Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 88879 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 444(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 296(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88879 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 444(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 296(@300wpm)
“Thank you.”
“Would you like something to drink or eat?”
My stomach growls loudly and I realize that I’ve been cooking and baking for hours but I haven’t had any food since lunch. I don’t think I can hold any food down though. I’m too nervous and stressed out.
“I’m fine, thank you,” I say politely.
“Everything’s ready for you. If you’ll come with me, Miss. Fitzpatrick, I’ll show you to your room,” she says and begins to walk towards the stunning staircase. I pick up my rucksack and follow her up to the second floor.
“If you encounter any problems please let me know immediately,” she says as she shows me into a cream and white bedroom with touches of soft blue. I glance around at the luxurious decor. There is a white four-poster bed with silk curtains. It all looks so luxurious that I’m momentarily speechless. On the bed is a dark red nightie, and on the table by the lounge area is a white box with a red bow, a bucket of champagne with two tall flutes, a bowl of strawberries, and what looks like my contract in an envelope.
“If you have no other requests I’ll wish you a good night, Miss Fitzpatrick,” she says. “Please ring that bell if you need anything at all.”
“Um, are there any hidden cameras in this room?” I blurt out.
The involuntary widening of her eyes tells me I need have no such fears.
“Not to my knowledge,” she says slowly, but now there is speculation in her eyes as she reassesses my status. I have shown myself to be no ordinary guest.
As soon as she exits, I rush towards the envelope, but my hand hesitates as I reach out, knowing what it contains and not wanting to face it just yet, but I know I can’t just skim through it. I have to read every word carefully because sooner or later, I will have to sign this thing. I have to make sure there are no hidden traps, no loopholes that he could exploit to weasel out of his end of the bargain. I need to be sure I’m not making a mistake. Despite the strong desire in me to pretend it doesn’t exist, I take a deep breath, grasp the thick expensive paper and break the logo embossed bronze-colored wax as I tear it open.
As expected, it is my contract, and it’s all laid out in excruciating detail, every clause, stipulation and rule is meant to ensure that I am perfectly obedient, always on my best behavior, with no room for rebellion. It’s all one-sided, all for his benefit—my behavior, my schedule, even my wardrobe, all meant to align with his expectations and whims. It’s so controlling, so suffocating that I can’t quite believe I’ve let myself into this situation.
My eyes skim over the legal jargon, the strict terms that bind me, and I feel my chest tightening with every sentence I read. The reality of what I’m agreeing to settles in more heavily with each word, and it’s suffocatingly clear. He’s buying a service. Nothing more. Why did he have to make it so starkly evident that it would be transaction sex?
I remind myself that this is the only way to fix the mess my father is in and focus on the words swimming in front of me. I need to read through every line and every word. I need to understand exactly what I’m signing up for.
Slowly, I begin to comb through the contract, taking it in word by word. Each section feels like a tightening knot in my stomach—stipulations about when and where I must be available, the expectations of how I should behave, the way I must look and present myself, even the things I am allowed to do in his presence. It’s all there, mapped out as if my life is now a schedule he gets to dictate.
Still holding the contract in my hand, I head towards the walk-in closet. It’s bigger than my bedroom, and although it isn’t completely filled, it’s been stocked with every piece of clothing I could possibly need for my month’s stay. Dresses, shoes, bags, accessories, even glamorous lingerie —all in my correct sizes.
I notice another door. I push it open and it leads into the most breathtaking bathroom I’ve ever been in. The space is massive, with premium rose marble floors and gold fixtures that gleam under the soft lighting. It’s almost overwhelming in its luxury, and for a moment, I’m lost in the beauty of it all. A marble alcove is lined with pristine white towels, and the scent of fresh flowers fills the air, mingling with the faint aroma of the soaps and oils carefully arranged on the counter.
In the middle of the room, perfectly positioned to overlook a window with a gorgeous view of the city’s night sky, is a bathtub. It’s enormous, the kind of tub you could sink into and lose yourself in for hours. I can already imagine how warm and soothing the water would feel against my skin, washing away the day’s stress and the feeling of being soiled. For a brief second, I forget everything else as I picture myself sinking into that bath, letting it swallow me whole.