I sat on the cold hospital floor outside the ICU with my back pressed against the wall, legs folded, and arms wrapped around the duffel bag that now held everything I owned.
I’d changed into casual clothes as soon as I stopped by the apartnt Caleb and I lived in and packed the little things I owned. I didn’t have much: A few secondhand clothes and worn-out shoes, my toothbrush and so pictures. That was it
Five years of my life, and this was all I had left.
Through the glass window, I could see my mother. She had several tubes fixed all over her body, connected to beeping machines.
Her na was Stephanie Rivers. Once the shining star of Luxford City’s movie industry. An eight-ti Golden Script award winner. The highest-paid actress and influencer with the largest fan base in Luxford City.
Now she was just another body being kept alive by machines, forgotten by the world that once adored her.
Even by her husband.
When mom had an accident three years ago and slipped into a coma, everything changed. My dad didn’t even wait to see if she’d wake up, and in less than six months, he remarried, to Stella, my mom’s best friend.
Even then, I’d been too busy chasing love to feel the impact.
Since Mom’s source of inco was compromised and bills had to be paid, I was left with no choice but to drop out of acting school to work and take care of Mom.
Mom had wanted to follow in her footsteps and beco an actress.
She’d been so proud when I got accepted into the Ace Star Acting academy. But then I t Caleb, a handso boy from a small village east of Luxford. I’d fallen in love with him so fast that it stunned everyone around .
But I was young and stupid and in love. So, I worked three jobs, gave Caleb my tuition money, which my mom had saved up for rainy days, so he could stay in school, convincing myself that once he made it big, he’d take care of us.
What a fool I’d been.
The doctor had co by an hour ago. Dr Abel, our family doctor, looked uncomfortable when he told the news.
"The hospital board held a eting this morning," he’d said, not eting my eyes. "If you can’t pay at least 70% of the outstanding dical bills within four days, we’ll have to stop all treatnt and take her off life support."
Where was I supposed to get a million dollars from within four days? All my hope had been on the governnt grant, which is why I was excited about getting married to Caleb. That was my last resort and only hope.
I pressed my palms against my eyes, trying not to cry. If only I could turn back the hands of ti, I’d have made different choices.
Now I had fifty dollars in my bank account: no ho, no job and four days to find a million dollars or watch my mother die.
My phone buzzed in my pocket, but I ignored it, just like I’d been ignoring the notifications all day.
Everyone at the hospital had watched the wedding. Every nurse who ca to check my mom couldn’t stop gushing about how perfect Isabella and Caleb looked.
They talked about how romantic and sweet Caleb was for marrying a dying Isabella.
What they didn’t know was that today was supposed to be my wedding. It should have been on their TV screens, finally watching a dream co true.
My phone buzzed again. Deciding to turn it off, with a sigh, I pulled it out.
My screen lit up, and written boldly in front of it was a ssage, in the boldest font I’ve ever seen.
What can a million dollars do for you right now?
I stared at the ssage. A million dollars. Exactly what I needed.
This had to be a scam. Nobody just offered a million dollars. But what did I have to lose? Scamrs wanted money, and I had none.
I clicked on the ssage.
A secure link opened and two options appeared: [YES] or [CANCEL].
"Press [YES] to continue and reveal your tasks. Press [CANCEL] to go back."
My finger hovered over the screen. This was stupid—probably dangerous or so online phishing scam—but what if it is true? What if I get the million dollars?
Taking in a deep breath, I pressed [YES].
The screen loaded for so seconds, and a new ssage appeared:
Go to this address: 11 Harlow Street within the next hour. Use the back entrance. No phones allowed inside.
That was it: just the address and no explanation.
Well, it’s not like I had anything important to do. I’ll go check it out, and at the first sign of trouble, I’ll back out.
I stood up, dusted off my jeans, and looked back at the glass door where my mother lay. Then I picked up my bag and left.
I arrived at 11 Harlow Street by 8:12 pm.
It was in the fancy part of town, and the taxi ride had cost fifteen dollars alone.
The building had gold letters above the door that read ’TRANSFORM BEAUTY STUDIO and was tucked between a shut-down laundromat and an empty office space.
I passed through the side of the building until I found the back door. I pushed open the door, and imdiately a tall woman in a black suit greeted , clipboard in hand.
"Naya Rivers?"
My heart jumped. "How do you—"
"We’ve been expecting you. This way, please."
She led into another room filled with mirrors, beauty lights and racks of clothes. Three people who had stylists’ signatures were lounging around. As soon as they saw us, they sprang to their feet imdiately.
"Naya Rivers is here," the tall woman inford them. "Make her pretty."
As she turned to go, I grabbed her arm. "What’s going on?" I asked. "I don’t have any money to..."
"You don’t have to worry, Hun. Everything’s been paid for. Now go sit, we don’t have all night."
"Paid for? By who?"
"Does it matter?" One of the stylists with red hair winked. "Now sit. We have so much to do."
An hour and forty-five minutes later, I barely recognised myself.
My red hair had been replaced with a dark wig that was styled to fall in perfect waves around my shoulders. The makeup transford my face entirely, making look like a celebrity. The red dress I wore hugged every curve in my body, even the ones I didn’t know existed.
I felt like soone else.
My phone buzzed again.
Next location: Club 69, 890 Harbour Street. Use the VIP entrance. Ask for Table 12.
Club 69 was the most exclusive in Luxford. It was a go-to place for Celebrities, politicians, and billionaires only. I had only seen the inside of it once, from behind the ropes, of course, when Caleb was invited to a private party earlier this year.
I walked straight to the VIP door, hoping I looked confident. The bouncer looked at , checked sothing on his tablet, then opened the door with a nod.
He didn’t ask a single question.
I walked in, and the ambience was surprisingly different from an average club. Music played quietly in the background. There was a handful of people lounging around in pairs inside the club.
"Do you have a reservation?" the hostess asked with a polite smile when she ca up to .
"Table 12," I blurted.
"Oh!" she nodded rapidly, flashing a brighter smile. "This way, please."
She led to a private booth in the corner and told a waiter would be with shortly before leaving.
I sat down, my heart racing. What was I doing here? What was this?
A waiter appeared later. He set down a glass of wine and a small crystal vial in front of .
He gave a polite nod and walked away.
I stared at the vial, wondering what I was supposed to do with it, when another text entered my phone.
Go to Suite 7 on the 11th floor. You’ll find him there. Seduce him and pour the vial into his drink. Take intimate pictures with him and upload them using these login details. Paynt would be sent upon completion.
Attached to the ssage was a userna and password to a SnapShare account.
Who was I supposed to et? It was a man, alright, at least I knew that much. What was in the vial? Was it poison? Was I being pimped right now?
The more I wondered about it, the more every part of scread Don’t do it. But my mother’s face flashed in my mind.
I had less than 96 hours to save her; this was not the right ti to grow a moral conscience.
I stood up and walked over to the elevator.
The dial hands on my wristwatch read 11:07 pm when I arrived at Suite 7. The door was slightly ajar, and a huge man in a black suit, standing by the door with an earpiece in his ear, gave a once-over, muttered sothing into it, and opened the door for .
I muttered my thanks and stepped inside.
It took a while before my eyes adjusted to the dim lights in the room.
Jazz music played in the background. I spotted a minibar in the corner and there, seated by the bar, nursing a glass of whiskey which he kept spinning in one hand and a script in the other, was none other than...
Hansel Ward.
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