She Came to Conquer

Chapter Eight: Hiding the Truth

The excitement from the win still buzzed in my veins as I sat at the kitchen table, sipping my morning coffee. Patricia had already left for work, leaving me alone with my thoughts—and the weight of a new reality.

Over a million dollars.

I opened the app again, just to see the number. It still didn’t feel real. But as thrilling as it was, a gnawing worry lingered in the back of my mind: What would my parents say?

They’d call it sinful, unholy money.

The thought made my stomach twist. Father’s voice echoed in my head, stern and unyielding. “The love of money is the root of all evil.” Mother would probably clutch her chest like she always did when she was overwhelmed, muttering prayers under her breath.

I couldn’t tell them. Not the truth, anyway.

That evening, I dialed my parents’ number, my heart pounding as I rehearsed the lie in my head.

“Elizabeth,” Father said when he picked up. “How are you?”

“I’m doing well, Father,” I replied, forcing a calm tone.

“And Patricia?”

“She’s fine too.”

Mother’s voice chimed in the background. “Ask her if she’s been attending church regularly.”

Father relayed the question, and I gave the answer they wanted to hear. “Every Sunday. Patricia and I even volunteer as ushers.”

“Good,” he said, his tone approving. “It’s important to stay grounded in faith.”

The conversation shifted to small talk, but I knew I couldn’t hang up without addressing the elephant in the room. Taking a deep breath, I said, “I have some news.”

“What news?” Father asked, his voice cautious.

“I . . . I closed a real estate deal,” I lied. “A big one.”

There was a pause. “A real estate deal?”

“Yes,” I said, gripping the edge of the table. “Patricia introduced me to a client, and they were looking for a property. I helped broker the deal, and I earned a commission.”

“How much commission?”

I hesitated, then said, “About two-hundred thousand dollars.”

Telling them the real amount would've been too much good news. Even this amount was too much, but not enough for them to insist I come home and discuss how best the money should be used.

The silence on the other end of the line was deafening.

“Two-hundred thousand dollars?!” Mother finally exclaimed, her voice a mix of shock and disbelief.

“Yes, Mother. It was unexpected, but . . . it’s real.”

Father cleared his throat. “And you’re sure this deal was legitimate?”

“Of course,” I said quickly. “The client was a respected investor.”

Another pause. Then, to my relief, Father said, “Well . . . as long as you’ve earned it honestly and kept God at the center, we’re proud of you, Elizabeth.”

“Thank you, Father,” I murmured, the guilt pressing heavily on my chest as the call ended.

The lie bought me the freedom I needed. With the money in my account, I could finally take control of my career.

Patricia, who was sitting next to me the whole time, finally said, "I still find it weird how you address your parents as Father and Mother, instead of Dad and Mom, or something normal."

I chuckled, her mild expression of confusion magnifying the weird circumstances of my family. "Well, that's how they like it."

~•~

The next day, I sat down with a plan. I wasn’t just going to rely on chance anymore—I was going to invest in myself.

I started by upgrading my portfolio, hiring one of the city’s top photographers for a professional shoot. His work was expensive, but the results were stunning.

“You’ve got a unique look,” he said as he adjusted the lighting. “You could go far if you play your cards right.”

Next, I revamped my wardrobe, swapping out my thrift store finds for tailored outfits that exuded confidence and sophistication.

I also began attending networking events, mingling with designers, agents, and fellow models. It was intimidating at first, but I quickly learned how to hold my own in conversations, introducing myself with a firm handshake and a smile.

“Elizabeth Carter,” I’d say, handing out my new business cards. “Model and aspiring entrepreneur.”

With every step I took, I felt myself growing stronger, more confident.

~•~

One evening, Patricia came home to find me typing furiously on my laptop.

“What are you up to?” she asked, leaning over my shoulder.

“Research,” I said without looking up.

“For what?”

“Opportunities,” I replied. “Casting calls, brand collaborations, anything that could help me stand out.”

Patricia whistled. “Look at you, Miss Millionaire, hustling like you’ve still got nothing in the bank.”

I smiled. “I don’t want to waste this chance, Pat. This is my moment, and I’m going to make it count.”

Her grin widened. “That’s the spirit. Just don’t forget about me when you’re famous.”

“I could never forget you,” I said, laughing.

But even as I laughed, I felt a deep sense of determination settle over me. This wasn’t just about proving something to myself—it was about proving something to the world.

I wasn’t the shy, invisible girl anymore.

I was Elizabeth Carter, and I was just getting started.