Chapter 4: Desire meets desperation

Margaret's pov:

I was bursting with excitement when I got home. Richard was pacing in the living room when I walked in, and I couldn’t hide my smile.

“He’s falling for me,” I said proudly. “Malcolm is definitely falling.”

Of course, I left out the part about the sex.

Richard’s face lit up. “That’s good news,” he said, pulling me into a tight embrace. “We’re getting closer.”

We celebrated that night clinking glasses, laughing, pretending, just for a moment, that everything was going to be alright.

In the weeks that followed, my relationship with Malcolm grew deeper. We met often, sometimes in expensive restaurants, sometimes in discreet hotels. Malcolm, still grieving the loss of his late wife, began to see me as something more. Someone who filled the quiet spaces in his life. Someone who cared.

I played the part perfectly. But behind the soft smiles and stolen kisses, my demands for money began to rise.

“I need something for a little trip,” I’d say.

Or, “There’s a new bracelet I’ve had my eye on.”

And Malcolm, caught in the illusion, always paid.

But the money was never enough. I split it each time half for myself, and the leftover scraps went to Richard. The “investment” wasn’t paying off the way we had hoped.

One evening, Richard had had enough. He pulled me aside, his voice sharp with frustration.

“This isn’t working,” he said. “What you’re giving me isn’t enough. We agreed this would help me rebuild, but it’s not even close.”

I sighed. “What do you want me to do?”

“Get him to give you a serious amount,” Richard snapped. “Make something up. A business deal. A dying relative. I don’t care. Just do it.”

I didn’t argue. I nodded and left the room, my mind already calculating.

As the sun dipped behind the hills, I woke up from a nap, went through my skincare routine, and slipped into a silky, dangerously short dress. I packed a tray of food I’d prepared myself, sprayed perfume behind my ears, checked my reflection one last time, and drove to Malcolm’s office.

When I walked in, Malcolm looked up, surprised and charmed.

“You’re early, babe,” he said, standing up.

“I wanted to surprise my man with breakfast,” I replied sweetly, my voice dripping with warmth.

Malcolm’s eyes softened. “You’re incredible,” he said, sitting back down.

As he ate, he looked at me like I was the only woman in the world. To him, I was comforted, maybe even in love.

But I wasn’t focused on the food. My eyes kept drifting toward the briefcase on his desk, the glint of his Rolex, the reflection of myself in his admiration. My stomach was tight with nerves.

I hadn’t come here to play house.

I had come for the real prize.

And it was time to ask.

I shifted slightly in my seat, my heart thudding. The moment had come.

Reaching across the table, I rested my hand gently on Malcolm’s. “Baby,” I said softly, “I need some money.”

Malcolm looked up from his plate and chuckled. “Ah, now I get the reason for this surprise breakfast,” he said playfully.

I smiled, playing along, but inside, I was calculating every word. “It’s nothing too serious,” I began. “I just want to invest in a little business. Something for myself. Something profitable.”

He raised an eyebrow. “What kind of business?”

My mind raced. I hadn’t prepared for that question. “Um… makeup,” I muttered.

“Excuse me?”

I straightened, forcing confidence into my tone. “A makeup business. I’ve always been passionate about beauty and skincare, and I think I can grow something special.”

Malcolm leaned back, crossing his arms, his expression turning serious.

“Margaret,” he said slowly, “trust me, I’ve seen businesses rise and fall. Makeup is saturated. Highly competitive. It’s not a smart investment unless you have a very unique edge.”

“But I believe in it,” I insisted. “I just need the chance to prove it.”

“How much are we talking about?” he asked.

I hesitated, then said quietly, “Fifty million dollars.”

He blinked, then frowned. “Fifty million?” He shook his head. “No. No way.”

My heart sank.

“I can’t give you fifty million dollars for a makeup idea with no plan, no projections, no strategy,” he said. “That’s not how I work. When you bring me a solid business plan, something realistic, we’ll talk.”

The room fell silent.

I forced a tight smile, hiding the anger burning in my chest. When he finished eating, I gathered the plates and made an excuse to leave.

“I have somewhere to be,” I said curtly.

He kissed my cheek. “Let me know when you’re serious.”

I walked out with the empty tray in hand, my face calm, but fury boiling inside.

By the time I got home, I was livid.

I had played the game.

And it didn't work.

I smiled at him. Dressed for him.

And now, I was walking back home with empty hands and rage in my veins.

Richard looked up from the couch, hope flickering in his eyes. “How did it go?”

I didn’t answer right away. I dropped the tray on the table with a loud thud and turned to him, my face tight.

“He said no,” I snapped. “Fifty million was too much. He wants a plan. A pitch. He wants me to prove myself like I’m applying for a damn job.”

Richard’s face fell. “So what now?”

My eyes narrowed, my voice dropping into a low, dangerous whisper.

“Now… I ask directly.”

That night, I sat alone, deep in thought.

I couldn’t deny it. I still loved Richard. But I loved money more. And Richard, without money, was starting to drive me insane.

He had become quiet, restless, uninspiring. The man I once admired now looked like a shadow of himself. And for me, being tied to failure was suffocating.

After thinking long and hard, I made a decision. I scheduled a meeting with Malcolm. If Richard couldn’t pull himself up, I would find another way to do it for him even if it meant doing something I swore I wouldn’t.

I texted Malcolm, asking to meet at an upscale rooftop restaurant. “I need to speak with you privately,” I wrote.

The meeting was set for Sunday.

That evening, I dressed with extra care. My black dress was short and figure-hugging, showing off my long legs and just enough cleavage. My makeup was flawless, my perfume expensive. I looked stunning, seductive and ready.

At the restaurant, I arrived early and requested a private booth on the rooftop. While waiting, I ordered a drink and sipped slowly, watching the city lights flicker below.

A sleek black Rolls Royce pulled up outside.

I spotted it and quickly adjusted myself in the mirror, pulling my neckline just a little lower.

Malcolm stepped out, looking powerful and polished in a navy suit. His driver opened the door like he was royalty. He walked into the restaurant like he owned the place, eyes sharp, aura commanding.

Moments later, he joined me at the booth.

“Margaret,” he said with a charming smile, leaning in to kiss my cheek. “You look… ravishing.”

I smiled softly. “Thank you, honey. You look as powerful as ever.”

We ordered food and made small talk, enjoying a quiet meal. Eventually, he leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table.

“You said you had something important to discuss,” he said, raising an eyebrow. “What is it?”

I took a deep breath, then reached across the table, gently taking his hand in mine.

“Baby,” I said sweetly, “I need your help. I want you to help Richard.”

His expression stiffened.

“My husband is failing in business,” I continued. “Completely falling apart. I’m tired of watching it. Not because I still love him” I lied “but because his ruined image is damaging mine. I can’t stand being dragged down with him.”

I looked into Malcolm’s eyes. “Please. Help him get back on his feet. I beg you.”

Malcolm sat back, silent for a long moment. He studied my face, then exhaled.

“I don’t usually help fallen businessmen,” he said at last. “Especially not ones who made foolish investments.”

I pressed on, my voice soft. “But you’re not just any man. You’re Malcolm. You lift people, you change lives… you can do this.”

He reached for his wine glass and took a slow sip.

Then he set it down and looked me square in the eye.

“I’ll help Richard,” he said slowly. “But under two conditions.”

My eyes lit up. “What are they?”