Beneath the Mask

Jennifer's point of view "You're not serious." The coffee between us was cold and unopened as I gazed at him across the table. There was no flinch from Damien Knight. A half-smile, the type that resembled trouble in a suit, twisted his lips. "I’m dead serious." He spoke in a soothing tone. Too quiet. "Just a year, Jennifer. Act like you're my wife. You'll never have to worry about money again in exchange. I blinked. Once. Twice. Was he crazy? Or was I simply entering a strange dream? "You want me... to marry you?" "Avoid getting married. He said, "Pretend," as he leaned back in his seat. The documents would appear authentic. The world will accept it. However, you and I will see its falsity. I nearly laughed. Nearly. However, his steel-gray, icy eyes assured me he meant every word. "I don’t get it," I said. Anyone might be yours. An example. An actress. Why me? He took a while to respond. He simply gazed at it as if he were trying to decide which card to play next. He said, "Because you're the only one I trust not to fall in love with me." My heart skipped a beat. Only a bit. Then it roared more loudly. Because of the insult, not because of love. I folded my arms and remarked, "You've got nerve." "What makes you think I could ever fall for you?" He smiled slowly and dangerously. "Exactly." I wanted to slap him. Or even hurl my coffee at him. But I remained seated for some reason because of the offer and the manner he delivered it. "Why?" I inquired. "Why go through all this trouble?" His jaw tightened as he averted his gaze. "The will of my father." Only if I'm married before the end of the month do I receive the company. Additionally, it must be... persuasive. "And what do I get?" I furrowed my brow. "A million dollars." For a moment, the room whirled. I nearly gasped for breath. "A... a million?" "Free of taxes. Cash. I took a swallow. My rent was due in three months. There was a half-eaten bag of rice and one bottle of ketchup in my refrigerator. Despite working two jobs, I still had holes in my shoes when I got home. But we, Damien Knight? Even a fictitious marriage? "What's the catch?" I inquired. His voice was hardly more than a whisper as he drew closer. "You acted out the part. Do not be dishonest. No errors in public. Additionally, you never, ever refuse me in public. I gasped. It sounded more like a warning than a rule, that final paragraph. "What happens when the year ends?" I inquired. He shrugged. "We have a low-key divorce. You receive your money. I have my firm. We part ways. Simple. tidy. Just business. However, I knew in my heart that Damien Knight was never pure. I had trouble sleeping that night. I rolled over and looked up at my small apartment's ceiling. One million dollars. I could begin over. Assist Mom with her medication. Return to school. Quit avoiding second chances and bill collectors. However, I would be deceiving the world. Telling myself lies. I closed my eyes and saw myself clutching Damien's hand as cameras flashed as I walked down an aisle in a white dress. I was grinning like I was in love. Acting as though it had lasted forever. Could I? Would I make it through it? He was there at my door the next morning. A black outfit. Black vehicle. Probably a black heart. As if he already knew my response, he said, "So?" "You’re not giving me time to think, huh? "I said. "Jennifer, you don't have to think. I need your affirmative response. I paused, looked at the street, and examined my broken phone. Then back to his face, dangerously attractive, inscrutable, and keen. "All right," I muttered. "I'll carry it out." He moved closer as soon as I finished speaking. Too near. He said, "This isn't a game." "You don't get to leave after saying yes now." "I understand." "You must kiss me. Take a nap in my bed. Put on my ring. Make it so convincing that people will believe we are real. "I understand the meaning of pretending," I yelled. He grinned. "Well done." Then he took a velvet box out of his coat pocket and opened it. A diamond. Enough to make me blind. "Put it on," he instructed. I slid it on with trembling fingers. It was hefty. Too hefty. Like gold and ice wrapped around the price of freedom. His words were, "Congratulations," "Your name is Jennifer Knight now. " I shuddered at the way he stated it. Then he performed the exact opposite of what I had anticipated. Leaning forward, he planted a kiss on me. On my doorstep, exactly. Not pliable. Not very sweet. It was hard, deep, and warning-filled. He responded, "Practice," and withdrew. "Get used to it." With my heart perplexed and my lips still tingling, I watched his car pull away. The deception I had just accepted would persist for a whole year. However, an odd idea lingered in the back of my mind: What if a year turns into an eternity? A message from an unidentified number appeared on my phone later that evening as I was reaching for it to inform my closest friend about the arrangement: "Jennifer, you struck a bargain with the devil. Furthermore, the devil is never fair. I went cold. That was sent by whom? How did they find out?