The school bell had just rung when Sabi, 15 years old felt the cold grip of dread clutch her chest. She hadn't been called to the principal's office before, and the sudden summons had sent a ripple of whispers through her classmates. Mrs. Hall, the school secretary, stood stiffly outside the classroom, her expression unreadable.
"Sabi Carter?"
Sabi shoved her worn-out notebook into her bag and stood. "Yes, ma'am?"
"You need to come with me."
Something was wrong. Mrs. Hall wasn't one for pleasantries, but there was something even grimmer than usual in her tone.
Sabi followed, her heart slamming against her ribs. The office smelled like dust and old coffee. Her homeroom teacher, Mr. Groves, was already there, wringing his hands. His thin lips parted, but he hesitated, as if swallowing words too heavy to say.
"Sabi…" he started softly. "It's your mother. She collapsed at work. They took her to the hospital, but…"
Sabi's ears rang. Her vision blurred. "Where is she?"
Mr. Groves hesitated again. "She's—she didn't make it, Sabi. The paramedics arrived too late."
She didn't hear the rest. Her mind locked onto the words, her stomach curdling. The room was spinning.
"She's dead?" she whispered.
Mrs. Hall reached for her, but Sabi jerked away.
"No, no, that's not true," she spat. "She was fine this morning!"
She turned and ran.
Tearing through the school gates, she ignored the voices calling after her. The streets of the city blurred as she sprinted toward the towering glass structure of Jupiter Hotel, her mother's workplace. The sidewalks were a mess of pedestrians, honking cars, and blinking traffic lights, but Sabi didn't stop. She pushed past people, her lungs burning, her legs screaming.
She reached the hotel lobby, breathless, her eyes darting wildly for someone, anyone, who would tell her this was a lie. The pristine marble floors, the polished golden chandeliers, the sharp scent of expensive perfume, it all felt so untouched by the disaster that had just shattered her world.
"Mom!" she yelled, startling a group of guests waiting at the reception. Heads turned. A concierge frowned.
A woman in a navy-blue uniform, her name tag reading 'Claire,' stepped forward. "Who are you looking for?"
"My mom. Where is she?" Sabi demanded. "Where is my mom?"
Claire's face softened, "Oh, Mrs. Carter?" but her voice held a rehearsed detachment. "I'm so sorry, but she has been taken to the hospital, you can go check her"
"She worked herself to death for this place!" Sabi screamed. "And what did she get? Nothing?"
"Hey, do not blame the hospital for her death" Claire said, avoiding her gaze. "The hotel covered the ambulance costs."
"Ambulance costs?" Sabi scoffed, her throat raw. "You think that's enough? My mom is dead every time she comes back from work, she's worn out. Emotionally, physically, mentally. You guys needs to be sued. A number of employee dies here on a monthly basis!"
The hotel manager, a balding man in an expensive suit, emerged from an office. He sighed as if this were an inconvenience. "Young lady, this is not the place for an outburst."
Sabi's fists clenched. "You killed her," she said, her voice shaking. "You all did."
Tears burned down her cheeks. She turned running as fast as she could to the hospital
***
Levi Callahan, 20, adjusted his cufflinks, staring at his reflection in the gilded mirror of the hotel's private suite. He looked immaculate, his black tuxedo perfectly tailored, his hair combed back with ruthless precision. Yet, beneath his sharp suit and polished exterior, there was nothing but ice.
Today, he was getting married.
Not for love. Not for desire. But for power.
Paris Monroe was beautiful, wealthy, and well-bred. The perfect accessory to solidify his business empire. Their families had orchestrated this union like a carefully written contract, with terms and benefits outlined in cold, precise detail.
A knock sounded at the door. His best man, Ethan, stepped in. "Ready?"
Levi straightened his tie. "Does it matter?"
Ethan smirked. "Most men have jitters before their wedding."
"I'm not most men," Levi said, his voice clipped. "This isn't a wedding. It's a transaction."
Ethan sighed, but he knew better than to argue. "Let's get this over with."
***
Paris, 20, was radiant in white, standing at the altar in the grand ballroom of Jupiter Hotel. Hundreds of guests watched, but Levi barely acknowledged them.
The officiant spoke, but Levi barely listened. When it was time for his vows, he lifted Paris's veil and met her hopeful gaze. She was stunning, glossy brunette curls, perfect red lips, and designer diamonds dripping from her ears. A woman any man would want.
Except him.
He leaned in, his lips brushing her ear. "This is a transaction, Paris. Don't expect much."
She stiffened, but when she pulled back, her smile remained flawless, her eyes glinting with something almost dangerous.
"I wouldn't dream of it."
He slipped the ring onto her finger, sealing his fate. When the applause erupted, he didn't smile. His kingdom had just expanded, but his heart remained untouched.
The wedding reception was a lavish spectacle, but Levi had no patience for it. As Paris twirled on the dance floor with an adoring facade, he sat at the bar, nursing a whiskey.
Ethan slid into the seat beside him. "Not going to dance with your wife?"
"She's a Monroe. She knows how to perform," Levi replied dryly.
Ethan smirked. "Cold."
Levi drained his glass. "This isn't about warmth. It's about legacy."
As the night dragged on, Paris approached him, her fingers gliding up his arm. "Shall we retire to our suite?"
Levi caught her wrist. "Suite? I told you, Paris. This is business."
Her lips parted, something desperate flashing in her eyes before she masked it. "So you won't even try to pretend?"
He let go of her wrist. "I never pretend."
Paris's smile faltered. Without another word, she turned and walked away. He watched her disappear into the crowd, knowing she would soon understand the cold truth, she might carry his name, but she would never have him.