"Name your price," Mrs. Bancroft said, her voice dripping with irritation. "How much will it take for you to disappear from my son's life?"
Delilah's heart skipped a beat, but she quickly masked her reaction. "But why?" she sounded hurt. "Why don't you want your son and I to be together? What have I done?"
She took a deep breath before continuing, "Mrs. Bancroft, please—" she began, her voice trembling with emotion. "I care about your son. I just want to be a part of his life, what we have is special," she said almost crying.
Mrs. Bancroft's expression hardened. "My son can't be with just anybody, especially not a common realtor with no good background. He is the future of our family, and too important to be with a nobody," she said with so much disdain.
Delilah's eyes welled with tears, and she reached across the table, reaching for Mrs. Bancroft's hand but she quickly withdrew her hand like Delilah had some communicable disease.
"Please, give me a chance. I love him. I really do," she pleaded, her tone desperate.
"Cut the pretense, I know your type, name your price," Mrs. Bancroft said in a demeaning tone.
Delilah flinched, insulted by the woman's words. "I can't possibly…" she trailed off, now crying.
"A million? Two?" Mrs. Bancroft cut in, and Delilah's tears stopped abruptly.
"My love isn't for sale," she said, picking up a paper napkin from the table, and dabbed her tears with it.
Mrs Bancroft scoffed, "Five million?"
Delilah met Mrs. Bancroft's gaze, her own eyes now steely and resolute. "Ten million."
Mrs. Bancroft blinked, clearly taken aback by the audacity of Delilah's demand. "Ten million?" she echoed, her voice incredulous.
"You asked me to name my price," Delilah replied evenly as she leaned back in her seat. "That's it. I want ten million."
Mrs. Bancroft's jaw tightened. She reached for her phone and began tapping on the screen.
"You will have it by tomorrow."
Delilah shook her head. "No. I want it now. Right now. Right here. Or I won't let him go," Delilah said, not wanting the old lady to play a fast one on her.
For a moment, there was a tense silence as Mrs. Bancroft glared at Delilah, who met her gaze unwaveringly. Finally, Mrs. Bancroft sighed, her fingers flying over her phone's screen.
A few moments later, Delilah's phone buzzed with a notification. She glanced at it, smiling triumphantly.
"Thank you, Mrs. Bancroft," she said sweetly. "I promise, you will never hear from me again."
Mrs. Bancroft stood up, her expression a mix of anger and resignation. Without another word, she turned and walked out of the restaurant.
Delilah watched her leave, a satisfied smirk on her lips. Once she was out of sight, Delilah rose, her hips swaying as she walked towards the exit, already planning her next move.
Just as she stepped out of the restaurant and put on her sunglasses, her phone rang again.
She received the call when she saw who it was. "Hey, Mark! The old lady finally paid. I will send your share soon."
"They always pay." She could hear the laugh in Mark's tone.
"But that isn't the reason I called. I just got information that Hunter Quinn frequents Club S&G and he will be at the Club tonight," Mark said.
Delilah's smile widened. "Perfect. I will have to go clubbing tonight. Any idea what I should look out for? What does he look like?"
Hunter Quinn was her next target. Better put, he was her next ticket to wealth and a life of comfort.
Unlike her previous targets, no one knew much details about Hunter Quinn or what he looked like. All she knew was that he was a young bachelor, and a very private person who stayed away from the media.
"I don't have any info on that yet, so you'll have to rely on your instincts for now," Mark said and she bit her lower lip.
"All right. Thanks for the info. You'll get your money soon," she said before hanging up.
Everything was going so smoothly today. Too smoothly, she thought with a happy smile as she got into her car.
She was a realtor on weekdays, and a professional gold digger on weekends. Tonight, she would identify Hunter Quinn and approach him. She hoped to get ten times the money she just got from Mrs Bancroft, from the Quinn family.
Twenty-two Hours Later.
Delilah woke up with a throbbing headache, her mind a foggy haze as she blinked against the harsh light filtering through unfamiliar curtains.
The bed beneath her felt strange, softer and more luxurious than her own. Her head pounded with a relentless ache, it felt like it was going to implode.
She winced as she struggled to piece together her fragmented thoughts, a sense of unease settled in her chest.
Where was she? she wondered, her heart starting to race. This wasn't her bedroom.
This bedroom was lavishly furnished, with a sleek, modern design. Soft, muted colors adorned the walls, and large windows allowed streams of sunlight to spill into the room.
With a groan, she sat up, instantly regretting the movement as her headache intensified, feeling as though her skull might split open.
She brought a hand to her forehead, trying to steady herself, when something caught the light. She blinked down at her hand, her eyes widening in disbelief at the sight of a wedding band on her finger.
Panic surged through her, momentarily overwhelming the hangover that clouded her thoughts.
What was this doing on her finger? How did that get here? Whose room was this? Did she perhaps succeed in meeting Hunter Quinn and she followed him back here? How could she not remember something as important as how she spent last night?
She struggled to remember the previous night, but her mind was a blur of hazy images and disjointed fragments.
The last clear memory she had was of heading to Club S&G after she received information that Hunter Quinn, her next target, frequented the club. She had been confident, ready to set her trap and lure him into her web. But what had happened after she arrived at the club?
Delilah rubbed her temples, trying to fend off the headache and summon her memories. She recalled the pulsing music, the glittering lights, and the way she had made her entrance, every eye turning towards her.
And then… blank.
Before she could fully process everything, the door to the room opened, and a tall, ruggedly handsome man walked in. He had tousled brown hair, piercing blue eyes, and a rugged jawline that gave him an air of effortless confidence.
His white shirt clung to a well-defined chest, and his jeans hung low on his hips, emphasizing his athletic build.
"I see you're finally awake," he said with a warm smile, showing off his perfect set of teeth as he stepped deeper into the room.
While she was still wondering who he was, and what he was doing inside the same room with her, he got closer to the bed and leaned down to brush his lips against hers.
"Good morning, wife," he said, his voice deep and smooth.