As I sit at my desk, scouring the internet for a new job, I'm reminded of the vast array of opportunities available - some genuine, others dubious, and a few downright absurd. My recent termination, a result of standing up to a disrespectful customer, has left me navigating the treacherous waters of online job listings. For six days, I've been sifting through the mediocrity, where salaries are meager and expectations are lofty, or vice versa - high pay comes with uncomfortable compromises.
That's when I stumbled upon a peculiar website: "I need a fiancé dot com." My skepticism was piqued. Who would require a fiancé, and what kind of services did they offer? The prospect of human trafficking masquerading as a legitimate opportunity sent shivers down my spine. Yet, my curiosity got the better of me. "You only live once," I thought, as I hesitantly opened the site.
The website presented itself like any other, outlining expectations and responsibilities. But one detail caught my eye - the salary range: $350,000 to $1,000,000 per month. Surely, this had to be a scam. The figures seemed too good to be true, and I couldn't help but wonder what strings were attached. Despite my reservations, I felt an inexplicable pull, tempting me to explore this unorthodox opportunity further.
As I delved deeper into the website, I encountered a plethora of testimonials from individuals claiming to have found true love and amassed wealth through this platform. The accompanying photos of couples gazing lovingly into each other's eyes only added to my skepticism. It all seemed too contrived, too good to be true. I couldn't help but think, "Who would actually fall for this?" Yet, I found myself clicking on the application form, filling it out with a mix of amusement and curiosity. I considered it a harmless way to pass the time, a stress-relieving diversion.
I leaned back in my chair, expecting nothing to come of it. Certainly not an email. But, to my surprise, a notification popped up immediately. I opened my Gmail account and clicked on the message. "Good afternoon Miss Lotsa Velma Benham, thank you for choosing Find a Fiancé dot com. Please verify your email by pressing the box below." The message led me back to the website, where I was greeted with a "Verified Email" confirmation. Another notification followed swiftly. "Good afternoon Miss Lotsa Velma Benham, we'll be pairing you with a suitable partner after you've filled out this form indicating your preferences in a man."
My amusement began to wane, replaced by a growing sense of unease. How did they respond so quickly? And what did they mean by "suitable partner"? I couldn't shake off the feeling that I had just stepped into something more sinister than I had initially thought.
I continued to play along, filling out the form with a mix of curiosity and skepticism. I specified my preferences, almost as a challenge to the website's claim of finding me a suitable partner. Idesired a man between the ages of 32 and 40, with a striking appearance - either blonde hair or jet black locks. His height had to be between 5'8" and 6'5", a tall and imposing figure. But the most audacious requirement was his income: an ninth-figure salary, a sum so astronomical that I doubted anyone with such means would bother with a website like this. I added a few more criteria, almost as an afterthought: a chiseled physique, a handsome face, impeccable hygiene, and an advanced degree - either a Master's or PhD. And, of course, no children and no toxic family dynamics. I submitted the form, still expecting nothing, but intrigued by the prospect of who might fit this impossible bill.
The notifications continued to pour in, each one drawing me deeper into this enigmatic world. I returned to my Gmail account to find the latest message: "Dear Miss Benham, we have found you twelve matches. Please provide a picture of yourself." A picture? I thought, scrambling through my phone's gallery. And then, I found it - a stunning, barefaced photo of myself, taken five years ago. Time had been kind, and this image captured my radiant, unblemished skin, with nary a pore nor wrinkle in sight. I uploaded the picture, and the notifications persisted. "Dear Miss Benham, thank you for providing a picture. Mr. Gayle would like to speak with you."
My curiosity was piqued. Who was this Mr. Gayle, and what made him think he was my match? The website's message continued, outlining the terms of our encounter: "Your conversations will be private, visible only to you and him. Our site has a strict rule: Mr. Gayle has three minutes to prove himself to you, to demonstrate that he's the one. If you're unimpressed, you're free to swipe him off the screen, block, or end the call. The power is entirely yours. We, at Fiancé dot com, wish you all the best."
I felt a thrill of anticipation mixed with trepidation. What would this conversation bring? Would Mr. Gayle be able to sway me in just three minutes? I steeled myself for the encounter, wondering what lay ahead.
As I waited with bated breath, my phone sprang to life, shrill ringing piercing the air. I hesitated for a moment, wondering if this could be the mysterious Mr. Gayle. With a deep breath, I answered the call, and my senses were instantly serenaded by a rich, velvety voice - like warm caramel dripping sweetly into my ear. It was as if he was crooning a gentle melody, his words dripping with honeyed charm.
"Good afternoon, Miss Benham," he purred, his tone confident and smooth. "My name is Lucky Gayle, and I'm 34 years young. I've spent over a decade honing my expertise in the oil sector, earning a PhD in engineering along the way." His voice was a gentle breeze on a summer's day, soothing and reassuring. "And, I assure you, my family and I are the epitome of warmth and kindness - not a toxic trait in sight."