The opportunity

Lynn's POV

I stared at the address Festy had sent me, my hands trembling with an excitement I hadn't felt in three years.

"You're sure about this?" I asked, looking up at my husband as he paced our cramped living room. The apartment felt smaller every day, especially since he'd lost his job six months ago.

Festy stopped, turning to face me with an expression I couldn't quite read. Eagerness? Desperation?

"Of course I'm sure. It's just one night, Lynn. One night of work and you'll make good money. We need this."

We need this. The words echoed in my mind as I nodded slowly. I'd been begging him to let me work for years, ever since our wedding day when he'd convinced me to quit my job at the marketing firm.

"You don't need to work," he'd said then, cupping my face with such tenderness I'd melted. "I'll take care of you. I want to take care of you."

I'd been so in love with him…had been since our university days when I'd first seen him across the library, tall and handsome with that confident smile. He'd barely noticed me then. It had taken years of patient friendship before he'd finally asked me out, and when he'd proposed, I'd cried tears of joy.

I would have done anything for him. I had done everything for him.

"What kind of work is it exactly?" I asked, setting my phone down on the kitchen counter.

Festy waved a dismissive hand. "Assistant work. The guy needs help with something for the evening. Rich people stuff. Just... be polite, do whatever he needs, and don't mess this up, Lynn."

The familiar sting of his words made me flinch, but I nodded. I'd learned not to argue. Not after the plate he'd thrown last month that had shattered inches from my head. Not after he'd screamed that I was bad luck, that everything wrong in his life was because of me.

"You're such a disappointment," he'd spat during one of his rages. "I gave up everything for you, and you can't even bring me good fortune."

I'd stopped trying to reason with him. Stopped pointing out that I hadn't asked him to quit his job…he was fired for chronic lateness and attitude problems. Stopped mentioning that I'd wanted to work, to contribute, but he'd forbidden it.

"Get dressed," Festy said now, checking his phone. "Something nice. Professional but... appealing."

My stomach twisted slightly at the phrasing, but I pushed the feeling aside. This was my chance.

Finally, after three years of being trapped in this apartment, of having no money of my own, of losing touch with every friend because Festy said they were "jealous" or "bad influences," I could do something. Contribute. Maybe even regain a small piece of myself.

I remembered Maya's face the last time we'd met for lunch, three years ago. My best friend since childhood had leaned across the table, voice low and urgent.

"Lynn, he's isolating you. Can't you see that? He doesn't want you to have friends, to work, to have any life outside of him. That's not love. That's control."

I'd defended him. Made excuses. Stopped answering Maya's calls until they stopped coming altogether.

I shook off the memory and headed to our bedroom…

Festy had been sleeping on the couch for months now, saying my presence "stressed him out” plus he’d entirely stopped touching me.

…and pulled out one of the few dresses I owned.

A simple black sheath dress that I'd worn to our wedding reception. It still fit, though I'd lost weight. Hard to keep weight on when Festy controlled the grocery money and I never knew when he'd explode over spending "too much."

I applied light makeup with shaking hands. When was the last time I'd dressed up? Gone anywhere? I couldn't remember.

"You look fine," Festy said when I emerged. Not beautiful. Not pretty. Fine. "Here's the address. Penthouse in the Diamond Tower. His name is Armstrong Goldwyn. Be there at eight sharp. Don't be late."

"Armstrong Goldwyn?" My eyes widened.

Even I knew that name. Real estate mogul. Billionaire. Rumors swirled around him; ruthless business deals, a cold demeanor, people who crossed him ending up bankrupt.

"Festy, how did you…"

"I have connections," he snapped. "Just go. And Lynn?" His hand shot out, gripping my wrist hard enough to hurt. "Don't. Mess. This. Up."

I nodded, pulling away, rubbing the red marks his fingers left behind.

The taxi ride to the Diamond Tower felt surreal. I watched the city lights blur past, my heart pounding. I could do this. Whatever it was; serving drinks at a party, organizing files, even cleaning…I could do it.

I was good at my job before. Creative, efficient, reliable. My boss had been disappointed when I'd quit.

The Diamond Tower loomed above me, all glass and steel and wealth I couldn't fathom. The lobby was marble and gold, with a doorman who looked at me skeptically until I gave Armstrong Goldwyn's name.

Then his expression shifted to something like pity, though I couldn't imagine why.

The elevator ride to the penthouse felt endless. I checked my reflection in the mirrored walls. I looked nervous. Thin. There were shadows under my eyes that makeup couldn't quite hide.

The elevator dinged. The doors slid open directly into the penthouse.

And there he was.

Armstrong Goldwyn stood in the center of a massive living room with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the glittering city.

He was tall…over six feet…with dark hair swept back from a face that could have been carved from marble. Sharp jaw, high cheekbones, and eyes so dark they were almost black.

He wore a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up, revealing forearms corded with muscle, and dark slacks that probably cost more than our monthly expenses.

He looked up as I stepped out of the elevator, and those intense eyes locked onto me.

"You're here," he said. His voice was deep, commanding, the kind of voice that expected obedience and got it.

My mouth went dry. "Y-yes. I'm Lynn. You needed... assistance?"

Something flickered across his face; surprise? Confusion? but it was gone so quickly I thought I'd imagined it.

"Come in," he said, and it wasn't a request.

I stepped into the penthouse, my heels clicking on the hardwood floor, and the elevator doors closed behind me with a soft, final sound.

I had no idea that nothing in my life would ever be the same.