Love beyond Deception

Chapter 4: Before the Agreement Ink Could Dry

Herod Crackstone’s POV

The last couple of hours felt like an eternal dream. Like a movie series I didn’t want the next episode of.

I’d watched my life flash before me like scenes in a 360-degree dome cinema, and somehow, I still couldn’t understand why it scared me so much.

That was what a coma looked like.

I was ninety percent sure Ana didn’t even realize she’d dozed off on the comfy couch. Poor girl.

I looked at her, curled up on the comfy couch, breasts barely tucked in her red gown.

“You stole my identity,” taking a puff from the tobacco stick I’d requested against the wish of the doctor.

“You're effortlessly the perfect pawn.”

I picked up my phone. “Prepare the contract papers. 12 months. I’ll handle the rest.”

The poor girl woke up just as I dropped the call.

No sign of caregivers around. Her eyes scanned the VVIP suite like a lost tourist.

A bartender in white and gold walked in with two glasses and poured us a Bloody Mary. Elegant, dramatic. Just the way I liked things.

“Why would you blow up my cover?” I thought.

I’d just learned that my female assistant—the one meant to be with me—died in the crash. Internal bleeding. Tears dropped from my eyes.

The plan was simple:

She would've paid the Chief Medical Director a retirement sum of one million Dollars to pronounce me dead.

Seal off the VVIP section for three weeks.

Then, I would rise again—like a god—and dominate the media and Hollywood with ease.

Fake death = priceless publicity.

My ‘death’ was meant to bring foreign investors into my movie empire. It would also boost my private art sales and put me ahead of K. Harlow.

Everyone knows a dead artist’s work is worth more.

And this girl? Her public display as my girlfriend was giving me what I wanted faster than death could.

So, maybe...I didn’t have to ‘die’ for three weeks. Now, my ‘resurrection’ needed a better plot twist.

BACK TO REALITY

Did she pretend not to hear me? Or was she still star-struck?

“I know you heard me," I remarked.

“I’m... Ana... Ana San…”

“I..I..already know your name.”

“I'm your girlfriend…for goodness’ sake!” she retorted.

“You’d be a forgotten soul…in a borrowed wig…if you don't prove that,” I stared at her.

Speaking of wig—she pulled it off. Maybe to think better. Or she’d finally realized it didn’t belong on that head.

I smiled, "You… looked better with it–put it back on.”

She obeyed, silently walking to a mirror to align it.

“You’re quite a good actor, girl...I’m impressed,” I posted.

I blew a fat cloud of smoke in her direction. “You’ve kept my audience busy…since I got here. Well played.”

“Take a sip…of your cocktail,” I gestured to her glass, “before we get to the…main deal.”

She hesitated, still holding the glass as it might bite her.

“Come…closer,” I beckoned, “before my lawyer…arrives.”

She tucked her breasts back into her tight gown and sat at the edge of my bed. Then I ran my fingers along the gemstones on her red gown.

“Do you have a picture…of us?”

“We've been going…very private for years, babe,” she responded.

I decided to be kind, “Take a puff.”

“I don’t smoke.”

“Why are you sweating in a cold room? Now tell me every…thing. How we met... Everything!!” I asked.

She suddenly stopped breathing and stared at the giant wall clock like she wanted to stop time.

ANA’S POV

The glass trembled in my hand. I had to set it down before I squeezed it to death.

Who exposed me?

His real girlfriend? The media? Or God himself?

“My investments, movie streams, art sales—everything’s doubled. The board is happy. The media’s on fire. My name is flying higher,” said Herod.

I almost gasped. But I had to hold my composure. A woman of pride would.

“My last movie…” he looked downwards.

“Yes?”

“...barely made two hundred million. We expected four.”

“Two hundred million?”

“K. Harlow is threatening to overshadow me. Five Oscars. Bigger roles and endorsements. Bigger investors. Bigger everything. But since you came in—my streams have doubled. My art collection has doubled in value too.”

He sat upright slowly.

“Marry me, Ana,” he said.

“What?!”

His countenance changed. “Would you swear this isn't every girl's fantasy? C’mon! Close your mouth, Ana. Don't hang it open like a patient dog that has just seen a golden bone.”

A knock interrupted.

“Oh God. Please, not his real girlfriend,” I prayed.

“Come in,” he said, like he was expecting someone.

A man in black stepped in.

He beckoned at the man, "This folder is thick enough to change someone's life. Haha!”

“I’m his lawyer, ma'am. One of the best in the world,” said the lawyer.

“Lay the documents on the table,” Herod commanded.

“Sure. Contract marriage agreement. 12 months. Zero emotions,” the lawyer stepped forward.

My eyes widened,“12 months?!”

“Your life will change forever,” he sipped his cocktail.

My eyes went foggy.

“But why me?” I whispered.

“His brand needs someone like you. You’ve already started the show, Ana. Finish it big,” said his lawyer.

He looked… serious. Calculated. Desperate.

I hadn’t even read the full contract yet.

“Did you stop at ICE to get my diamond ring?” he turned to his lawyer.

“Yes, sir. Your treasurer reimbursed me four million dollars in cash.”

“A ring of four million dollars? Do you think I'm cheap?”

“This already looks like a museum masterpiece, ma'am,” the lawyer quickly added.

I gifted him a deadly stare, “Keep your opinion to yourself, sir.”

“Ana, calm down. When we get out here, I'll get one of ten million dollars myself for you.”

He blew a cloud of smoke at my face as he said that.

“You know I've never liked cigarettes, babe.”

“Millions of Dollars will be flowing into your bank account every week according to this contract.”

“Fine.”

I wasn't joking with a woman's negotiating power.

“Just 12 months, Ana. Zero feelings. Let’s just give them a show and smile at the bank.”

I heard Selena’s voice in my head: "Jackpot, baby."

I stared at his white eyes. I didn't have anything to lose after all.

“Where do I sign?”

“Here, here, and here,” the lawyer leaned in, smiling.

I appended my signature in a perfect calm before the storm.

Then—

BAM!

The doors burst open. A goddess barged in with the breath of a wrestler.

“Where’s that pig, Ana!?”

Way taller than I was. A lighter skin than mine. Bone-straight hair screaming luxury. Dripping with pure class. The kind of woman who made other women question their self-worth. Not me.

“Danielle,” Crackstone muttered. “You’re here.”

So this was her?

“If I wasn't enough for you all these years, why didn't you tell me, Herod?” She held up some tears.

“I can explain…”

“You were supposed to play dead, Crackstone,” she spat. “Instead you’re cozying up with this pig?”

“It's your mother you're calling a pig.”

I wanted to give her an uppercut. But I held my peace and my bloody gown. Barely.

“Ana Santos, the deceiver…” eyes burning as though she was on c***k.

“Point of correction, Honey,” I interrupted. “It’s Ana Crackstone now.”

I flashed my ring in her face.

“One problem I have with you is when you're high, you don't listen.” Crackstone cut it.

“Was she not always clean and sober?” I wondered.

“Demon! I swear I’ll ruin you both,” she snapped.

“Danielle!!”

“Crackstone, who authorized you to change the plan without me?”

My heart sank. This woman...this toxic queen...she wasn’t just his girlfriend. It seemed she ran things.

“I did! And you’ve seen the numbers, Danielle. Our stocks, our streams. Our art sales. Everything’s up. This is working. You’ll work behind the scenes now. Ana is on center stage.”

“You’ll have to kill me first because IT WILL NEVER HAPPEN!” she yelled.“You’re an opportunist, Ana. I swear with my life to expose you both!”

She kicked the glasses of the remaining cocktail on the table.

Then she charged in and flipped over his medicine tray, IV stand, vital monitoring machines—everything. Screamed. Spat on me.

Then the alarm went off.

And she stormed out like a rabid dog.

The lawyer stood there with his mouth open.

“I'm glad you quickly picked up he documents before she tore them or something.”

“I'm good at my job, ma'am,” he added.

A few moments passed and Dr. Garvey, the Chief Medical Director, walked in and froze at the scene.

“With all this chaos,” his eyes scanning the entire ward, “you’re both stable enough to continue recovery at home. You need home care in your mansion.

He was probably disappointed. However, I was sure Herod would overpay for our bills and the damage.

“I can't wait to get home,” my new husband was already reaching for his phone to call the chauffeur.

Then–my iphone buzzed.

An anonymous text.

“I have your nudes, Ana Santos. And I'll leak them if we don't meet.”

I saw my soul leaving me behind.

“Who could this be and how did you get my nakedness?” I thought out loud.

If my nudes ever leaked—my dignity, career, life, marriage, my father–where ever he was. “Is this how dirty Hollywood is?”

This was already more than I bargained for.

And this marriage that I just started–what else was on the other side?