Chapter Two: The Point of No Return

Two days.

Two whole days and the card still sat in my room like some cursed object waiting to ruin my life.

Honestly, maybe it already had.

I stared at it through the reflection of my mirror while sitting on my bed, my oversized shirt slipping slightly off one shoulder.

Victor Hale. Corporate Lawyer.

The black card rested between my fingers as I turned it over slowly for probably the hundredth time that day.

Nothing about it looked fake.

Trust rich people to make even business cards intimidating.

I sighed and dropped backward onto the mattress dramatically before holding the card above my face.

“What kind of rich psychopath hires a wife through a lawyer?” I muttered.

The ceiling obviously didn’t answer.

Outside my window, the city buzzed faintly with evening life. Car horns echoed from down the street while music blasted somewhere in the neighborhood. Meanwhile I was sitting in my tiny room considering whether or not to call a mysterious lawyer offering me a contract marriage.

God.

If my life was a movie, people would scream at the screen telling me not to do it.

I sat up again slowly. The room around me suddenly felt smaller than usual. Not that it had ever been big.

The apartment Elena rented barely had enough space for the two of us, but she somehow made it feel warm anyway.

I looked at the card again. It sounded insane. Actually no. Insane was too soft a word. It sounded dangerous. But it also sounded… real.

And that was the problem. I had done my research. A lot of it.

Victor Hale existed. Not just existed, the man was practically famous. Corporate law, luxury clients, business acquisitions, political connections.

Pictures of him standing beside billionaires and government officials flooded the internet. One article even called him one of the best minds in the state.

I rubbed my forehead tiredly. “If this is some elaborate kidnapping scheme,” I whispered to myself, “they’re spending way too much money on presentation.”

But still, something about it felt off. It was like the kind of thing rich people did when they wanted control over something. Or someone.

I twisted the card between my fingers again. If Victor’s employer was truly rich like he claimed, my stomach tightened slightly….i could pay off my debts.

The thought alone nearly made me emotional. No more dodging my landlord. No more pretending not to hear my phone ringing when unknown numbers called. No more calculating food portions like survival math.

And maybe I could finally move out. That thought hit harder than expected. I looked around the room quietly.

I loved Elena. God, I did. But staying here constantly reminded me that my life wasn’t mine yet. Elena had never once complained. Not once. Even when I stayed longer than planned. Even when I borrowed clothes. Even when I accidentally finished her cereal and replaced it with the cheap brand she hated.

She always smiled and said, “Relax, Amara. You live here too.”

But it still didn’t feel like mine. Because technically…I was surviving inside someone else’s kindness. And I hated that feeling.

I dropped the card onto my lap before groaning loudly. “This is how horror movies start.”

A knock sounded suddenly. Before I could answer, the bedroom door swung open. I nearly jumped.

“Elena, what the hell?”

“Elena the Great has returned.” she announced dramatically while entering the room carrying two shopping bags.

Her dark curls bounced around her shoulders as she walked in wearing ripped jeans and one of her oversized graphic shirts. Meanwhile she somehow still looked like a P*******t model.

I panicked immediately.

The card. Shit.

Without thinking, I threw it off the bed. It landed on the floor. Right beside my foot. I immediately stepped on it. Elena noticed absolutely nothing as she continued talking excitedly.

“You will not believe the day I had.” She began.

I relaxed slightly. “What happened now?”

“That tattoo client I told you about?”

“The flirty one?” I asked.

“Yes!” she said excitedly. “He invited me to his birthday party.”

I blinked. “Okay?”

“Not just any birthday party.” She dumped the shopping bags onto her bed dramatically before turning toward me with a grin. “Rich people birthday party.”

“Oh God.” I raised my brows at that.

“No seriously,” she continued. “Like actual rich people.”

“You sound excited.”

“That’s because I am excited.” She flopped beside me on the bed. “He said he’s introducing me to some of his friends.”

“That sounds dangerous.”

“That sounds like networking.”

“That sounds like kidnapping.”

Elena gasped dramatically. “Why are you like this?”

“Because women die every day.”

She rolled her eyes. “You watch too many documentaries.”

“And you trust strangers too easily.”

“That’s because unlike you, I believe life can improve unexpectedly.” I snorted softly at that.

Easy for her to say. Elena somehow carried hope naturally. Like she was born believing things would eventually work out. I envied that sometimes.

She grabbed one of the pillows and hugged it tightly. “Besides,” she added casually, “what’s the worst that could happen?”

Famous last words.

I stared at her. “You know that sentence always comes before disaster right?”

“You’re so negative.”

“I’m realistic.” She countered

“You’re dramatic.”

“Says the woman getting dressed up for mysterious rich men.”

“At least my mysterious rich men are attractive.”

My heart skipped once. The card beneath my foot suddenly felt heavier somehow. I shifted slightly.

Elena continued rambling excitedly. “He said there’ll be investors there too.”

“You’re suddenly a businesswoman now?”

“Please,” she scoffed. “I’ve always had potential.”

I laughed quietly. Then her expression softened slightly.

“So…” Here it comes. “How’s the job thing?”

I forced myself not to tense. “Fine.”

“Did they call yet?” I remembered the interviewer’s fake smile immediately.

‘We’ll send you a mail.’

Yeah. Sure.

“Not yet.” I said carefully.

Elena frowned slightly. “But they liked you right?”

I hesitated only half a second before smiling.

“In a few more days I should get a call,” I lied softly. “It’s no biggie.”

The guilt hit instantly afterward because Elena looked genuinely relieved.

“I knew it,” she said immediately before throwing her arms around me suddenly.

“You’re crushing me.” I laughed weakly from the hug.

“That’s because I’m proud of you.”

Something uncomfortable twisted softly in my chest. God. I hated lying to her.

Elena pulled back slightly before holding my shoulders dramatically.

“You’re going to get a good job, move into a beautiful apartment and become rich so you can spoil me.”

“With what money?”

“Your accountant money obviously.”

I rolled my eyes.

“You think accountants are billionaires?”

“They dress like it.”

“That’s because they’re miserable.” She laughed loudly. Then suddenly narrowed her eyes suspiciously.

“Why do you look stressed?”

My stomach tightened instantly. Was it that obvious?

“I’m not stressed.”

“You’re literally sweating.”

Because there was a suspicious marriage card under my foot.

“Room’s hot.”

“The fan is on.”

“The fan barely believes in itself.” That made her laugh again thankfully. God bless broken appliances.

Elena finally stood from the bed with a dramatic sigh.

“Anyway,” she said while walking toward the door, “there’s food on the dining table.”

“What food?”

“I cooked.”

I stared at her suspiciously. “You?”

“Yes me.”

“What did you burn?”

“Wow.”

“I’m serious.”

“You know what? Starve.” She said, pointing at me accusingly.

I grinned slightly. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Then her expression softened one last time. “And Amara?”

“Hm?”

“I’m rooting for you.” The sincerity in her voice hurt more than expected because she meant it.

I smiled softly. “Thanks.”

She winked dramatically before leaving the room.

“Don’t take too long before eating!”

Then louder from outside…”And remove that shirt before it starts smelling like depression!”

“Get out!” I yelled.

Her laughter echoed down the hallway. Then silence returned as I stayed still for a few seconds listening carefully.

Once I was sure she was gone, I slowly lifted my foot. The card stared back at me from the floor.

I bent down slowly and picked it up again.

The material brushed against my fingertips smoothly. I traced them absentmindedly while leaning back against the bed.

Then sighed heavily.

“Well,” I muttered quietly.

I ruffled my black wavy hair tiredly with my free hand. “I don’t really have another choice.”

The words settled heavily inside the room because maybe it was true. Maybe this was stupid. Maybe dangerous. Maybe completely insane.

But surviving already felt insane too. I thought about the landlord again. The bills. The constant rejection. The humiliating interviews. The way people looked at me when they realized I didn’t have a degree. The exhaustion of always trying.

Always struggling. Always failing just slightly before things got better. Maybe desperation really did change people because two days ago, I would have laughed in someone’s face for suggesting this.

Now? I was considering it seriously. I stared at the card one last time.

Victor Hale.

My fingers tightened around it slowly. Then before I could overthink myself into cowardice again, I reached for my phone.

My heartbeat immediately sped up.

“What are you doing?” I whispered to myself.

Good question. Terrible answer.

I typed the number carefully. For one second, I froze. This was the part in movies where smart people stopped.

Unfortunately for me, I pressed call.

The line rang once. Twice. Then immediately connected.

“Miss Glen.”

His voice was smooth and calm like he had been expecting my call. That somehow unsettled me more.

I swallowed carefully. “You answered fast.”

“I told you to take your time.”

“I did.”

A small pause.

“Have you made your decision?” He asked.

I stared down at the card in my lap silently. Had I? Maybe not completely. But I knew one thing for sure. I was tired of drowning.

So quietly, before I could lose my nerve, I asked, “ Where should we meet?”