Ch. 2 - AWAKENED IN HIS BED

JENSYN

My eyes fluttered open, only to be greeted by a pounding headache and a throat that felt drier than the Sahara. For a moment, I had no idea where I was. 

I was tangled up in a silk blanket and when I looked around, the lavish decor stretched out. I saw golden curtains, plush carpet, and dark wood furniture. 

This wasn't my room.

Panic gripped my chest as I clutched the blanket closer and looked down. I realised with horror that I was in my bra and underwear. My dress was on the floor, looking more awful than it had ever looked. Confusion washed over me like a wave.

What the hell happened last night?

Flashes of tequila and laughter echoed in my throbbing head as I tried to stand, pulling the blanket with me. I needed to get out. Now.

Just as I was trying to gather myself, the door creaked open and a little girl, about seven or eight, stepped inside. She wore a crisp uniform and had her hair styled into pigtails that bounced on her shoulders. Her bright eyes landed on me, a look of admiration plastered on her face.

“Oh, wow, Mrs Rawlings,” The girl gasped. “You are beautiful.”

I blinked. “What?”

“I wanted to see the ‘mother’ my father said he brought home last night and I must confess, you look so pretty.” The girl said, beaming with joy.

My heart raced. “No, I am not your mother,” I countered, my voice sharp with confusion.

The girl tilted her head, still smiling. “You are! Dad told me so.”

My breath hitched. What the hell is happening?

Trying to clear the confusion, I reached down, smiling at the girl. “Please, can you help me get out of here? I—” But my voice trailed off as my mind spun, desperately trying to make sense of it all.

Before I could process anything further, a deep voice interrupted.

“Ah, you’re awake,” the voice said coolly.

I froze, my heart skipping a beat as a large figure stepped into the room. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and had a certain dangerous handsomeness that caught my breath. His piercing eyes locked onto mine, and a smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.

I stared at him for a moment, trying to recall where I'd seen him before. And then it clicked. Goodness! This man saved me last night.

Memories flooded back—this man had brought me to his house because I couldn't go back to my place—my street was a dangerous place to be at night. The man had offered me a drink. I remembered drinking more than I should have, my thoughts growing fuzzy.

“Are you staring at me, or are you just admiring the view?” He asked, his voice low, teasing.

“What the…” I paused, cautioning my words because of the young girl.

He crossed the room like he owned every inch of it and crouched down to the little girl’s level. “Go get dressed for school, sweetheart. Daddy and Mummy need to talk.”

“I’m not her mother,” I snapped, my voice tight. “And why in hell was I half-naked?”

“We’ll get to that shortly.”

The girl skidded out, and the man straightened to his full height. He wore a tailored suit that clung to his broad shoulders like a second skin. A Rolex peeked beneath his wrist, and the way he moved, slow and deliberate felt like a warning. 

“We had a couple of drinks. You got drunk and you tore off your dress somewhere between the fifth glass.”

My throat became tighter, my fingers curled into themselves. “Did you touch me?”

He gave a shrug. “Not in the way you're thinking though. I'm not that kind of man.”

I scoffed, my irritation taking a sharp bite of annoyance.

“Thank you, okay? Thank you for saving me. I want to leave now." I said and wore my dress and he just stood there, watching me.

Before the conversation could escalate, an older woman walked in. She carried a tray containing fried eggs, toast, bacon, and steaming coffee and gave me a warm smile.

“Good morning, Mrs. Rawlings.” 

I frowned. “I'm sorry, what?”

“Mr. Rawlings said you'd be joining us yesterday and I didn't see you. I am Madeline, the head chef.” She placed the tray beside the bed and gave me a nod before glancing at the man.

“Will that be all, sir?”

“Yes, Madeline.”

The woman turned to me again and said, “enjoy your breakfast, Mrs Rawlings.”

I snapped, “you must be mistaken. I am not––”

I didn't get a chance to finish my sentence before she walked out again. The gesture spiked my anger and I turned to the man. “Why is everyone calling me Mrs. Rawlings?”

“Because,” he replied, casually slipping his hands into his pockets, “last night, you wished you were my wife. And I decided to grant you that wish.”

My jaw dropped. “Are you insane? What sort of nonsense is this?”

He shrugged as if it were nothing. “Linden Rawlings,” he said, stepping closer. “I own half the skyline outside that window and more cars than you could ever imagine. I mean to say that I’ve got enough money to fix your life and your mother’s, Jensyn.”

I stared at him, amused. My lips parted, but no sound came out. How did this man know my name? It felt as if he had crept into the depths of my soul and peered into my life story. “What did you just say?” I whispered, my voice trembling.

He seemed amused by my confusion and that irked me more. I watched him reach into his pocket and pulled out his phone. Pressing it, a voice filled the room, it was a slurred, drunken version of my voice.

“...I stole a man's watch because I needed money…. I want a rich man. I want a nice house with a yard and a garden. I want to be happy, but I can’t be happy while my mom’s dying. She’s... she’s on her sick bed, battling cancer. I wish I was your wife. You seem rich…”

My blood ran cold like ice. I couldn't remember saying any of it, but the recording made it undeniable. I must have told him about Derek too. I closed myself in shame for a while, and opened them to find that Linden was fixated on me.

“You told me a lot of things and I assure you that I can make some of them happen. If you do one thing for me, Jensyn.”

Despite my fear racing up to my throat and restricting my breath, I asked, “what?”

“Marry me and I’ll pay for your mother’s treatment. I’ll give you the life you want. The house. The garden. All of it."

My pulse raced. “Excuse me?”

“Pretend to be my wife and I will give you everything you want, Jensyn. I see that your mother's treatment is the most important. I will make sure she is cancer free.”

My voice cracked as I straightened, but my voice trembled. My hands clenched into fists. I took a step back, my mind reeling. Was this real? Could I trust him? No, this was shit! I don't fucking know this man, and everyone in his house thinks I was married to him.

“I don't even know you!”

“Then give me a chance.”

“You’re insane.” I accused him.

“And you’re desperate.”

The words stung because they were true. But even desperation has its limits. This was nonsense. I couldn't stoop so low to agreeing to a loveless marriage because of money.

I grabbed my purse, my patience worn thin. “I’m leaving. Thank you for the hospitality.”

I left the room and was surprised that he didn't call me back or come after me. I made it to the hallway. Doors blurred past me in my dishevelled state, each one more intimidating than the next. 

I will get back to my simple life of being an escort—no, I had lost that job. I closed my eyes to keep myself from yelling. I would have to lay low until I was able to sell the watch and find a way to talk to Derek. 

I then emerged into what could have been called a living room. I found a glass door and dashed toward it. But before I could take another, I heard a deep, authoritative voice that shook me.

“I said find her, and when you do, bring her to me. I am willing to pay you any amount. That bitch can't go scot free.”

It sounded like…

I looked up at the curved stairs, I was standing in front of a door that stood aside after the hallway. My eyes scanned the elegant structure. It was then I saw who owned the deep voice. 

My eyes widened when I saw Derek Mills at the top, pacing like a tiger in a tailored suit, phone pressed to his ear. My knees nearly buckled.

What is he doing here?

Before I could make a run, strong hands grabbed me from behind and pulled me into the door that stood aside. I wanted to scream but a hand clasped over my mouth. 

And then I heard his voice.

Linden Rawlings.

“Shh, Jensyn,” he cooed, “my fake wife can’t meet my brother-in-law just yet.”