ONE YEAR AS MRS ARTHUR

Chapter 4

Clark’s POV

“7pm tomorrow, at The Kings Restaurant. No lateness tolerated. Is that clear?” I said sharply.

“Yes… Sir,” she replied softly, and I ended the call.

“Wow, man. That was quick. You really think this isn’t going to blow up in your face?” Drake said from across the table, holding his glass of beer.

I spun my chair around to face him. “I’ve thought it through. It’s a solid plan. Luckily, Alice found someone fast. Dad will never find out.”

“What about Ivory? Does she know your whole plan?”

I sighed. “Yeah, I called her. Surprisingly, she’s okay with it.”

Drake’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t get why you’re with that woman, but I hope she doesn’t end up ripping your wife’s skin off.”

My brow furrowed in confusion. “My wife?”

“Aren’t you about to sign a contract wife?”

“Oh, right,” I chuckled, slapping my forehead. That moment of realization hit me.

Amira’s POV

I heard the phone beep and the call ended. I exchanged a look with Nelly.

“Well, what did he say?” she asked.

“Meet at Kings tomorrow by 7pm”

“Kings!?” Nelly gasped, eyes wide.

“Yes,” I nodded.

“That’s the biggest restaurant in town!” she exclaimed.

“Oh,” I muttered, unimpressed. My mind was already racing, wondering what tomorrow would hold.

“We need to go shopping, Amira. You’ve got to look classy and attractive enough for him to notice you!”

“You know I don't have the money for that. I'm still saving for my mom’s surgery.”

Nelly frowned, studying me. “Isn’t the contract payment supposed to cover medical expenses?”

“But what if he doesn't like me after the meeting? I'll be broke from spending on a dress. Girl, think!”

“Oh, that's true,” Nelly sighed. Then her eyes lit up. “But! My dresses will fit you perfectly! I didn't think of that first.”

“Guess this calls for a fashion show—you’ve always wanted to be a model,” she winked. I couldn't help but laugh as I followed her into her room.

The next day came faster than I expected. I’d been staying at Nelly’s since my mom was hospitalized.

Nelly’s room was a mess with clothes hanging around every corner.

“I think you should try the white, this seems a little too tight”

I sighed. I had tried so many clothes on and yet none fitted perfectly. It was either too tight or too short. My hips were wider than Nelly’s so her clothes didn't really fit.

“Here!” Nelly shouted, holding up a black gown.

“Will that fit?” I asked, already tired from the whole thing.

“The material is elastic, it should fit perfectly.” she placed the gown on my hand.

“Well, try it on already”

I put the gown on and finally, it entered my body comfortably. Fitting me just right.

“Yes!” Nelly screamed, her tone exhausted.

“Give me a show baby, I wanna see you walk!” she said.

Nelly has always hyped my passion for modeling. She always made me catwalk like I was on a runway with every opportunity she gets.

I professionally catwalked for her, swaying my hips and blowing her a kiss.

“Go Girl!” she chanted and I laughed.

“Okay okay, that's enough. What's the time already? I don't want to be late” I asked her.

“Damm, it's 4pm already. Common lets get you dolled up!” she said, dragging me to her dressing table.

After a while, we were finally done. It was 6pm An hour to go—the moment that could change everything.

“Okay! You're all set!” Nelly’s proud voice rang out loud, louder than the music blaring from her speakers.

I looked in the mirror and smiled. “You did a great job.”

She had Nelly do my makeup, not because I couldn’t, but because I was too nervous.

I stood and twirled in front of the mirror. I looked good—unlike the girl from a poor home. The sleek black dress that hugged my curves, the fabric stretchy enough and it fit so perfectly.

“Here, try these,” Nelly handed me a box with gorgeous silver heels.

“Wow, they’re beautiful,” I murmured, slipping them on. The heels looked perfect on my legs.

“Just 30 minutes, Amira. No latecoming” Nelly rushed, giving me a quick hug. “I’ve booked a taxi outside. Be good.”

“I’ll come home with the contract, don't worry.”

I grabbed a small silver purse from the table and headed out. The taxi whisked me away.

By 7:05pm, I arrived at the restaurant—an opulent palace I’d never imagined stepping into.

“Good evening, ma’am,” a polished young woman greeted me with a warm smile.

“Do you have a reservation?” she asked politely.

“Yes,” I replied, showing her the email reservation.

She nodded, approving. “A private dining area. Follow me, ma’am.”

As I trailed behind, I took in the lavish surroundings, feeding my eyes with luxury.

We reached a secluded spot, and she pointed to a door. “Right through that door, ma’am.” She left.

I hesitated briefly, then pushed the door open, stepping inside and shutting it behind me.

Suddenly, I froze—struck by a cold, stern voice: “You are 7 minutes late.”