A persistent knocking on the door pierced through her sleep, rousing Olivia from her slumber on the couch. Disoriented, she blinked into the dim light of her apartment, trying to make sense of her surroundings. The knocking continued.
She blinked rapidly, shaking the fog of sleep from her mind. The clock that hung on her wall said it was a few minutes past 6am. She yawned. Molly was nibbling at a crinkled bag that had fallen onto the floor, its contents long since devoured.
'Who could that be.' She wondered as she stumbled to the door. 'Could it be news about Nath?'
A man who stood before her as she opened the door. He was an epitome of calculated composure and austere elegance. From the crown of his well-groomed hair to the tips of his polished shoes. He wore a suit, the shade of midnight.
"Olivia Shaw." He didn't ask. It was a statement. He flashed an ID card in her face that she didn't see. "I represent Mr Alexander Westmore, and I'd like a few minutes of your time."
She knew the name. He was one of the billionaires in the city. What could he want with her? Or was Nath working for him? Did he have news about Nath?
"What is this about?" She asked, her voice tight with apprehension. The man before her was unsettling, his presence and demeanour made her stomach churn .
The man paused for a moment, weighing his words carefully. "My employer has taken an interest in you," he said at last.
Her brow furrowed. That was very vague. "What could I possibly have that he wants?"
I'll reveal the details of the matter to you inside," the man suggested, making his way into her apartment without consent.
Olivia followed him in, perplexed. She was dying to hear why Alexander Westmore had any interest in her.
The man didn't sit once he was inside. He gave a cursory glance at the modest but dishevelled apartment. Molly had scurried away under the table and was watching the visitor with feline aggression.
"How would you love to make 3 million dollars?"
The man remained standing, ignoring the couch in the room. A faint smile was playing at the corners of his mouth as he raised an eyebrow at Olivia's question. No woman could turn down that offer. "Three million dollars, in three weeks," he said, his tone laced with a touch of amusement. "That's not an offer one hears every day."
She was sceptical about this proposal. She folded her arms protectively across her chest. "And all I have to do is...what exactly?"
"Nothing too strenuous," the man replied, his voice low and even. "My employer merely requires your assistance in a delicate matter.
"Pretend to be my employer's wife for three weeks, and you will be paid three million naira," he continued, his words deliberate and measured.
"You're joking," she scoffed, incredulous. "Why would your 'employer' need a fake wife? And why me?"
"Because you bear a striking resemblance to his late wife," the man explained, his gaze unyielding.
"Mrs Westmore has taken ill and requires some time away to recover," he said, his tone not revealing much. "But her presence is required at several important events in the coming weeks, which is where you come in. With your uncanny likeness, you can stand in for her, attending these events in her place."
The proposition seemed harmless but it was one that would lead her to unfamiliar territory. She contemplated on the two paths her decision would set her on - one path would be turning her back on this offer and returning to the life she knew, meagre as it was. The other path, the one the man was offering her, led to a life of luxury.
''Is Mrs Carter aware of this arrangement?''
"Mrs. Carter is very well aware," the man said smoothly, a hint of impatience creeping into his voice. "My employer wishes to keep this between us, for her sake."
Her mind reeled.
"Alright," she said, her voice steadier than she felt. "I'll do it."
The man's face remained impassive, but his eyes betrayed a glint of satisfaction. "Excellent," he said, his voice cool and collected. "Then let's discuss the details."
She took a deep breath, the full weight of what she'd agreed to settling on her shoulders.
The man's hand moved for the first time since he had gotten into her apartment, unfolding a crisp, white sheet of paper with practised ease from his briefcase. He offered Olivia a pen, sleek and expensive, a symbol of the wealth and privilege that she was about to enter.
"You have to sign here," he said, pointing to the dotted line at the bottom of the page.
Olivia took the pen in her hand, her fingers trembling slightly as she held it over the paper.
"I'll see you by midday," he said, returning the folded document into his briefcase, and then, with the same eerie grace, he turned and strode out the door, the sound of his footsteps disappearing down the hallway.
Olivia stood there, frozen in place.
The soft warmth of Molly's fur brushed against her leg, her gentle purring breaking the spell that had descended upon her. She looked down to see her feline companion's wide eyes gazing up at her, as if to say, "Well, aren't you going to tell me what just happened?"
Olivia gave a small chuckle, the tension in her shoulders easing ever so slightly. "You're not going to believe this, girl," she said, her voice still tinged with disbelief as she shut the door of her apartment. She cradled Molly in her arms, her smile widening, her imagination already starting to take flight.
"We are going to be rich," she repeated, a giddy laugh bubbling out of her. "I can't believe it. Three million dollars in three weeks. Can you imagine what we could do with that?"
Molly purred in response, her eyes fixed on Olivia's face, her tail swishing back and forth as if to say, "As long as you're happy, I'm happy."