THE COST OF LOVING A LIE

The loud ringing of a phone pierced through the night, annoying, persistent, and completely unwilling to be ignored. It rang again. And again. As though the phone was personally offended that nobody had bothered to answer it. Amara frowned, her eyes shifting toward the screen. Greg. The name stared back at her beneath the time—10:09 p.m. She sighed, reaching for the phone with her freshly manicured hand. Her nails were painted a bright, glossy red, the kind that demanded attention. The moment she saw the name, the annoyance on her face disappeared. A slow smile curled at the corner of her lips. It wasn't exactly a sweet smile. If Greg could see her face right now, he probably would've been scared shitless. Amara tapped the answer button. “Hello?” Her voice was soft. Sweet. Almost innocent. Which was exactly how she liked it. Amara, where have you been?” Greg asked. She rolled her eyes, checking herself in the mirror. “Busy.” “Busy doing what?” “Living.” Greg sighed on the other end. “I told you I could send the money tomorrow.” Amara's smile disappeared. “Tomorrow?” “Yes. What's wrong with tomorrow?” She glanced at the designer dress hanging beside her. “Nothing.” Her fingers reached for the perfume bottle sitting on the vanity. “Except I need it tonight.” “Amara—” “You said you'd take care of me.” Silence. Her smile returned. She knew exactly which words to use. “Don't make me feel like I misunderstood you, Greg.” Another silence. Then a sigh. “How much?” Amara's eyes gleamed. There it was. “I'll text you the account details.” Forwarding the account details to Greg, Amara thought to herself, He's even more of a bigger fool than the rest. She chuckled. She knew Greg was struggling with his business. She also knew his wife was on the verge of divorcing him. It wasn't exactly difficult information to find—she'd seen enough of it on the news. Yet somehow, despite everything going wrong in his life, he still had the time and resources to spend on her. Apparently, he also still believed she cared about him. How adorable. Amara didn't care. Not even a little. Greg was simply one of the many men she currently had at her beck and call, all of them wealthy enough to make being beautiful a very profitable occupation. She tossed her phone onto the vanity and stood. Stretching lazily, she ran her hands down the sides of her black dress, smoothing out imaginary wrinkles. The dress was short, fitted, and left very little to the imagination. Exactly how she liked it. Amara turned toward the mirror. Her green eyes stared back at her beneath perfectly shaped brows. A few freckles dotted her cheeks, softening the otherwise striking features of her face. Her red hair fell effortlessly around her shoulders. She tilted her head. Then smiled. Satisfied. “Perfect.” She grabbed her purse and was just about to leave when her phone buzzed again. We're outside. Amara glanced at the message and smiled. Finally. She slipped her phone into her purse, stepped out of her apartment, and headed toward the elevator. As the doors closed, she caught her reflection in the mirrored wall. She adjusted a strand of hair. She wasn't conceited. At least, that's what she told herself. She simply knew what she had. And she knew exactly what it was worth. The elevator descended. When the doors opened, Amara stepped into the lobby and immediately spotted Stacy's car waiting outside. Sam was practically hanging out of the passenger window, waving at her like they'd been waiting for hours. “Girl! What took you so long?” Sam complained the moment Amara opened the door. “You know the Gold District is at least a thirty-minute drive!” Amara laughed as she climbed into the back seat. “You're acting like we're going to miss a flight.” “We might miss the good men,” Sam shot back. That made Stacy laugh as she pulled away from the curb. Sam was a petite beauty with dyed blue hair and curves that made people look twice. Stacy, on the other hand, had the kind of model-like figure that could make almost any dress look expensive. But even between the three of them, Amara stood out. It wasn't only her body. It was her face. There was something almost innocent about it—soft features, bright green eyes, freckles, and a youthful sweetness that made people underestimate her. It had gotten her into trouble more than once, especially at clubs. If she didn't have her ID ready, bouncers often assumed she was too young to be there. Amara found it hilarious. “Yeah, Mar,” Stacy chimed in, glancing at her through the rearview mirror. “You do know we don't want to miss the main purpose of going there.” She grinned. “Mama needs a new money bag.” “Stacyyyyy!” Amara yelled, putting a hand dramatically over her chest. “What the hell happened to the old one you planned on settling with?” Stacy rolled her eyes. “Let's just say…” She turned the music up before finishing. “He chose his wife.” There was a beat of silence. Then all three girls burst out laughing. Amara shook her head. “Men are so predictable.” She leaned back against the seat, crossing her legs. “That's why you never get attached.” “Exactly,” Stacy said. “Absolutely,” Sam agreed. Amara smiled. She had always believed that. Love was complicated. Money wasn't. Money bought freedom. Money bought security. Money bought beautiful things, beautiful places, and the kind of life people spent years working themselves to death trying to afford. And Amara? She had no intention of working that hard. She glanced out the window as the lights of Bellmont City blurred past them. Tonight, she wasn't looking for love. She was looking for her next opportunity. And she had a feeling she was going to find one. The city of Bellmont was alive tonight. Then again, it was almost always alive. Cars sped past them as the city lights flashed through the windows. People hurried along the sidewalks, some dressed for the nightlife, others simply trying to get home. Here and there, homeless people sat quietly beneath the glow of streetlights, their presence barely noticed by the crowds rushing past them. Inside the car, however, none of that mattered. The three girls were singing loudly along to whatever song was blasting from the radio, completely off-key and completely unbothered. Amara was laughing when she felt her purse vibrate. She reached into it, rummaging around until her fingers found her phone. Probably Greg. Maybe he was calling to tell her the money had been sent. “Hey, freaks! Turn it down!” Amara yelled over the music. Stacy immediately lowered the volume, although Sam continued singing for another few seconds before realizing nobody else was. Amara pulled out her phone and answered without bothering to look at the screen. “Hello?” Her voice instantly became sweeter. “Amara?” The female voice on the other end was shaky. The smile disappeared from Amara's face. “What do you want?” She didn't need to ask who it was. Mabel. Her sister. The person she had successfully avoided for over two months. Two months since she'd stormed out of their parents' house and refused to look back. “Amara, oh my God. Are you okay?” Mabel asked quickly. “I haven't heard from you since the wedding. Mom and Dad are worried sick. Where are you? Please come home. We can talk about this.” Amara rolled her eyes. There it was. That voice. That sickly sweet voice that always made Mabel sound like she was the reasonable one. Like she cared. Like she was better. “I'm fine.” “Then please tell me where you are.” “I'll come home when I'm ready, Mabel.” “Amar—” “You all can be happy without me until then.” There was silence on the other end. Amara could almost picture her sister's face. That concerned expression. Those soft eyes. Probably feeling sorry for her again. It irritated her more than it should have. “And please don't call me anymore.” “Wait, Amar—” Click. Amara ended the call. For a few seconds, she simply stared at the screen. She hated Mabel. Or at least, she liked telling herself that she did. Mabel was everything their parents wanted Amara to be. A successful doctor. Responsible. Hardworking. Successful. And now happily married. The jewel of the family. Amara had always felt like the disappointing one standing beside her. It wasn't that her parents didn't love her. They did. That was almost the problem. They were constantly telling her she could do better. Work harder. Be more responsible. Be more like Mabel. As if Mabel's success was some sort of measurement of Amara's failure. And Amara hated it. She had never understood why everyone was so obsessed with working hard. Especially when there were easier ways to get what you wanted. She was beautiful. She knew she was beautiful. And unlike Mabel, she didn't see why she should spend years exhausting herself just to prove something. She could get what she wanted without all that. She just needed the right man. The memory of the night before Mabel's wedding suddenly came rushing back. "Why do you always have to act better than me?" Amara could still hear her own voice. She'd been furious. "Why is it so important to you to do so well? If you didn't work so hard, there wouldn't be so much expectation on me to do as good!" She remembered Mabel staring at her. She remembered the tears. And she remembered walking out. She hadn't looked back. Not once. Yet she hadn't blocked any of their numbers. Why? Because one day, she wanted them to see. She wanted to walk back into that house with everything Mabel had spent years working for. Except Amara wouldn't have worked for it. She'd simply be richer. More successful. Better. She would show all of them. Especially Mabel. “Mar?” Sam's voice pulled her back. Amara looked up. Both girls were staring at her. “You okay?” Sam asked gently. Amara clenched her jaw. She was still angry. Who did Mabel think she was, anyway? Always acting innocent. Always acting like she was the good sister. Amara tightened her grip around her phone. Then slowly relaxed. She wasn't going to let Mabel ruin her night. A small smile returned to her face. “Yeah.” She tucked her phone back into her purse. “Let's get the night started.” Stacy grinned and turned the music back up. The three girls immediately started laughing again as the car turned onto the brightly lit streets of the Gold District. Bellmont's playground for the rich. Luxury restaurants. Designer stores. Five-star hotels. And some of the most exclusive clubs in the city. Amara looked through the window, her eyes scanning the glowing buildings. Tonight was going to be good. She could feel it. And somewhere ahead of her was a man who didn't know it yet... but he was about to become very expensive.