BET. BOUGHT. OWNED. THE BILLIONAIRE'S PROPERTY

Chapter 5 (The Dinner 2)

Janet's POV

I did not sleep much the previous night. Although I had the door locked, I kept waking up in fright, thinking that Chris would break into the room. Every squeak of the floorboards, every shake of the wind outside, I thought it was him. I lay like that still, with my eyes wide open in the dark, waiting to hear the rattle of the door.

And even when everywhere became completely silent, it still wasn't peaceful. It was worse. Because it carried Greta's screams with it. The way they cut off, sharp and sudden, replayed in my head again and again. I never saw her face again that night. I wondered if I ever would.

By morning, I felt… nothing. I was completely empty. Like the fear had hollowed me out. My body was not willing to budge like the bed had swallowed me. I pulled the blanket closer, and wished I could creep into it and stay there forever. The memory of his voice, the humiliation at the dinner table, and the glass exploding against the wall...it all sent chills racing through me.

Just as I was struggling to bury the restless thoughts, there was a sharp knock on the door, and I jumped. My heart was beating violently in my chest I thought for a second it was him.

Chris.

But, when the door opened, it was only a maid. The same one from yesterday, the one who brought the dress to me. Martha.

She walked in smiling. “Good morning, ma. Mr. Chris wants you downstairs.” Her tone was quite low and pleasant but before I could open my mouth, she left the room.

I laid there for another moment looking up at the ceiling and then I dragged myself out of bed. My legs felt like bags of lead. Every step heavy, scraped. I clasped my arms together in front of me, pulled them tight to my chest like I could use my own hands to hold myself together.

He was sitting on the sofa, dressed in a black suit, and a briefcase by his side. His eyes were focused on his phone.

I cleared my throat, as I stood in front of him “Good morning,” I whispered.

His eyes were still glued to his phone, he didn't even lift them for one second, or acted like a human being was standing in front of him.

After some seconds, he finally spoke, his voice...sharp and powerful. “A stylist will be coming to get you ready for a dinner party. Make sure you are ready when I return.”

That was all. No explanation. No look. No pause.

I opened my mouth to speak but...he was already on his feet with his briefcase in his hand. He walked past me like I was air, and the scent of his cologne hit before the door slammed shut.

I stood there staring at the empty space he left behind, fists curling until my nails dug into my palms. A dinner party. My stomach twisted at the word. It didn’t sound like food and laughter. It sounded like another cage. What am I suppose to be doing with him at a dinner party?

The next hours felt like years to me, every tick of the clock punched at my chest. I was anxious. Restless and Afraid. I didn't want to go to anywhere with him... but I know I didn't have a choice.

I kept tossing and turning on the bed, until I dozed off.

A loud knock on the door, woke me up halfway, before I could open my eyes fully, the same maid peeked her head in. “Ma… your stylist is waiting.”

I rubbed my eyes, and blinked, "what time is it?"

"It's 5pm Ma."

"What?" I screamed jumping up from the bed. "5pm already."

"Should I ask them to come up," she asked politely.

"Please do. Thank you Martha"

She smiled and left.

I stood in front of the mirror, smoothed my hands down my dress. It was pointless, because my palms were sweating and my throat was dry. You could feel the tension all over me.

The stylist came into the room, all smiles and greetings, as if she were meeting an excited bride. Her assistants trailed behind, carrying racks of gowns and boxes stacked high with shoes and makeup.

They didn’t ask me what I wanted. They didn’t care. Fabric was pulled over my head, zipped tight around my body, stripped off again, replaced with another. Sequins, velvet, silk...I felt like a doll being passed around, dressed and undressed at someone else’s whim.

“Turn,” the woman ordered gently, and I obeyed. My reflection shifted in the mirror each time, but none of it looked like me.

Finally, they settled on a long black dress that hugged my body like it was meant to suffocate me. The shoes were worse...thin, sharp heels that made my knees buckle the moment I stood.

“I can’t walk in these,” I whispered, but the stylist only smiled like she hadn’t heard me. “You’ll manage.”

They moved on to my face. Brushes swept across my skin, powders and colors layered until the girl in the mirror looked like a stranger. Her lips painted red. Her eyes rimmed dark. I searched for myself in that reflection and couldn’t find her.

When they were done, the stylist clapped her hands lightly. “Perfect.”

I scoffed, "Perfect. For who?" I murmured to myself.

By 7pm, Chris was waiting downstairs. He was wearing a black suit and leaning at the table like a king expecting his servant. I went down slowly and my steps were a bit shaky because of the heels. Even after hours of practicing my walking step with Jasmine the stylist, I still couldn't walk properly... maybe fear added to it too.

As I managed to walk down the stairs, Chris's eyes were locked on mine, he didn't blink, he just stared with this unreadable expression. For a second, I thought he was admiring me.

But when I reached him, his gaze moved from my head to my feet. "Why are you walking like that?" his voice was filled with disgust. "Don't you know how to walk in a classy manner?"

I blinked my eyes and took a deep breath, "I... I've never worn heels before," my voice was shaking from fear and embarrassment."This is my first time, I'm... sorry."

His eyes widened in anger, "I don't care about your sad life, just make sure you don't embarrass me tonight. This dinner is very important to me, it determines if I get a contract I have been chasing for a while, and also most of it falls on you.

He paused when his phone buzzed. He brought out the phone from his pocket, read the message, sighed, and slipped it back to his pocket. Then he turned back to me, "Listen, tonight, you play the happy wife. The wife who is madly in love with her wonderful husband who treats her like a queen. Since they want a happy couple, that is what we give to them."

I didn't say a word, I just listened like an obedient slave.

"Pray," he continued, "Pray really hard you don't screw this up for me, because if you do..."

He let the rest hang in the air, but his eyes already said it all. "Let's go," he ordered.

Immediately, I followed him, my legs shock as I tried to keep my balance in the heels. I kept my head down, praying that this night go real smooth.

The car ride was so silent and the air was filled with tension. I tried my best to keep my breath steady, but no matter how hard I tried to calm down my shaky hand, it just wouldn't stop shaking. After twenty minutes, the car stopped, Chris got out first, and quickly opened the door for me, holding his arm out. "It's show time," he said, his voice was calm, but there was something about the way he said it.

As I stepped out of the car, I froze at the building in front of me...It was so big, and it glowed, I have never seen anything as beautiful as this. The golden light shone so bright, and the tall glass doors that were framed in marble was so beautiful. This was the kind of place were people like me didn't belong.

I quickly pulled myself together, and slide my hands into his arm. His grip tightened slightly, like he was giving me a silent warning.

"Smile," he ordered. And so I smiled.

I smiled like a queen in the arm of her king, but deep down, I felt like a chained animal walking into a show.

We climbed the marble steps together, my heels clicked against the stone, each sound reminding me to stay in character. As the doors opened and the warm, expensive air washed over me, I kept the smile fixed on my face.

I didn’t belong here. Every polished surface, every perfect flower arrangement, every stranger’s gaze told me that. But I had to fake it. Fake it well enough to keep him from getting angry. Whatever it took.