Chapter Seven

Natasha

“Three-month dating contract,” I laugh. “You want me to sign this contract on what basis?” I change my tone a little. I forget I was respectful with him a while ago, before reading this shit.

Is he out of his mind? He called me here to sign this stupid contract that states I have to date him for three straight months.

“Let me get straight to the point. My family is forcing me to get married, and I'm not into it. I have no choices left.” I hope you can understand,” he expresses himself with politeness.

“But why only me? Because you have chosen my proposal and think that you can reject it whenever you want,” I frown. I can’t hold my anger any longer. “Are you threatening me with this cheap reason?” I raise my eyebrow.

If he thinks that I will fall into his trap, then he is wrong.

“So you're not going to sign this contract, right?” He chuckles with a mischievous grin.

“Nope, I’m not going to sign this contract.” I shook my head in reply. He grins, scaring me through his dumb, filled eyes.

“Fine, but don’t you want to take a look at this?” He turns his laptop screen toward me. My eyes widen, watching myself on his laptop screen.

“How did you know that?” A hint of curiosity runs through my mind. I’m dying to know how the heck he found out about the car incident. I take a glass of water in my hand, soothing my dry throat.

“You hurt my—Boogie,” he says in a serious tone. I choke on the water in my mouth onto his face, creating a small fountain.

“I’m really sorry. What did you say, Boogie? What is it?” I’m suppressing my laughter. If he’s talking about that Bugatti—then I’m done here.

“I call my Bugatti Boogie." I burst into loud laughter.

“Boo-boogie…eeeee,” I say, gasping for breath between bouts of laughter. I can’t control it now. His blank face is making me die from it. I can’t believe he named his car Boogie.

“Excuse me, you can’t laugh at my favorite thing,” he growls. Even if he’s warning me, I can’t bring my normal face at all. I pinch my legs, suppressing my laughter. I wish I hadn’t come here to embarrass myself.

“I’m sorry, but why did you name your car Boogie? I mean, there are other nicknames as well,” I breathe, humming with laughter.

“Because I like, I—"

“You like that name?” I choke, press my mouth with both hands, and stomp my legs on the ground with a soft thud. It isn’t any big deal with his car, but the way he’s calling it “boogie” is killing me.

“If you don’t sign this contract, I’ll publish this clip on social platforms and stop working on your proposal,” he says, shutting the laptop firmly. I stop laughing all of a sudden, realizing the seriousness in his sentence.

Not much time has passed since the committee selected my proposal. If I don’t accept his proposal, I will ruin my future with my reckless mistake. What if he spreads this clip to other TV industry companies?

“Think again. I know you are smart enough to make a perfect decision,” he said, intertwining his fingers. I can’t take any risks. He is the powerful personality of this studio; he can do whatever he wants with one snap.

Fuck. He left me no choice.

“Fine, I’ll sign the contract.” I accept his deal without thinking.

“That’s great.” Please read all the conditions with attention to detail to avoid any mistakes.” He handed me the pen. I sign the contract. He doesn’t have any hard conditions, but some of them are crazier.

“Thank you so much for signing the proposal,” he expressed his gratitude, like I did a few moments ago.

I take the exit from the office, wishing this shit will end soon.

I’m fucked up.

For real. He has ruined my life with his stupid contract. I’m not sure where the hell I stranded myself or what will happen in the future, but right now I must focus on my work.

The director said he’ll inform me of the next location of the shoot. The team has stopped the shoot for the past two days. I was so busy with my college work.

Not even a day has passed since I signed the agreement, but I am feeling nervous. I don’t know why he chose me and what he wants from me. Tomorrow I have to hit the college once again. I haven’t told the professor I'm working on an entertainment project for my drama.

I speed to the apartment. I have to write scripts and work on the scene's draft to manage them with the actors. This isn't a TV show. My story unfolds with a murder mystery. It reveals a main suspect accused of being the killer.

There are two main characters and a few supporting ones. The storyline is simple and straightforward. I have already made a lot of drafts and scripts, but I need to work on them again and again. Also, I have yet to send those scripts to the director and staff. And the producer… fuck, I need to send those to him too.

I need to finish my work before dawn. Then, I have to visit the college and the last shooting location.

𖥸

It’s morning already. After pulling an all-nighter and only getting four hours of sleep with no appetite, I felt like shit. Total shit.

Mummy called me last night to say not to overload myself with my script work. Who's going to tell her I'm ruined? Not because of the writing, but because of that awful agreement.

Mummy also talked about Clara. I can’t believe she told Mummy that I’m not allowing her to come to Mumbai. And I don’t know what kind of things she filled in her ears. I even had a little argument with Mummy at night.

I load my ass in the kitchen, going to make some morning coffee for myself before going to college. I’m not even done with assignments; my psychopathic side is only forcing me to my dreams more than my studies.

I feel pathetic rather than like a workaholic. Pausing in front of the mirror, I sigh.

“My dark circles are no joke,” I mumble, pressing my eyes a little hard. “This isn’t the time to die, Natasha; the day is yours.” I create a small fist, stomping it on the wall.

I freshened up a minute ago. I can’t stop thinking about the deal I made with him.

I gather the sheets and laptop into a bag. Then, I head downstairs because the broken lift has kept me from using it for two days. How the hell are people going to get down who live on the fifth floor? Especially older generations, like me.

Even at the age of twenty-two, I feel like an old woman. At first, I felt pain in my back and waist, and now I experience the same discomfort in my legs.

I landed on the ground after coming down from the fifth floor, and the phone chimed without warning. I pull it out from the bag, entering the password to check who messaged me now.

My hands tremble a bit as I view the photos someone sent me on massage. It’s an unknown number. My pain-in-the-ass stalker installed the cameras in my apartment, and I didn’t have any clue.

Here are a bunch of photos of me strolling my ass through the hall and kitchen. But there is something fishy about those photos. They are only taken in the hall and kitchen, but not in the bedroom and other personal places.

It’s clear he has not installed the cameras there, only in the simple areas. I'm not saying he should have done it. But stalkers often send victims nude photos. This shows he is quite foolish for thinking he is a good stalker.

And he had taken those photographs from every possible angle. It’s easy to take them off by concentrating on those angles of me and apartment spots.

I climb up the stairs. I know what I need to do with those pictures.