Samantha—Sam, as she preferred—stood in the middle of a massive living room that looked more like a luxury hotel lobby than someone's home. Everything around her was sleek, modern, and expensive. The floor-to-ceiling windows bathed the room in soft sunlight, casting long shadows across the marble floor.
She felt wildly out of place.
Dressed in her simple jeans and worn-out sneakers, she clutched the strap of her small purse like it was her only lifeline. Her deep blue eyes scanned the room nervously. A man in a tailored shirt approached her, holding a blue file and a pen.
"Here," he said, handing her the documents. "Read through these."
Her hands trembled slightly as she took them. The pen felt cold and foreign in her grip. She stared at the papers, too anxious to read a single word.
Then came the sound of bare feet against the marble, soft and unhurried.
A tall man walked into the room, his black hair still damp, strands sticking to his forehead. His lip and ear piercings glinted in the light. A loose black robe hung off his body, revealing a glimpse of his toned chest and a sleek tattoo etched along his right arm.
He looked like a man who just stepped out of the shower—and a magazine photoshoot.
His eyes landed on Sam, dark and unreadable. His lips curled up in a lazy smirk. "Is she the girl?" he asked, voice low and smooth, his pierced lip moving slowly.
Jaxon, the man beside Sam, nodded. "She is, Tim."
"Uhm…" Sam swallowed. "I—I'm Samantha. Sam, for short. I live in a small house. No family… no friends." Her voice cracked into a nervous laugh.
Tim raised an eyebrow. "I didn't ask for your autobiography."
"Don't be rude," Jaxon said with a frown. "She's just introducing herself."
"Whatever," Tim muttered, rolling his eyes. He sank into the white leather couch like he owned the world—which, Sam guessed, he probably did. "Did you tell her about the deal?"
"Not yet," Jaxon replied.
"Why her?" Tim asked, glancing lazily at Sam. "Out of all the girls, why this one?"
"Because no one else wanted to deal with your crap," Jaxon said dryly. "You've got a reputation, Tim. Everyone knows you're a player. You break hearts like it's a hobby."
Tim shrugged. "As long as I've got the money to buy their silence, who cares?"
Jaxon rubbed his temple. "You rejected about a hundred girls this week alone."
"I thought it was ninety-nine," Tim said, frowning.
"Nope. You dumped one last night."
Tim yawned. "Fine. Just tell her so she can start working."
Jaxon turned to her, his expression softening. "Miss Sam," he began, "the deal is simple. You'll be Tim's fake girlfriend. From this day forward, you'll stay in this house with him, attend events, act like you're in love—and provide anything he needs. That includes sex."
Sam's heart skipped. "Uh…"
"There's also a birthday party coming up," Jaxon added. "His niece, Alice, is turning one. You'll need to be there, smiling, pretending to be his doting girlfriend."
"That's enough," Tim said, cutting him off. "Let her sign first. No need to dump the whole story on her before she agrees."
Sam looked at him sharply, her blue eyes darkening. She hated the way he talked, like she was some item being bought. But she didn't say a word.
Jaxon cleared his throat. "So… are you in, Miss Sam?"
She hesitated. Her fingers tightened around the pen. The door was right there. She could leave. She should leave.
But something stopped her.
"I'm in," she said quietly.
Tim smirked. "Sign the deal, and get the hell out of my sight. I want to see your luggage in the foyer at exactly 5:59 AM."
He stood and walked away, not giving her another look.
Jaxon gave her a small nod. "Don't be late, Sam."
"Okay…" she whispered.
Then, with a deep breath, she bent over the table and signed the contract that would change everything.
***
Sam sat cross-legged on her bed in her tiny room, folding clothes into a worn-out suitcase. The place wasn't much—cracked walls, a single window, and barely enough space to turn around—but it had been her home. Tomorrow morning, she was supposed to leave for Tim's house. She thought she had more time.
A loud knock jolted her thoughts. The door creaked open, and her grumpy old landlord stepped in without warning.
"Hey, Sam. Pack all your stuff. You're leaving tonight," he said gruffly.
Sam blinked in shock. "Uhh... what? But I thought I had until tomorrow morning—"
"Someone's moving in tonight. They're on their way now," he interrupted.
"It's 4:30 PM! Who moves in this late?" she protested. "Can't I just stay the night? I'll be gone by five."
"Hell no. You're done packing, so get the hell out of my house." He stomped across the room, grabbed her half-packed luggage, and threw it outside. "And unless you want to pay me a hundred dollars for tonight's rent, don't even think about staying!"
"I... I don't have any money on me right now."
"Then get out!" he barked. Without hesitation, he shoved her toward the door. Her body hit the ground with a painful thud, bruises already blooming on her arms and legs.
"Ahhh," she groaned.
The landlord lit a cigarette and slammed the gate behind her. "Poor bitch," he muttered. "Go be a whore or something and pay me my damn money. I bet not even a loser boyfriend would want you."
He walked away without another glance.
---
Now stranded on the outskirts of town with nothing but her suitcase, Sam wandered into the wooded area between the road and the private neighborhood where Tim's mansion was supposed to be. The sky was already darkening, and the narrow dirt path was barely visible between the tall grass and thick trees.
She fumbled with her phone and dialed Tim's number.
"Hello, Mr. Tim?" she said, trying to sound calm.
"What?" came his flat, cold voice.
"It's Sam. I—I'm somewhere near your place, but I can't find the exact way. I think I'm in the woods."
"Don't care."
"I need help!" she pleaded.
"Call Jaxon."
"You fool," she muttered under her breath.
"What did you just say?" Tim snapped, but before she could answer, her phone died.
"Oh shit," she muttered, staring at the dark screen. "I'm doomed."
She started walking again, trying to remember the directions Jaxon had vaguely given her earlier. Then came a voice.
"Hey, beauty," someone called out from the shadows.
She turned slowly to see a man leaning against a tree, a cigarette between his lips and a strange glint in his eye. Her instincts screamed danger.
"Need help?" he asked, approaching her.
Should I ask him? Yes, she thought, reluctantly.
"I'm looking for someone named Tim. Do you know where his house is?"
The man chuckled. "Can't say I know the guy, but I know the houses around here. I could take you... but it's far."
He reached for her hand, but she pulled away.
"Don't be scared, pretty. I don't bite. You could just sleep at my place—it's nearby. Real cozy."
"No thanks. I'll stay in the woods," she replied, trying to stay firm.
"The woods are dangerous," he said, stepping closer and brushing his hand against her waist.
"Get your hands off me!"
"You're real pretty... but what's with the bruises on your face?" He reached up to touch her again.
"Don't touch me!" she snapped.
"You still look pretty." His hand moved to her chest.
She slapped him. "How dare you!"
He stumbled back, then growled and punched her in the face, sending her crashing into a nearby tree. Her head throbbed from the impact.
The man pulled out a knife and slashed at her. The blade tore through her shirt, cutting her right breast and thigh. Blood stained her white shirt, pain flaring through her body.
"I didn't mean to cut you there... but will you come to my house now?"
"Never," she hissed.
He raised the knife again and sliced her cheek. "Haven't you learned your lesson yet?"
Suddenly, a voice rang out from the path.
"Let her go, jerk."