomings. I'm shocked to hear that he's working with my media team. Dean Keith is a very proud man, and that's rich coming from me. He has never agreed to work with my media team in the past, stating that hacking is just a pastime for him and not a job. “Damon,” Dean interrupts my thoughts and I raise a brow at him. “Why do you think Sheila decided to come back now after disappearing for five years? I've been thinking about it ever since. And come to think of it, the day she makes her reappearance in your life, the media suddenly starts bringing up your divorce. Something isn't adding up.” I sigh heavily as I settle back in my chair, running my hand through my dark locks. “I have asked myself that same question countless times, Dean. Nothing

Chapter 6

Thorns and Heartbreaks

6 Chapters

Thorns and Heartbreaks