CHAPTER 3: FAKE GIRLFRIEND

VERONICA POV

Taken away? By whom?

Mom sobs even harder, her shoulders shaking uncontrollably as she buries her face in her hands.

“Mom, please… Diana… someone, anyone, say something,” I beg, my voice cracking as I drop to my knees beside them on the cold floor.

Diana wipes her own tears away with the back of her hand, her eyes red and swollen. “Dad’s hepatitis illness never completely healed… or rather, the hospital didn’t treat him properly in the first place.”

She takes a shaky breath. “Earlier today, he woke up feeling severely nauseated… he couldn’t eat anything at all… he just said he wanted to take a quick nap.”

“Mom and I thought it was just stress making him sleep for so many hours… but then when I went to check on him… his hands were ice-cold. For one terrifying second, I thought he was dead… but I pressed my fingers to his neck and found his heart still faintly beating.”

“Mom immediately called the health insurance company… they sent an ambulance, and they took him away to the hospital.”

“They called back not long after to tell us…” She trails off, voice breaking, unable to finish.

My heart hammers painfully in my chest. “Told you what?” I ask, my whole body already shaking uncontrollably.

“Th… that Dad has a tumor in his brain…”

Shit.

Fuck.

Fuck.

Fuck… no, hell fucking no. I scream at the top of my lungs, slamming my fists hard against the nearest wall even though the impact sends sharp pain shooting through my knuckles.

“What exactly did the health insurance say? Is it curable at all?”

“Yes… it is curable.”

“Then let’s proceed with treating him right away…”

“That’s exactly the problem,” she says, her voice trembling. “The surgeons say they can’t schedule without a $27,000 deposit toward the expected out-of-pocket costs—insurance covers most, but our plan has a huge deductible, and they want it upfront because of hospital policy for major neurosurgery.”

My stomach drops.

“So how much is the full payment…?”

“Seventy-five thousand.”

“Oh shit… how on earth are we supposed to afford that huge amount of money?”

“Well… we still have about a month or more to raise the funds… but Dad will remain in the hospital under observation so they can monitor him closely.”

I swallow hard.

Before I could force out another word, my phone buzzed sharply. I fish it out of my pocket with trembling fingers.

The name flashing on the screen: Jason.

The message reads: I heard about your dad. I might have a suggestion though. Come outside. Let's talk in person.

I stand up quickly; legs unsteady and hurry out of the living room without explanation. I push through the front door and step into the cool air.

Jason leans casually against his matte black Bentley, arms folded tightly across his chest, looking infuriatingly handsome as usual.

Jesus… I hate how irresistibly good he still looks. But I can’t ever see him the same way again. Not after the humiliation. Fuck him and everything he’s done.

“Why are you here?” I ask, folding my arms.

“Because I can help you,” he says smoothly.

“I already know about your dad’s illness. I also know for a fact your family can’t possibly raise that amount of money… but I can.”

My brows furrow. “Is that supposed to be some kind of insult?”

He laughs, low and mocking. “Poor people and having way too much audacity really are best friends.”

I open my mouth to snap something vicious, but the words die—he’s offering help. I have to swallow my self-respect if it means saving my father.

“Wait… are you actually saying you’re going to pay for my dad’s treatment?”

He nods once. “Yes,” he answers simply.

“But—”

I cut him off before he could finish. “Oh, let me guess… it comes with a price.”

“Well said, sweetheart.”

“What’s the condition, then?”

“Well, I got an email that my adoptive father will be back in Los Angeles in five days,” Jason says, his voice casual but edged with intent. “So the board at his company decides to throw him a welcome soirée—a themed, fancy masked affair.

They’re calling it a ‘legacy family’ thing to keep the investors calm and push through the next big round.

He glances at me, waiting for some kind of reaction. I don’t give him one.

“Anyway,” he continues, scratching the side of his jaw, “I need you to come as my girlfriend. Fake girlfriend. Preferably convincing.” I stay silent, my throat tight.

Look, I’ve got this feeling—he’s gonna sign the property over right there at the soirée. That’s why the whole production.” He shrugs one shoulder. “Gotta look stable, gotta look like I’ve got my shit together.

“And you… you clean up nice. You look presentable in that kind of setting.” I blink. Clean up nice. Look presentable in that kind of setting.

I swallow hard.

The words land somewhere between compliment and insult and I’m not sure which hurts more.

Why doesn’t he pick Moni as his girlfriend? Doesn’t she look presentable?

Wait…was he implying that Moni isn’t presentable? But I don’t even have the strength to question him.

“I doubt I’d even recognize the old man if I ran into him,” he adds with a lazy shrug. “The last time I saw him, I was barely eight. Maybe nine. Everything else I know about him comes from photos I stumble across online during meetings.”

His adoptive father is this huge legacy figure almost nobody actually knows. Jason always says the man stays completely anonymous; he hasn’t seen him or even spoken to him in like twenty-two years. That’s how bad it is. But at least he’d hired a mother who actually stuck around and took care of him.

“Okay… that’s fine. I’ll do it,” I manage, my voice barely above a whisper as I force the words out.

Jason’s lips curve into a slow smile. “Uh… princess, that’s not all.” He pauses, watching my face. “My father leaves LA days after the soirée, but that doesn’t mean our contract ends.”

My stomach twists as he goes on. “So you know, Moni and I are getting married soon. And after we’re married, I’ll be requesting an open marriage. Preferably.” He shrugs lightly. “Then I want you to be my mistress. The entire time. You know how quickly I get bored of overused pussy.”

The words land like a gut punch. “How could you even ask me to do something like that?” I snap, anger flaring hot. “You want Moni to suffer in that marriage? Then why the hell marry her in the first place?”

“Oh please,” he scoffs, rolling his eyes. “Just shut up and stop acting like such a hypocrite. Aren’t you a whore already?”

“You have the fucking audacity to call me a whore?”

He doesn’t blink, just holds my gaze, cold and steady.

“Jason… leave my house right now,” I say through clenched teeth, “before I do something that lands me in lifetime imprisonment.”

“I do not want your help.”

“But your family desperately does,” he counters coolly, tilting his head. “Your mom was the one who called me earlier, begging if I could raise the funds.”

My fists clench at my sides.

“Well, I’ve done my part,” he says, straightening. “The ball’s in your court now. When you’ve finally agreed to be my mistress… you know my number. Call me.”

“I will do no such thing.”

He smirks wider, turning toward his car. “Okay then. I guess I’ll have a funeral to attend in a bit.”

I blink, the threat sinking in cold and heavy. He’s right—I have no other way to get that huge amount of money in a month.

Should I just do this?

I cross my arms tightly over my chest. “Jason… let’s make the deal even,” I say, steadying my voice.

“So, neither of us gets disappointed. I come to the welcome soirée, play the girlfriend in front of your adoptive father…you give me half the hospital bill money for my dad upfront. Then, when I choose to be your mistress, you pay the rest. Is that fair?”

He shrugs, considering it for a beat. “This sounds like a scam… but fine. I have no other alternative, so I’ll go with your—”

“Wait… what?” His eyes snap to my neck, brows shooting up in mock surprise. “What’s that mark on your neck?”

“Huh? What’s what?” I mutter, stepping back instinctively.

“You really are a whore, Veronica.”

“It’s only been days since we broke up, and you’re already fucking other men?”

I freeze, refusing to give him the satisfaction of asking.

“Why do you even care, Jason?”

“Because you’re mine,” he says, voice dropping low and possessive as he steps closer. “And you will always be mine.”

I want to laugh at the absurdity and cry from the pain all at once.

“I am not yours anymore, Jason.”

“Then fine. Suit yourself.” He sneers. “Spread your legs wide for whoever wants you—because that’s all you’re good for.”

“I’m not taking that bullshit from you, Jason.” My voice rises. “Don’t you ever call me a whore. I’m not one. You took my virginity, remember?”

“Then explain what’s on your neck if you’re not a whore.”

“What the fuck is on my neck?” I yell, hand flying up to touch the spot.

“It’s a hickey, you bitch.” He grabs my wrist hard, fingers digging in until red marks bloom.

“Who have you been seeing, Veronica?”

“That’s none of your concern,” I retort sharply, yanking my arm back.

“Answer my goddamn question,” he practically yells, grip tightening.

“It’s… it’s just my curling iron,” I say quickly.

He narrows his eyes, jaw clenched. “Do I look like a fool to you? I know a hickey when I see one. “Well, fuck that.” He turns abruptly, heading to his car. He grabs a sleek Zara bag from the passenger seat and shoves it toward me. “This is yours. Wear it when you come to the party. And don’t be late.”

“What about the money?” I call after him. “Will you give it to me now, or after I play the fake girlfriend in front of your dad?”

“After the role, bitch,” he calls out, voice sharp and mocking as he pauses halfway into the driver’s seat.