The Billionaire's Last Wish

The silence on the alleyway Aria was walking down was eerily peaceful. She knew it was way too late and too unsafe to be found limping through to the little rundown complex she’d been living for the past six months. It’d been six months, six too long that Aria knew she was very much alone in a country she hadn’t been accustomed to long before she was abandoned. But she was surviving—barely. With a huff, Aria pushes the main door into the building that was too hard to open but weak enough to break with just the right force from the five-year-old living in the apartment beside her’s. When she’s made it from the blistering cold of the ricketing hallways and the uneven floorboards to the front of her apartment, she sighs. Though there was no relief in being less cold than she was when she’d been limping as fast as she could through the dark alleyway that led from her late night job. Because pasted on her door—a stark contrast to her darkened front door—was an eviction notice written on a white sheet of paper taped on with bright yellow tape. She ignored the letter just like the past three nights since her landlord had taped it on like a damned scarlet letter. It was the third one this year and she just needed a little more time. ‘Just a little more time.’ It was the same numbing excuse every night. Aria pushed into her apartment after unlocking it with the old key she had held too tightly on her way home. Hoping she wouldn’t have a face-off with the riffraffs that disturbed women who were out too late. Her worn sneaker stuck to the floor in one spot—still tacky from where the ceiling had leaked earlier last week. The landlord—Barry—had promised he’d fix it. He also promised rent wouldn’t go up. And that aliens were probably real. Aria trusted none of it. The door shut with a loud slam in the quiet space despite the distinct sound of a television running too late, too f*****g loud when all Aria wanted to do was sleep. But she knew it wasn’t possible. It never had been when she lived in a place that never gave her a proper sense of comfort. So she did what she did every other night, try to survive while using the ice-cold water she had stored because she couldn’t afford to pay for water this month then climb into her old bed and scroll through new options for a job she could apply for while she worked the ones that wore her to her bones. It was this stupid app Dani—her best friend—had forced her to download when she’d first complained about not having a good job. She’d said something about it being an avenue to finding the weirdest and highest paying jobs on the market. Dani had tried her best to convince Aria that it was a great app but Aria hadn’t been convinced much. Dani was still struggling with her own finances so it wasn’t really a motivation. But she’d said; ‘You never know who you’ll meet’, Dani had said. ‘Rich people post weird things sometimes. Could be your sugar daddy arc.’ Aria huffed out something akin to a laugh at the memory of her best friend’s wiggling brows. What she wouldn't give to have that sugar daddy arc now. Her phone buzzed once with a notification pulling her from her thoughts as she opened the app but she couldn’t catch the words except for a faint outline of her best friend’s name because of her messed up screen. Notifications were a luxury these days. Calls were usually creditors or spam. The occasional pity text from Dani popped in every few days, always ending with: ‘Wish I could help, babe. But I can barely afford my own rent.’ Aria never blamed her. Dani was fighting her own losing war with student debt, medical bills and a temporary job that treated her like office wallpaper. They were both walking tightropes, just waiting for the wind to shove them off. She sighed again, her dark brown hair creating a halo around her head on her flat pillow, freckles highlighted by the dim light from her phone screen as she scrolled silently, barely glancing at ads for dog-walking gigs, overpriced yoga crystals and one questionable listing for ‘emotional support companionship’ that had definitely seen a lawsuit or two. But then she saw it. And she stilled, her thumb hovering just above the anonymous post. ‘Looking for a live-in companion. 100 days. No experience required. No physical intimacy expected. Discretion is mandatory. $1,000 per day. No contact info—respond directly through LuxLine. Serious inquiries only.’ Aria stared at the post. Reread it for what felt like the hundredth time. Then once more for good measure. Just to assure herself her sleep-deprived mind wasn’t playing an awful trick on her. There was no name. No detail. Just money. A stupid, impossible amount of money. Enough to save her apartment. Pay off her unending debts. And maybe even breathe for once without calculating the cost of air. Then the sound came before Aria could control it. A laugh that bordered on hysterical and maybe insane. It was also dry—bitter. “Yeah, okay.” She huffed when she managed to calm down a bit. “Totally normal. Sounds f*****g legit.” She could’ve reported it for false advertisement. She should’ve ignored it. But she didn’t. Instead—and she knew she was probably insane—she clicked Apply. The app prompted a brief message and she typed; ‘I’m available. I don’t scare easy. I won’t ask questions if you don’t want me to.’ Then she hit send. The screen flickered again—horribly cracked from its last meeting with her bedroom wall—and she shrugged. “What’s the worst that could happen?” And she was right… in a sense. But she didn’t know that the worst wasn’t the scam. The worst was that it wasn’t.