Devil's Lair

Chapter 3

Freya stepped out of Isabelle's car, rattled from the night, and looked up at her friend's apartment building.

It was the type of place that murmured "money" in the most modest way, yet the richness was obvious. It wasn't just any building; it was an architectural masterpiece situated on the Upper East Side like something out of a film or a novel by Cephano Bliss.

The entryway was surrounded by large glass doors polished to a high gloss, as well as a sleek, modern lobby that seemed to continue on forever.

As they walked in, a doorman welcomed them with a nod, unlocking the door without hesitation.

Freya couldn’t help but feel a pang of envy as she looked around. Isabelle’s life was something else, something far removed from her own. The contrast was sharp. She had just spent the evening scraping together enough courage to ask for money, and here was Isabelle, living in a luxury she could barely comprehend. It wasn’t fair, but Freya had learned long ago that life rarely was.

"Come on, we'll get you something to eat," Isabelle murmured, looking over her shoulder as they stepped into the elevator.

"You look like you haven't eaten all day." Freya hadn't, but she didn't want to acknowledge it publicly. Her stomach, however, had other plans. Isabelle grinned as a low, impatient gurgle echoed all over the elevator.

Freya exhaled. "I guess my stomach has no shame." Isabelle gave a gentle laugh. "Don't be worried. We have enough food to feed a small nation upstairs.

The elevator doors swung open, revealing Isabelle's penthouse. The space was massive, with floor-to-ceiling windows providing a stunning view of the metropolitan skyline. The inside was modern, with slick furniture, soft rugs, and artwork that likely cost more than Freya's whole apartment. A big chandelier hung from the ceiling, giving a soothing glow all around the open living room.

Freya followed Isabelle inside, her feet sliding into the plush carpet. Every step reminded her of the huge difference between the two of them. Isabelle had a home that looked like it belonged in a design magazine, but she was trying to pay for her grandmother's care. She couldn't hate Isabelle. Isabelle had always looked out for her. However, the contrast was too much.

"Sit," Isabelle gestured to a nice leather couch. "I'll get something sorted for us.”

Freya sat down cautiously, sliding her fingertips over the silky leather. She had not realized how hungry she was until now. The stress of the day had concealed the emptiness in her stomach, but now that the adrenaline had worn off, the hunger was genuine.

Isabelle disappeared briefly before reappearing with her phone in hand. "I requested the chef to prepare something light. "Light, at least for me."

Freya gave a blink. "You have a chef?" Isabelle gave a giggle. "Of course, I have a chef." You didn't suppose I made all this nice cuisine myself, did you?

Freya couldn’t help but laugh at that. Isabelle in the kitchen was a hilarious image. “What’s on the menu then? Something with truffles and caviar?”

Isabelle lifted an eyebrow, partly seriously. "That's close enough. We're having filet mignon with garlic mashed potatoes and roasted asparagus. Dessert will probably be something chocolatey. "You enjoy chocolate, right?"

Isabelle grinned as Freya's stomach growled again. "I'll take that as a yes."

The lunch appeared quickly, delivered on plates that resembled art rather than crockery. Freya's mouth watered as she smelled the aroma of perfectly cooked filet mignon. She hadn't eaten anything like this in, well, forever.

As they sat down to dine, Freya took her first taste and nearly gasped at how soft the steak was. It melted in her mouth, and the tastes exploded on her tongue. She had not realized how hungry she was.

"You eat like this every day?" Freya asked, trying not to sound too surprised as she shoveled another forkful into her mouth. Isabelle simply shrugged.

"I guess I do. However, believe me, it gets boring after a while. Sometimes I crave a good old burger and fries."

Freya let out a snort. "Right. Poor little wealthy girl, with her filet mignon and luxury apartment.

Isabelle laughed, but her tone changed as she peered closer at Freya. "Well, enough with the small talk. What is going on? Why were you out walking in the middle of the night like a lost stray?"

Freya hesitated, her fork freezing in the air. She had been trying to avoid this topic, expecting to put her problems aside long enough to enjoy the lunch. But Isabelle wouldn't let her off the hook.

"It's nothing," Freya began, but Isabelle wouldn't have it. "Freya, don't lie to me. Something's not right. You don't just appear out of nowhere like this unless there is a reason. Talk to me.

Freya put her fork down and sighed, her shoulders slumping. “It’s Drake. We… we had a fight.”

Isabelle’s expression darkened. “A fight? What kind of fight?”

Freya’s eyes welled up with tears again. She didn’t want to talk about it, but she had no choice. She couldn’t keep it bottled up any longer. “He… he tried to force himself on me.”

Isabelle’s eyes widened, and her fork clattered onto the plate. “What?”

Freya quickly continued, “I got out. I hit him and ran. But it wasn’t just that. My grandma’s treatment costs are piling up, and I got into Salisbury, but I can’t pay the fees, and now… now I don’t even have Drake to help me.”

The words poured out of her, and once they began, they didn't stop. She informed Isabelle of everything. Bills, debt, her grandma, and the overwhelming sense that everything was falling apart. Isabelle sat there in stunned silence for a time before reaching across the table to grab Freya's hand.

"Freya… You're not alone. You've got me, OK?" Freya brushed away her tears and sniffled. "I don't want to be a burden."

"You're not a burden," Isabelle stated firmly. "Look, I will help you with the money. "No questions asked.”

Freya shook her head. “I can’t just take your money. I won’t. I need to do something to earn it.”

Isabelle frowned. “Why are you always like this? Why can’t you just let me help?”

“Because I don’t want handouts,” Freya replied. “If you’re going to help me, I need to do something in return.”

Isabelle stared at her for a moment, then a mischievous smile crept onto her face. “Okay. You want to do something for me? How about this, you go on a date.”

Freya blinked, confused. “A date? What are you talking about?”

Isabelle leaned back, folding her arms. “Lucas, our business manager, set me up on a date with some rich guy. It’s some business thing, I don’t even know. But I don’t want to go. I need you to go in my place.”

Freya’s jaw dropped. “You want me to pretend to be you?”

Isabelle grinned. “Exactly. You just need to go, look pretty, and make sure he doesn’t want a second date.”

Freya opened her lips to argue, but her phone chimed. She looked down and noticed the university's acceptance claim countdown staring at her. Some hours have already been removed from the seventy-two hours. There was little time left. She worried about her grandmother, her obligations, and her fading hope. She sighed.

"Fine. I will do that”.

Isabelle clasped her hands. "Perfect! You'll spend the night here, and I'll get you ready for the date the next day. Trust me, this guy will have no idea what hit him”.

Freya mustered a feeble smile, her heart heavy from the weight of what she had just agreed to.