Equalizing The Scores.

ARIA'S POV

THREE YEARS LATER

I stood behind the shadows, observing the devils suited in gold, the highest of men and women clad in jewels. They chatted, displaying their fake smiles, their pretentious attitudes, too good to be true.

Tsk. It takes one to know another.

"Sweetheart." My supposed husband called out, his hand slid down my back and held my waist in a gentle grip.

I smiled back, ignoring the lust that swirled through his eyes. "You look delicious."

I wasn't food, still I smiled harder.

Unlike the rest, I wore a simple black sleek gown, which hugged my waist with a little slit from my lap to my ankle, exposing a little more than it should. A diamond necklace sat on my neck with matching earrings. My hair was packed into a bun and clipped still with a diamond-coated hair clip.

His wish, not mine.

"Let's go." I glided in, my black heel clicking against the floor, eliciting a faint sound.

"Mr. Salvatore." Someone called out as the hall fell into a deafening silence. Their gazes latched on me as I walked in, my head held high like the queen I was.

Who is she??

So the rumor is true??

Is that his wife??

She looks so beautiful.

She looks unreal.

A little smile ghosted my lips.

"Ah! Greetings, my fellow friends." He said heartily. "Sweetheart, I will be back."

"Sure." I smiled. "It's your day. Go and shine."

"This is why I love you." He laughed, rushing to the stage while I stayed back, grinning at him.

"Thank you all for honoring my invitation. I must say I didn't expect it." The crowd laughed. "It was a tough journey, but today we are here to celebrate, to dance merrily. It wasn't easy, I lost hope a thousand times, but my sweetheart was there." He threw an air kiss at me. I recoiled, my cheeks pinked in embarrassment, and with that, the crowds cooed. "She never gave up on me and always said, 'Darling, you are the perfect person for this. Yes, all are good, but what separates you is what you do in secret: the effort and the intention."

I never said such.

"Awwwwn." They gushed.

"And today I am here as the vice president of Macro Jewels. I won. I have to say I wouldn't have done it without you; you were my anchor."

"Literally." I suppressed the urge to roll my eyes.

He continued his speech, showering himself with praise and a little to me. The crowd hushed even more, laughed at his unnecessary jokes, agreed to his nonsense, side-eyed me, drank, and were merry. Finally, the party ended. I would have gnawed off my skin if I were forced to hear any of his boring jokes or their stupid compliments.

Ass-kissers.

He held my hand as we walked out, like the couple we appeared to be.

I remained quiet till we were far off, out of their prying gaze. I snatched my hand away from his grip and slid into the black limo up front.

He joined as the driver sped off.

"That was great."

A sigh escaped from my lips before I could hold it in. I was in for another long drive with his constant talking, his annoying and boring jokes.

There was no escape for you, Aria.

"You were amazing out there, Miss Aria."

"I'm glad you think so."

"You know, even I, at one point, believed we were truly a lovely couple."

"We aren't," I said. "It was just a deal, Mr. Salvatore. A deal that ended today."

"I know, but still..."

"Seven days."

"Harsh."

"My manager will resend the account details to you."

"I understand. But..." I chattered. "I would like to thank you formally, maybe a coffee or tea date."

"I would have." Lies! I would have rather chopped off my hands and legs to avoid it. "But I have other things to do. Like I said, business always comes first."

The car came to a halt.

Finally.

"Thanks for the ride." I slipped out, my phone beeped, and I didn't bother to check. It must be Ava asking me how it went.

"I guess this is it, Miss Aria. It was fun when it lasted."

It wasn't.

"Goodbye, Mr. Salvatore." I turned and headed into the 'MoonVilla', a hostel. It wasn't a famous five-star hotel. It was a local inn, a hostel meant for people like me, people who wouldn't want to be seen by the world.

I slumped onto my bed, relishing its softness.

Finally, I'm back!!!

Gosh, I ached everywhere, especially my cheeks. Who knew smiling so long could hurt? I kicked off my heels, and my hands made their way to my neck as I peeled off the jewelry.

It felt good to be back home, away from the prying gaze. Only hell knew how hard I tried to ignore it all.

I curled up on my sheet, but I bothered to change; all I needed was sleep. Not like I could get any; those memories never allowed me to.

Those haunting pair of green eyes, the blood.

No!! Snap out of it. I wasn't going down that memory lane today.

I pulled out my phone.

"Another client is satisfied," I whispered. The chime from my phone confirmed the wire transfer.

The money was in, and the deal was closed, and I should have felt something more. Relief. Maybe even joy.

But all I felt was a flicker of pride. Like a small, cold pat on the back for a job well done.

Happiness?

That was a luxury I’d stopped chasing long ago. Not since...

No.

I shook my head, shutting the thought down before it swallowed me whole once again.

I wasn’t going down that road. Not tonight.

Today had been long, and all I wanted now was rest or the closest thing to it.

Sleep didn’t come easily anymore. Hasn't in years.

I squeezed my eyes closed, hoping for some solace.

Three hours of sleep, if I was lucky.

I lay back, eyes wide open as the darkness crept in, and I welcomed it like an old, bitter friend.

It wasn't her, it wasn't her. I told myself every single morning for three years, but that didn't change anything. The memories didn't vanish; hell, they multiplied, creating fake ones.

A five-year-old Christabel was standing in the middle of a highway, covered in blood and screaming at me to save her. No matter how fast I ran, how hard I tried, I couldn't. I just watched as the truck rammed into her, crushing her into a billion pieces, covering the oddly white-floored road in blood.

"Momma!!!!!" And yet again, I watched her get crushed beneath the gruesome tires.

My eyelids flung open. I rolled off the bed, slipped into the flip-flops, and headed to the bathroom.

And yes, there was no need for me to act like I had seen a ghost, no need to scream. You could say I was used to watching my child being killed in the worst way possible. I was used to the hallucinations, to this madness.

I hauled myself into my bathroom. I could reminisce on my dreadful nightmare later; for now, I needed to catch up on Mario's early morning coffee.

Trust me when I say it is to die for.

I hurried into the bathroom, ignoring my reflection in the mirror as I brushed my teeth.

Although I still wore the ten-thousand-dollar gown, I looked nothing like the sophisticated heiress.

I looked empty, eye bags marred my blue eyes, my face hardened by years of mystery, my brown hair entangled.

Keep it together, Aria. You wouldn't want to scare your supposed husband.

My stomach lurched at the word.

"Client." I corrected. They were people who needed an escort, a wife to attain their height.

I was the illusion they paid for when they needed to look respectable for Daddy’s board or Mommy’s will.

I became a seven-day rental for those rich, spoiled second-generation heirs.

A tool for them to break into their trust funds.

They needed a wife. I needed money.

And I was damn good at it.

No strings attached, no questions asked, and I never, NEVER repeated the same client. No matter how much they begged.

Last week’s client had been some shy tech prodigy with an overbearing mother and a trust fund the size of Brazil.

He had needed a poised, elegant wife to flash at a family reunion so the inheritance talks could go smoothly.

So I played the role.

I allowed him to hold my hands even when my palms were sweaty and I was disgusted by it.

I smiled for the cameras, and I even told lies to his aunt that she looked stunning in Chanel, when in fact, she looked like a stuffed duck.

At least he wasn't as depraved as this week's one.

A day contract that ended with $300,000 wired into my account.

Easy.

I took a short bath, dressed in a black flare dress, my hair packed into a ponytail, as I scurried out to the "Mario-de-Latte" coffee shop.

Trust me, here was perfect.

I sank in, and after a few minutes, my usual order lay on my table: two cups of coffee—don't judge—and a strawberry pie.

Excellent.

I dug in, relishing its sweet taste. I ate faster; I was expecting a new job today, and the sudden chime of my phone told me I didn't need to wait that long.

Couldn't have waited for a bit. I groaned, but I still picked up my work phone and saw the message flash across the encrypted app that I used for my business.

Unknown Number. One unread message.

“I need a wife urgently. I heard that yours is a seven-day contract. I'm willing to pay 1.5 million dollars. Not a penny more.”

My eyes widened.

W-what??

I blinked several times.

One-point-five?

The highest I had gotten paid was from this guy who paid me $300,000.

Desperation reeked through that message louder than the money. He needed me more than I needed his money.

I took a sip of my lukewarm coffee and replied to his text like I did to all.

“Non-negotiable terms:

No intimacy.

No extensions.

No repeats.

Payment upfront.

I DON'T ever wear white.”

His response came almost immediately.

“Agreed. My assistant will send the contract and itinerary.”

He was fast. And efficient too. I kind of respected that.

A few minutes later, the email pinged in my inbox. I skimmed through the attached contract, scanning the location, terms, and expected appearances.

Manhattan, Upper East Side private penthouse, separate rooms...

Nothing new. Just the same old stuff.

And then I saw the name at the bottom of the document.

Blood drained from my face.

Kane Callahan.

I froze.