Fateful Contract：Play the Billionaire Player

It was noon. Sunlight filtered through the thin curtains, flooding the small, cluttered room with light. But the two girls in bed had prepared for this—they both had their blankets pulled up on their single beds, forming two cocooned shapes. Emma Hansen and her roommate, Wendy, huddled inside, fending off the sun's relentless rays. Only a small crack on the side was left open for air. They had just finished their night shift at ten that morning. Despite their cramped, uncomfortable positions, they were sound asleep, the only noise in the room the slow rhythm of their breathing. Then, a sharp ring cut through the quietness. A hand shot out from under the blanket, groping around the nightstand until it finally found an old phone. Emma groggily brought it to her ear, her voice thick with sleep. "Hello?" The theater director Hank's booming voice immediately assaulted her. "Emma! Why the hell aren't you here yet?! Anita's already on set, and you, the understudy, are late?! Seriously?!" 'Crap! I'm late for the performance!' Emma jerked up in bed, panic instantly gripping her. She began muttering apologies while frantically grabbing her clothes. But just as she glanced at her phone screen, everything stopped. She blinked at the time, rubbed her eyes, and then flopped back onto the bed with a yawn. "Sir, I think the performance is tomorrow afternoon." There was a brief pause on the other end before Hank, the director with a bushy beard, spoke again, his voice now dripping with politeness, almost oozing charm. "Emma, you know you're one of the finest talents in our troupe... ahem. We've got a special client today, someone who specifically asked for a performance from you and Anita. Do well, and I'll double your pay." 'Double pay!' Emma's eyes flickered with excitement, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. Still, she didn't rush. Her voice stayed smooth. "I just got off a night shift two hours ago. This is my sleep time..." The roar on the other end grew louder, reverberating through the small room. "Triple pay! I'll triple your damn fee! Now get your greedy ass over here!" "Of course, it's an honor to serve you," Emma teased, blowing a kiss into the phone. "What time's the performance?" "Three o'clock! I've already locked it in with the client. Three o'clock sharp. If you're late, we're all screwed!" "Relax." Emma was already out of bed, grabbing her bra from the floor as she stood in front of the mirror, tousling her hair. "Just have the money ready." She gave herself a twirl, admiring her reflection. The woman staring back at her was stunning—angelic face, devilish curves. Her golden hair cascaded over her shoulders like a waterfall, and the small heart-shaped birthmark on her chest gently rose and fell with each breath, almost hypnotizing in its subtle movement. A whistle sounded behind her. Wendy had poked her head out from under the blankets. "You're really going to work after only two hours of sleep?" "You heard all that?" Emma said as she pulled on her clothes. "Sorry, my boss is... intense." Wendy groaned, covering her eyes from the light with one hand, her voice a grumpy mutter. "Emma, have you lost it? You're the top student in our program, and you're working as an understudy? The professors would flip if they knew." "So let's keep it quiet." Emma shrugged. "I need the money, Wendy. Not everyone's as lucky as you. Matthew and I... we need the cash." Wendy was different. She came from a well-off family, and she was only here for the experience, out of pure curiosity. "Bah! You're insane!" Wendy grumbled, rolling over in bed. "That six million is Matthew's debt, not yours! Why did you sign up for that repayment plan?" She sat up, frustration bubbling over as she glanced around the room. "Look at the life you're living now!" Her eyes swept over the tiny space. It was so small that it could barely fit two single beds, leaving a sliver of space in between where they had to squeeze past. The bathroom? Even worse. It was so cramped that she couldn't even fully stretch out her arms. Wendy had been here for two days and already hated it. But Emma had lived here for four months. Four months! All because it was close to her various part-time jobs. "Wendy, Matthew's my boyfriend. He's going to be my husband," Emma said, now fully dressed, her hair tied back in a neat ponytail. "I love him. I want to marry him. And it's not like I'm the only one giving—he's been nothing but amazing to me, hasn't he?" "He..." Wendy bit her lip, struggling to find an argument. As much as she hated it, she had to admit that aside from the debt, Matthew was pretty much perfect. He was drop-dead gorgeous when he boxed, charming, funny, and always treating Emma like she was the only person in the world. He was so thoughtful that even Wendy, just watching from the sidelines, felt a twinge of jealousy. Aside from being broke, the guy didn't have a single flaw. "Fine, whatever. Do what you want." Wendy flopped back onto her bed, pulling the covers over her head. "I'm sleeping until dinner. No way am I dealing with life right now." Emma let out a soft chuckle, slipping into her T-shirt. In the mirror, she was a completely different person now—hair pulled back, glasses perched on her nose, dressed in the most basic clothes. Still Emma, but all her brilliance dimmed. She checked herself one last time, making sure the birthmark on her chest was hidden. She didn't fully understand why it mattered, but it was the last thing her mother had asked her to do before passing away, and she wasn't going to ignore that. As the wind whipped through the car's open window, Emma closed her eyes, letting it blow away the grogginess. She had a vague sense that her birthmark might be tied to something she didn't yet understand. But honestly, she didn't care. 'All I want is a simple life.' Right now, she was focused on working as hard as she could, earning enough to pay off Matthew's debts, graduating school... And then? Then they could get married. She could finally chase her dream—standing on the big stage, singing her heart out, reaching for the Grammys. The sharp screech of tires jolted her out of her thoughts. Her Beetle had been cut off by another car, forcing her to swerve to the side. The car in front of her, a luxury vehicle by the looks of it, had a fresh scratch running down its side. A man stepped out of the car, a smirk already plastered on his face, and knocked on her window. Emma's lips tightened in disgust. 'Of all people... why him?'