LOVE IN CONTRACT

Zariah . . I stood in the rain, watching as our bags were thrown out of the house one by one like trash. Papa was on his knees, getting kicked on the pavement, begging for mercy. I didn’t even understand what was happening. One minute I was inside, happily practicing my piano lessons with my parents cheering behind me, and the next—there was a mob outside our house, screaming and throwing things at us. Mama sat on the wet ground, sobbing like her world had just shattered. Then suddenly, she stood. “I can't take this shame anymore. I'm leaving you, Martins. I can't stand being poor,” she spat, her whole body trembling in anger. “Mama, please don’t leave me,” I cried, grabbing onto her leg, hoping she’d stay, hoping she will change her mind. “Get away from me!” she yelled as she peeled my hands off her legs. My hands slipped, and I fell hard across the road. Pain shot through me. My leg was scraped, and blood trickled down from a fresh cut on my wrist. The tears I’d been holding back finally broke free, mixing with the rain. I crawled towards Papa, my limbs trembling. He was lying still, too still. His face had gone pale, the color drained completely, and his lips held a bluish tint. “Papa?” I whispered, reaching for his hand. It was cold. Ice cold. I clutched it in mine. “Papa, please,” I begged, my voice cracking. “Wake up…” But there was nothing. No breath. No warmth. Papa was gone or at least that was what the little me thought. **************** “Miss Monroe” The interviewer’s voice snapped me out of my daze. I blinked, realizing I’d been staring out the window, lost in thoughts. I hated rainy days, they always dragged me back, back to memories I tried so hard to bury. My eyes dropped to my hand. At some point, I had started absentmindedly stroking the scar on my wrist. I hadn’t even noticed. “Miss Monroe,” the interviewer called again, this time with a hint of annoyance. I forced a smile, but it was too late. His expression told me everything I needed to know. And that… was how I lost a potential job. I contemplated staying back until the rain stops, but I had another interview to attend. That will be the fifth interview I will be attending this week, hopefully it doesn't flop like the rest. I raised my bag over my head and dashed into the rain, the cold water drenching the only fancy suit I had, it was a gift from my best friend. I stopped after a while to catch my breath, panting under the heavy sky. No taxi, I couldn’t afford it. And as if the universe wasn’t done playing games with me, a car sped past and splashed dirty water all over me. I stood frozen, dripping and stunned. As if being soaked wasn’t enough—now I smelled like poop. That was the final straw. I yanked off one of my heels, gripped it like a dagger, and took off after the car. I didn't think, I just aimed and threw it like I was in a hunting game. The heel struck the side mirror and shattered it. The car screeched to a halt, the sound making my heart drop. Oh no. What have I done? I did what any broke girl with self-preservation would do, I ran. “Serves him right,” I muttered, limping through the street in one soggy heel. “Who told him to splash me?” Now I smelled like poop water, my dress clung to me like a second skin, and I was down to one shoe. And these were my only heels!, the struggle was too real. Still, I dragged myself to the company building, each step making that one heel click against the marble. I was late, soaking wet, but I was here and I wasn’t about to give up. As soon as I walked in, the stares hit me like bullets. People turned to whisper, wrinkle their noses in disgust, and side-eye me like I was a walking trash can. Only the receptionist didn’t look horrified. She looked... sympathetic and I didn't like people pitying me. “Do you need help, miss?” she asked, her voice soft with concern. I offered her a weary smile. “I’m here for the interview.” Without another word, she led me into the hall where the other candidates were seated Or rather, where they had been seated. I took the only empty seat left, and soon everyone on that bench got up and moved. Like I had the plague or something. I didn’t blame them. I probably would’ve run from me too. But I stayed put, because no matter how bad this looked I wasn't leaving without being interviewed. I needed this work so bad I could do anything to get it—anything legal. The interview room was too quiet—like the kind of quiet that made your ears ring. I could feel their eyes on me, the panel of three judges in well ironed suits, the clock ticking loudly on the wall, and my wet shoe made a squishy sound as I stepped forward like a wet poppy on trial. “Name?” the woman in the middle asked, her face tight. “Monroe. Zariah Monroe,” I said, standing straight with all the fake confidence I could summon from my damp, trembling body. Her eyes narrowed. “You’re... very late.” I opened my mouth to explain but she cut me off. “The CEO asked to interview you personally. You would have to wait a little” .. “But…” I began to protest but something cut me off. The door swung open. A man walked in, exuding an aura of undeniable wealth and power, he looked dangerous. The rich scent of sandalwood, mingled with subtle spices and a hint of hair product, filled the room. His hair was slicked back, each strand in perfect place. The tailored grey suit hugged his broad shoulders and muscular frame. But it was his eyes, piercing green and locked onto mine with an unsettling curiosity, the way he tilted his head to look at me sent a shiver down my spine. Who was this man? And why was he staring at me like that? Without breaking eye contact, he slipped a hand out of his pocket and snapped his fingers. The sharp sound made me jump. A middle-aged man hurried in, holding... my missing shoe. Wait a minute, why is this stranger in possession of my shoe. The realization hits me. That was his car?, the exact one I threw my heel at. The man whose side mirror I’d just shattered. Panic surged through me. What have I done?