My eyes roamed around the car's interior, and a spark of irritation flickered in my chest. I might not know much about cars, but even I could recognize the luxury surrounding me. The seats were buttery soft, the kind you'd find in an elite spa, molded for maximum comfort. Every detail of the car screamed high-end craftsmanship—a seamless blend of tradition and cutting-edge technology. My jaw tightened as my gaze landed on a small refrigerator compartment discreetly tucked into the console. A refrigerator? Who even needs that in a car unless they're absurdly rich
I sank back into the seat, its plush embrace almost disarming, like a hug I didn't remember how to receive. For a moment, I allowed myself to relax, to breathe, savoring the softness pressing against my spine. But then my unease crept back. This wasn't normal for a gig. The pristine screens lining the dashboard, the eerie spaciousness, the meticulous luxury—it all screamed trouble. Felix had better not have undersold me. Again.
The driver caught my eye through the rearview mirror, his smile polished and professional, like he genuinely enjoyed chauffeuring people around in this fortress. It was unsettling for me. I returned the smile—a calculated, graceful curve of my lips—and shifted my gaze out the window.
We were pulling up to a massive wrought-iron gate. Without a word, it slid open as though the universe had deemed us worthy of being here, revealing a long driveway lined with trimmed hedges. At the end of the road stood a mansion so big and grand. My stomach sank. Felix. You absolute snake. There was no way this client was an average person, which meant I was absolutely being underpaid.
I snatched my phone from my bag, my fingers flying over the screen as I typed.
"You've got to be kidding me. How much did you charge for this gig? Reply now before I ditch this place."
I hit send and sucked my teeth, simmering as I waited for a reply.
"Everything okay, ma'am?" the driver asked, his voice tinged with concern.
I plastered on another smile, the kind I'd practiced a hundred times before . "All good, thank you."
But I wasn't done gathering intel. "What's the car called again?" I asked, as casually as I could manage.
"Maybach GLS 600," he replied, his tone even.
"Ah, right. Of course." I nodded like I knew what that meant, then quickly tapped the name into my phone's search bar. My eyes darted over the results, snagging on a number that made my breath stop for bit. The price tag on this thing was astronomical. No wonder Felix hadn't mentioned details when he pitched this job.
A dry laugh escaped my lips as I tucked a stray strand of hair behind my ear. My gaze flicked back to the house looming before us. It was grand, ostentatious—possibly the most extravagant home I'd ever seen and will ever see. And here I was, dressed like this in blazer and jeans, its in luck that i thought to wear this heels.. Thanks, Felix.
The car eased to a stop, and I scrambled to salvage my appearance. Smoothing my hair, I reached for my bag and pulled out a compact mirror. My reflection stared back at me, bold eye makeup and bright red lips glaring against my casual ensemble. Not exactly the vibe for... whatever this was. I grabbed a tissue and started wiping away the lipstick, dabbing at my eyes to tone down the liner. bold wasn't going to cut it here, I needed to shift gears fast.
I swiped a glittery gloss across my lips, catching my reflection in the compact mirror one last time. The driver stood patiently by the door, his posture polite but watchful. With a quick nod, he opened it for me, and I stepped out into the crisp, clean air. It filled my lungs, sharp and refreshing, making me pause.
The air here feels like it's filtered for the rich, I thought bitterly. People in places like this probably lived to be a hundred without even trying. My gaze swept over the manicured lawns stretching endlessly in all directions. The beauty only fueled the simmering anger tugging at my chest.
I waved off the driver, moving to the back of the car as I dialed Felix. He picked up on the second ring.
"Aria," he greeted, already defensive. "C'mon, what do you mean ditch? You're already there."
A dry chuckle escaped me. "Yeah, I am. But if I said ditch, I meant ditch. Felix, explain to me why you handed me 500 bucks for a job where the car i got picked in alone costs over 200K, and this house—" I gestured wildly at the sprawling mansion, though he couldn't see it—"could probably buy and sell your family's entire generational line ten times over."
"Leave my family out of this," Felix snapped, his tone sharpening.
"Oh, now you care about your own family," I shot back, sarcasm dripping from every word. "You didn't care about me when you sold me on this as a 500-buck gig. I'm a family unit too, Felix."
"Aria," he groaned, "the deal we agreed on was 500."
"No, baby," I replied, "we agree based on situations. None of those 'situations' ever looked like this. This isn't sneaking into some church, causing a wedding fiasco, and running out before security catches us. This is different. It's money. It's people. Talking to real powerful people." My voice rose with my frustration. "So here's the deal: Fucking wire me an actual amount worth this gig in three minutes, or I'll march into that house, ask the client myself, and walk out of this gilded paradise."
Felix sighed heavily. "You shouldn't cuss on that property."
"Do the needful," I shot back and hung up.
Turning toward the house, I approached the driver again. "Where's Grant?" I asked briskly.
He gestured toward the grand front entrance, just past a mesmerizing waterfall that spilled into a decorative pond. "He's waiting for you in the living room."
"Thanks," I murmured, more out of habit than sincerity, as I hesitated. My phone buzzed in my hand. Glancing down, I saw the notification: $1,000 wired to my account. A satisfied smile curled my lips. "Looks like I'll head in after all," I told the driver with a wink.
Straightening my shoulders, I strode toward the towering double doors. One thought grounded me: Let's get this done, be convincing, and be out of here in ten minutes.
I reached for the ornate handle, but before I could turn it, the door swung open. My mind raced to recall the details Felix had given me—Grant was supposed to be tall, dark-haired, and the youngest person in the room. Instead, I found myself staring at a warm, middle-aged woman who greeted me with a smile that barely masked her confusion.
"Where's Grant?" I blurted, my voice loud and commanding, cutting through the calmness of the space. Without waiting for an answer, I hurried past her, my heels clicking against the marble floors as I made a beeline for the living room.
Every inch of the house begged to be admired, from the ornate chandeliers to the intricate molding, but I forced myself to focus. I wasn't here to marvel; I was here to work. My job wasn't to fit in—it was to disrupt. And ruin an engagement.
Time to start the show.
My eyes scanned the room, taking in the carefully arranged seating. Two pairs of elderly couples sat at one end, chatting softly. At the other, a younger couple caught my attention. My gaze snagged on the man—tall, dark, tousled hair—and as relaxed as Felix had described. He sat beside a smiling woman, her hand resting lightly on his arm.
That's him. That's Grant.
I took a shaky breath as i move forward. "Grant," I called, my voice trembling with perfectly staged anguish, "you were going to do this to me?"
Emotion surged unexpectedly in my chest, sharp and raw, as flashes of my sister—her lifeless body drenched in blood—rushed through my mind. I blinked back the images but The memory hit harder than I expected, and for a split second, my tears weren't for the act. They were real. I pressed a hand to my chest, my fingers trembling, and stepped closer, my breath catching in a soft, choked sob.
The man—Grant—stood abruptly, his eyes locking onto mine with a mix of concern and disbelief. He was frozen, like he wasn't sure if this was the performance he'd arranged or something far more real. His gaze searched mine.
"You said I could find hope in you when I lost them," I began, my voice breaking before I pushed forward, louder now, so everyone in the room could hear. "You said you'd be the one to make it all worth it." I paused, letting the silence weigh heavy, then raised my voice again. "You said we found each other, baby. What is this? You're going to leave me, I thought I completed you, Grant!"
My words echoed in the room, and I felt the focus shift—every eye on me, every breath held.
I looked at Grant, meeting his gaze head-on. The disbelief in his eyes deepened as he struggled to process what was happening, but something else lingered there, too. His silence wasn't just shock; it was searching, probing, like he was trying to decipher the story behind my eyes.
For a moment, I felt raw and exposed, like I was standing in front of him wearing nothing. It was more intimate than any strip club performance I'd ever given, more unsettling than any staged disruption I'd ever pulled off.
I blinked hard, breaking the tension in his gaze, and took a step closer. Reaching out, I tapped him lightly on the arm before pulling him into an embrace. "You need to give some sort of reaction here," I whispered against his ear, my voice steady but soft, trying to bring him back into the scene.
But instead of acting, he did something I wasn't ready for. His arms wrapped around me tightly, his grip firm but gentle, like he wasn't letting go anytime soon. I expected stiffness, an awkward attempt at playing along. But what I got was warmth, safety—the kind of embrace that threatened to undo me.
"I'm sorry," he murmured, his voice deep and gravelly, his breath warm against my ear. "I'm sorry I hurt you."
My breath hitched. It wasn't just a line. It wasn't just part of the act. He sounded like he meant it, like he wasn't apologizing for the fictional betrayal in my script but for every hurt and heartbreak I'd ever gone through. His words seeped into the cracks of my defenses, and without meaning to, I melted into him. My arms tightened around his back, and for the first time in what felt like forever, I let myself feel held.
I swallowed hard, pulling myself together. This was a job. A performance. Nothing more. But as his arms stayed firm around me, I wasn't so sure anymore.