In His Sheet

Episode 005

When she finally zipped me into the black dress, I barely recognized the woman in the mirror. The slit showed just enough leg to be dangerous, the neckline modest but sharp. My hair fell in smooth waves over my shoulders.

“Damn,” Joan whispered, stepping back. “If you walk into that place with this face, somebody’s going to forget their wife tonight.”

I laughed, cheeks warm. “That’s not the plan.”

“Sure it’s not,” she teased. Then her voice softened. “Go get what you’re chasing, Mara. But don’t lose yourself trying to catch it.”

I nodded, slipping on the heels she’d lent me. “I won’t. I just need one night. One chance.”

Joan watched as I grabbed my bag and headed for the door. “You already have it,” she called out. “Now make it count. Maybe after tonight, you'd start paying me to look after your mom,"

"I love you !" I screamed while running out to meet my cab.

The city lights looked different from this part of town—brighter, cleaner, as they belonged to a world that had never known dust or unpaid bills.

I stepped out of the cab and just stood there for a second, clutching my small bag, staring up at the glass-covered building glittering under spotlights. Cars...real luxury ones glided past, their engines purring, doors opening for women wrapped in silk and men dressed like power itself.

The air smelled like perfume, money, and expensive cigarettes.

A valet brushed past me, offering a practiced smile before hurrying to open another door. I moved aside quickly, careful not to draw attention. I didn’t belong here—yet.

Still, my lips curved into a small smile. To win a game, you have to study the players.

I was here to study.

A couple walked past me, their laughter soft and effortless. The woman’s diamond earrings caught the light like tiny stars, and for a second, I caught myself staring. That was the life I wanted. Not for the jewelry or the gowns, but for what they represented—ease, security, freedom.

If tonight went well, maybe this wouldn’t be a one-time performance. I couldn’t afford for it to be.

I needed a reason to come back—a name, a connection, something that would open a door and keep it open. Because once this night ended, I’d go back to my tiny apartment, my mother’s cough echoing through the thin walls, and the same aching truth: nothing changes unless I make it change.

This was the change I chose.

I exhaled, straightening my borrowed blazer as a woman’s voice snapped me out of my thoughts.

“IDs, everyone. Quickly, please.”

Clara.

She walked toward us, clipboard in hand, every inch of her screaming control and confidence. Her sleek bun didn’t move, not even as the evening breeze caught her jacket.

One by one, she handed out badges to the event assistants lined up beside me, her tone clipped but approving. “Good. You all look polished, finally. You’ll be working the floor, the bar, and the check-in desk. Keep your smiles sharp and your words minimal. Tonight’s guest list is… sensitive.”

Her eyes lingered on me a second longer than I liked. “New girl? um...Mara, am I right?"

“Yes, ma’am,” I said, careful but steady.

She nodded. “Good posture. Try to keep it. Guests can smell uncertainty.”

I forced a smile. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Alright. Let’s move. We’re ten minutes behind schedule—”

The sound of screeching tires cut her short.

Everyone turned as a sleek, black car rolled up the drive—glossy as ink under the lights. Then came the rush: flashes, shouts, the whirl of cameras. Paparazzi swarmed from every direction, their voices overlapping.

“It's him! Adrian Holt! Adrian, over here!”

I blinked, shielding my eyes as the chaos unfolded. Reporters pressed forward, shouting his name like it was magic.

Then the car door opened.

He stepped out slowly, straightening his jacket, his expression unreadable under the assault of camera lights. Tall. Sharp. Impossibly composed, like he’d been carved for this exact moment.

The air shifted. Even Clara froze.

“Who is that?” I asked under my breath.

Clara’s eyes flicked toward me briefly, her lips curving with something between amusement and awe. “That,” she said, “is Adrian Holt. The man who paid for half this event. Try not to stare.”

Too late.

I was already staring.

Handsome didn’t quite cut it.

He was stunning—the kind of man who made people stop mid-sentence without even realizing it. His hair was jet black, cut sharply at the sides, falling just enough over his forehead to make him look recklessly elegant. He stood at least six-foot-five, broad-shouldered with the kind of posture that came naturally to men who owned rooms without saying a word.

His face was all clean lines and high cheekbones, his jaw defined, his mouth firm. But it was his eyes that did it—steel-grey, cold and deliberate, scanning the crowd like he was already two steps ahead of everyone there.

A few women near the carpet giggled, trying to get his attention. He didn’t glance at a single one of them.

I swallowed, my stomach tightening for a reason I couldn’t quite explain. He looked like he could destroy someone’s life with a single decision and never lose sleep over it.

And even though something about him pulled at me, I knew immediately—he wasn’t the kind of man I should ever go after.

He was too polished. Too powerful. The kind that could spot a fraud from across a ballroom. One wrong word, one misstep, and he’d know exactly what I was—an outsider in borrowed heels.

No. Adrian Holt was the type who dated women born with old money and last names that opened doors.

If I am going to play this game, I need someone softer. Someone rich but reachable. A man with influence, not dominion.

Still, my eyes lingered a second too long before Clara’s voice cut through the noise.

“Alright, team,” she said briskly, her heels clicking against the marble as she motioned us closer. “Guest lists and assignments. We have three main coverage points tonight—the west lounge, the dining hall, and the balcony section. Don’t wander, don’t mingle, and for the love of God, don’t get photographed.”

She started handing out sheets, her tone clipped. “You—” she pointed at Mara, “You’re with table service in the lounge. Keep your tray steady and your mouth shut unless spoken to.”

“Yes, ma’am,” I said, taking the list.

The paper felt thin in my hand, almost trembling with the bass of the music already building inside. The other girls nodded, some whispering excitedly about the celebrities on the guest list.

I tucked my badge into my blazer pocket, squared my shoulders, and followed them through the massive glass doors.

Inside, the room glowed with gold light and money, crystal chandeliers, marble floors, and laughter that sounded like yacht owners.

For a moment, I let myself take it all in.

This was it. The world I wanted.

And I was finally standing inside it.