I finished my meal, the taste of warm toast and eggs still lingering on my tongue. But Anthony hadn't returned from the call he took what felt like ages ago.
Why should you care, Alicia? I scolded myself. It was only a kiss.
My fingers brushed over my lips. Soft. Still warm. It was only a kiss, and maybe Anthony felt nothing—but why did it feel real?
Why did it feel like more?
And it wasn't fair—the way he acted, as if this meant nothing. As if I was nothing.
I shoved the chair back with a sharp scrape and strode into the hallway. Six figures were on the line. If I messed this up, I could lose everything.
I turned toward my room.
But before I could take another step, strong hands gripped mine and pulled me back—straight into a hard chest.
His scent hit me instantly. Clean. Masculine. The subtle sharpness of aftershave.
I turned and looked up.
And there it was—his cold, unreadable gaze staring down at me.
"Last night…"
Oh yes, finally we are going to talk about it.
"I want you," he said, his voice flat. I instantly predicted what was coming. "I want you to forget about it. It was a mistake."
My lips parted in disbelief. But he had touched me in a way no man ever had before—his hands roaming over mine, igniting something deep within me.
How could it be a mistake?
But perhaps he was right; maybe I was pushing too hard. This was only a contract, after all, which meant whatever I felt had to be pressed down.
"Okay," I replied, stepping back from him, my gaze darting away from his face. My eyes landed on the Mona Lisa portrait hanging beside him, its enigmatic smile offering a distraction.
The wall was lit with a sterile white light.
"Alicia," he called, and I turned back to him.
"Yes?"
Something flickered in his eyes—was it guilt? But then he quickly shook his head, as if brushing away the thought. "Don't read into what happened. It was a mistake I made."
"You mean...", I gulped, "I should act like we never kissed?"
He blinked at me, I return the gaze, "Yes", he said coldly.
"But we did", I protested. Even though this was fake, it doesn't mean we should have to pretend about a simple kiss right?
"We did not. You must it ever happened because it won't happen again!"
And just like that, he walked away from me and headed straight for his room.
My hand trembled, but I clasped them together. I had to remind myself this was fake, so I didn't have to feel small.
But the worry kept me rooted in place.
For so long, I had been discarded—first my mother, who could no longer bear the pain and hardship anymore, and my father, who vented all his frustration on my skin.
For many nights, I cried silently in my room, with no one to talk to. He had cut me off from everyone I knew, and with no income to my name, there was no way I could move forward.
And then he had sold me—his only daughter, his only child—as a bargain to a billionaire.
A cold one at that.
After the ball, I thought that even though it was for a short time, I now had someone to lean on. But what was I thinking?
"Stupid me," I laughed, baffled, then walked into my room, shutting the door behind me.
As soon as I stepped into the room and pressed my back against the door, tears streamed down my cheeks.
"You caused this," Father's voice had sliced through the dim light. The flickering candle revealed his cold, hate-filled eyes. "Because of you and your worthless mother, I've lost everything."
"How could he?" I sobbed. "How could he sell me? And how could Mother leave me with that monster?"
Five years ago, I dropped out of school. Ten years ago, she walked out that door, leaving me behind despite all the times I had clung to her hand.
"Alicia, dear," her voice echoed in my mind as she squeezed my hand, "one day you will understand why I have to leave."
"What do you mean I will understand?" I had shouted at her. "You're not making any sense, Mother! I'm fifteen—how can you leave me alone with him?"
She couldn't meet my gaze. I saw her fighting back tears, but her sorrow didn't matter to me—mine should have meant everything to her.
She tried to pull away from my grip, but I held on tightly. "You have to take me with you. Please, Mother, please."
But she shook her head and continued to pull away. That's when I noticed the red mark on her wrist. "Mother…"
"What's happened to you?" I whispered, horrified by the bruises.
For many nights I have heard her scream, even when I knew it has something to do with my father, I told myself is not true not until now, "Did he hurt you? Tell me, is that why you are leaving?"
"I'm sorry," she broke free and left me. For good.
It wasn't long before I came to know the monster I lived with. He found pleasure in hurting Mother, and soon I became the next skin under his belt.
"You should have taken me with you, Mother," I whispered, sinking down onto the floor as sobs shook my body.
I didn't even realize I had remained in that spot until mid-afternoon when I eventually dosed off.
The buzzing of my phone jolted me awake.
I let out a frustrated sigh and reached for my phone, still lying on the floor. As I picked it up and glanced at the screen, my breath caught in my throat.
"What is this?"
There I was, featured prominently in the headline, wearing the stunning dress Anthony had given me. The photo captured a moment from the ball—he held my waist, his gaze locked onto mine, as if nothing else mattered.