Scars of Devotion

Chapter Two – The Arrangement

Emily Parker’s POV

The text came at 10:47 p.m., just as I was about to shut down my laptop.

RyanCarter88: Enough excuses, Emily. I need to see you. In person. Saturday. Midtown. If you won’t, I’ll walk away.

My stomach dropped. Walk away?

I stared at the glowing letters until they blurred.

For weeks, his voice had been the last thing I heard before sleep and the first thing I searched for in the morning. The idea of not hearing it again, not reading his words, not having that piece of him… it terrified me.

But if I agreed to meet him…

My lie would explode in my face.

I pressed the phone to my chest, whispering into the empty room.

“No, no, no. I can’t lose him.”

The next afternoon, I found myself in Samantha’s sunlit Upper East Side apartment, sitting on her plush white couch like a beggar waiting for crumbs. She leaned against the kitchen counter, filing her nails, not even pretending to listen.

When I finally blurted out how I’d used her photo and how Ryan believed she was me, she laughed so hard she nearly dropped the file.

“You did what?” She wheezed, wiping tears from her eyes. “Oh my God, Emily, you’re insane.”

Heat crawled up my neck. “I didn’t mean for it to go this far. I just wanted… someone to talk to.”

Samantha tilted her head, studying me like I was a puzzle she didn’t care enough to solve.

“So now Mr. Perfect CEO thinks he’s in love with me. Well, your version of me.”

“With me,” I said quickly, voice trembling. “My words. My heart. He’s falling for me, Sam. Not you.”

She arched a brow. “Sure, whatever makes you sleep at night.”

I clenched my fists. “Please. He wants to meet Saturday. Just… just go. Pretend to be me. Act shy; keep it short. I’ll pay you back somehow.”

Her laughter cut off like a blade. She walked over, heels clicking, and sat across from me.

Her eyes glittered.

“Alright,” she said smoothly. “I’ll do it.”

Hope sparked in my chest. “You will?”

“On one condition.”

My breath caught. “What condition?”

Her smile was pure poison.

“Fifty thousand dollars. Upfront.”

I shot to my feet. “What? Are you insane? I don’t have that kind of money!”

“Then forget it,” she said, examining her nails again. “Let your little fairy tale end here.”

I dropped back onto the couch, panic flooding me. “Sam, please. Don’t do this to me.”

“Don’t do this to you?” Her voice sharpened. “You stole my face. You made me the star of your pathetic little soap opera. And now you want me to clean up your mess for free? Please.”

Tears stung my eyes. “I’ll give you half now. The rest later. Just… don’t ruin this for me.”

Samantha leaned back, satisfied. “Deal. But remember, Emily… once I step in, I play by my own rules.”

Something in her tone chilled me, but I nodded anyway. What choice did I have?

Saturday evening arrived too quickly. I sat in my Brooklyn apartment, pacing until the floorboards creaked under my restless steps. My phone buzzed constantly; nothing from Ryan, nothing from Samantha.

Finally, at 11 p.m., my door slammed open. Samantha swept in, her heels clicking against the floor, her purse swinging triumphantly.

I shot up. “How did it go?”

She tossed her purse onto my couch and smirked. “Oh, it went great. He’s incredible. Handsome. Charming. Rich. And completely obsessed with me.”

“With me,” I corrected softly.

She laughed, sharp and cruel. “Sure, Emily. With ‘you.’”

I frowned, dread pooling in my stomach. “You didn’t say anything… did you?”

She leaned in close, her perfume suffocating.

“You know what’s funny? He deserves better than your little sob story. I could give him everything. And I just might.”

My blood ran cold. “You wouldn’t dare.”

Her smirk widened. “Watch me. Unless, of course, you pay me… every cent.”

The next day, Ryan’s name lit up my phone. My chest tightened.

"Last night was amazing," his text read. You’re everything I dreamed of.

I stared at the message, tears blurring my eyes. It wasn’t me. It was her.

I dialed Samantha, my hands trembling. She answered on the third ring, her voice dripping smugness.

“Miss me already?”

“Stop this,” I whispered, my throat tight. “Please. Don’t take him from me.”

Her laughter was ice. “Take him? Emily, he’s already mine.”

I lay awake that night, staring at the cracks in my ceiling as though they held answers I was too afraid to ask out loud. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Samantha’s smirk, her lips curling around threats dressed as promises. Every time I checked my phone, Ryan’s sweet messages stared back at me, unaware of the war raging behind the screen.

By morning, exhaustion clung to me like a second skin. At work, I typed reports without reading them, my mind replaying Samantha’s words: He’s already mine. The thought made me nauseous. I wanted to scream, to tell Ryan the truth before it was too late, but fear shackled me. What if he never forgave me? What if I lost the only person who had ever made me feel worth noticing?

That evening, Samantha called. Her tone was syrupy and mocking.

“So, he texted again, didn’t he? He can’t get enough of me.”

I gripped the phone so tightly my knuckles whitened. “Enough of me, Samantha. Don’t twist this.”

Her laughter rang in my ear, cruel and unbothered.

“Face it, Emily. You’re just the shadow. I’m the light. He’ll always choose the light.”

I wanted to slam the phone down, but instead I forced my voice to be steady.

“He’s not choosing you. He’s choosing my words, my heart. That’s something you can’t fake.”

There was silence on the line—brief, sharp—before she whispered, “We’ll see about that.” And then the call ended.

Two days later, Ryan asked to see me again. My pulse thundered as I read his message.

RyanCarter88: Dinner Friday? Just us this time. No excuses.

The words sent a rush of fear and longing spiraling through me. Samantha had stepped into his world once, and already she had poisoned it. Could I survive another meeting?

I went back to Samantha’s apartment, desperate enough to face her venom again. She opened the door with a glass of champagne in hand, as though she had been celebrating since the night she met him.

“Well, if it isn’t little Emily,” she purred. “Come to beg again?”

“I’m not begging,” I snapped, though my trembling hands betrayed me. “I just need you to play the part one more time. Please.”

Her smirk widened. “And what will you give me this time? Because I assure you, your tears don’t pay the bills.”

My jaw clenched. “Half the money you demanded. It’s all I can manage.”

She swirled her champagne lazily. “Half isn’t enough. Unless…” She leaned closer, her perfume choking me. “Unless I decide I want him for myself. Imagine, Emily. Me on his arm, his fortune at my fingertips, while you rot in your little shoebox apartment.”

Rage flared hot in my chest. “He doesn’t even know you. He knows me.”

Her laughter was a whip c***k. “Then why does he think he’s falling for my face?”

I stumbled out of her apartment, tears blinding me, fury burning holes in my resolve. I couldn’t let her win. I wouldn’t. For the first time, the fear of losing Ryan wasn’t as strong as the fire of defiance building in me. Maybe I had built this mess on lies, but if Samantha thought she could erase me from my own story, she was wrong.

That night, I sat by the window, the city lights flickering against my reflection. My phone buzzed again with Ryan’s message:

RyanCarter88: I can’t stop thinking about you.

I pressed my forehead against the cool glass, whispering into the night, “Then maybe it’s time you knew the truth.”

The thought terrified me but also thrilled me. For the first time, I wasn’t just a shadow. I was standing at the edge of something dangerous, something real. And I knew I couldn’t hide forever.

Two days later, Aunt Margaret overheard me on the phone, begging Samantha not to ruin my life. When I hung up, she stood in the doorway, arms folded, a cruel smile tugging her lips.

“So, it’s true,” she said. “My ugly little niece is stealing men with lies.”

I froze, shame burning my cheeks.

“You’ll never be enough, Emily,” she hissed. “Not for him. Not for anyone.”

Her words, sharp as glass, cut into the deepest parts of me.

But this time, something snapped. I straightened, fists shaking, tears burning in my eyes.

“We’ll see,” I whispered.

Her smirk faltered, just for a second.

And in that c***k, I felt the first spark of something dangerous and new:

Defiance.