BEG FOR ME, MR. BILLIONAIRE

All eyes were fixed on the phone.

One phone call would decide Emma's future. Whether her future would remain in her hands or be handed over to someone with deep pockets and unmatched power.

Emma didn't, even for one second, look away from the phone. If it rang, she would be free. If it didn't, she would soon belong to someone she has never even met before.

"It's taking too long," a bespectacled girl broke the silence in the room, her eyes restless behind round glasses as she checked her wristwatch.

"How many minutes left?" another female voice came from across the room.

"Actually, only fifteen," the girl replied, adjusting her glasses with a single finger.

"Fifteen? I thought we still had more time," said the girl across the room, who was still only a teenager.

The bespectacled girl pushed the glasses higher up her nose ridge. Her eyes shifted from the teenager to another girl in the room. "Emma, are you sure you sent your best pieces?" 

"Of course." Emma said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. 

"But why's it taking..." 

"Try to be patient, Hellena.You're making me more nervous." Emma said and shifted restlessly on her bed. She sat upright with the phone cradled in her palms. It was a big desk telephone that once belonged to her grandfather, which she still kept for memory.

Emma's bespectacled friend Hellena squeezed in beside her and clutched a pillow like her life depended on it. On a sofa across the room, Misty, Emma's younger sister of fifteen years old sat knees drawn up to her chin, and eyes glued on the phone.

And lying on the floor was a child no more than five years old, colouring in a small drawing book with such careless abandon it appeared she wasn't bothered by the small bandaged spot near her elbow.

She glanced up from her drawing book as though she had remembered something and her sweet innocent soothing voice floated through the air:

"Auntie Hewy, did you send the picture of that boy smiling with the hand like this?" 

She threw her small hands up and teethed in the air. 

"It's not a picture, it's a painting, sweetheart," Emma said and added, "You mean 'The Laughing Soul'. I did my dear."

Today was the day. 

Crestfield Academy of Fine Arts informed successful applicants through phone calls. It was always on the first Thursday of June during the hour between 4 and 5 p.m.

Crestfield graduates had their works hanging in the national gallery. The academy was a factory of dreams, and those admitted were sure of a successful career ahead of them. Students aspiring to join had to apply with a portfolio exhibiting samples of their work. Emma was positive she had sent in her best art pieces. But the path into Crestfield was so narrow she didn't know if she would make it. She now drew her knees up and rested her head on it. She hated having a father who set standards so high. The boys in the family were allowed to finish their higher education wherever they wanted but the girls were married off the moment they turned twenty one years old. 

"A lady must make it to the best institution in her field or it's just a waste of money." Her father would always say.

In Emma's field, Crestfield was the only name her father respected.

But even then, Emma always feared that this so-called high standard was just her father's excuse of discriminating the girls. 

"Do you realize," Hellena said, "last year only twenty five students got in. Twenty five! Out of nearly three thousand applicants."

"Please don't remind me," Emma sucked in a deep breath. Her heart raced with a mix of anticipation and anxiety. Her grandfather's old-school phone still remained clutched in her sweaty palms. "I'm trying to forget about the odds."

"Shhh!" Misty hissed. "What if you miss the call because you are talking too loud?"

Emma chuckled nervously. 

Deep down she was well aware. If the phone stayed silent, there would be no more arguments.

Knowing her father well enough, she could bet on it that he had already found a man to marry her just like he did for her two elder sisters the moment they turned her age. 

Emma Hedwig kept praying quietly and hoping against all odds that the phone would ring.

But the phone remained silent. 

And minutes dragged on. 

She feared it was past time already.  

Soon hope dwindled and a hint of worry was clear on her face. 

Amidst the awkward silence, Hellena was constantly checking her watch and this was driving Emma crazy.

Misty resorted to biting her finger nails silently. Even the little girl lying on the floor had stopped drawing, like she knew something was going wrong. 

Fearing to see her failure reflected in the eyes of her little niece, Emma shut her eyes and threw her head back against the wall.

She stayed like that for a while. 

But she knew.

Any second from now...

Hellena's voice would break the bad news: 'It's past time.'

She was about to give up all hope when a piercing sound crashed the silence in the room.

TRRRRIIIIIIING! TRRRRIIIIIIING! 

Everyone screamed and jumped up at once. Emma fumbled so hard she nearly dropped the ringing phone. Her heart pounded hard as she reached for the huge hand-held receiver.

"No. Put it on speaker!" Hellena shouted.

"Shhh!" Misty hissed again.

Everyone was on their feet; Misty on the sofa, Hellena and Emma on the bed and Emma's niece on the floor.

"Hello?" Emma's voice trembled.

"Congratulations, Miss Emma Hedwig," an official sounding voice of a young man blared on loud speaker and the room fell dead silent. "We are pleased to inform you that you have been chosen..."

Before the sentence was finished, a burst of laughter erupted from the other end of the line. The sparkle in Emma's eyes died instantly and her broad smile slowly faded.

She stared at the phone in confusion. All around her, the other girls eye-balled each other with the same look of confusion.

"Got you!" Her brother shifted to his normal voice. "Crestfield called and said you didn't make the list. So stop dream--"

The room broke into a cacophony of angry voices and a series of insults.

"That's not funny, Jordan!" Hellena screamed.

"I'm going to murder him." Emma hung up, dropped the phone on the bed and was already halfway to the door. 

"He's in his room," Misty said, grabbing a pillow and also running to the door.

Before the chaos could settle, the phone lit up again.

TRRRRIIIIIIING! TRRRRIIIIIIING! 

Everyone froze.

The girls exchanged wide-eyed looks.

Emma eyed the phone curiously. Was this it? Was she finally chosen?

"Hurry! You're going to miss it!" Misty clapped her hands.

Emma swallowed hard as she padded across the room, heart pounding and eyes locked on the phone. It was either this or time was surely up. 

With fingers trembling, she answered. 

It was real this time.

A calm female voice from the Crestfield Admissions Office delivered loudly the words she had dreamed about for weeks now:

"Congratulations, Miss Hedwig. You have been admitted to the Crestfield Academy of Fine Arts. You will receive further instructions through email."

The call cut immediately.

The girls screamed and jumped once more. Pillows flew up in the air like confetti. In a moment, everyone huddled up together in a tight hug. Even her niece rushed in and locked her cute little hands around Emma's legs.

Emma's ears were bombarded nonstop by Misty and Hellena's voices as they spoke rapidly out of turn:

"Congratulations!"

"You made it."

"I'm so happy for you, sis."

"I knew, I saw your pieces."

. . .

. . .

Emma's eyes turned glassy and her heart swole with gratitude. 

She couldn't believe she would be the first girl in her family to escape the cruel tradition of being married off before attaining higher education.

Her father had promised to break the family tradition only if Crestfield accepted her. But promises get broken at times. Nevertheless she had already done her part and everyone would be watching to see if her father kept his promise...

Would she be left to go pursue her dreams or did fate have something else in store for her?

She would soon find out.

As they broke the embrace, Emma's gaze drifted down and something caught her attention.

She stared, confused.

The hem of her cream-colored dress was smeared with a bright red stain.

Blood.