Soap Opera
1375 Words
Elara woke up sneezing. Of course. The universe decided that on top of eventful life, she needed to audition for a cold medicine commercial.
The winter breeze had snuck through her window like an uninvited ex, and her sinuses were paying the price. Her face looked like a bruised peach thanks to dear aunt Loretta, puffy, swollen, and very much not ready for the day. But the day came anyway.
All she could think about was how ridiculously quiet her apartment was without Joshua.
By this time, he’d usually be in the living room, yelling at pixels and claiming “it’s strategy, not button-mashing!” And she’d start her daily pep talk on why kids need sleep and how ten hours of rest is essential for brain development and, you know, not turning into caffeinated goblins.
But Joshua was a genius. He’d look at her like she was the child and go right back to gaming. And she’d always cave, because it was his way of escaping the storm in his own head.
Now, there was nothing. No clicks, no beeps, no tiny voice yelling at virtual dragons.
Just… silence.
Dragging herself to the bathroom, she peeled off her clothes and soaked in a hot bath until her skin resembled a retired raisin. Wrinkly and done with life.
Staring at herself in the mirror, she gave herself a pep talk. Because that’s what mentally unstable people did.
“Okay, Elara. You’ve made questionable decisions before like bangs in high school but this one might actually help someone you love. Loretta doesn’t do anything unless there’s money involved, so if she says it’s profitable, it probably is. Let’s save Joshua.”
Ten minutes later, a cab dropped her off at the gates of hell—sorry Loretta’s house.
She stayed in the cab like a stubborn suitcase, refusing to step into the lion’s den until Loretta came out.
Of course, Loretta wasn’t alone. Her husband, Timothy, was tagging along, looking like someone had permanently stapled a grimace to his face.
He shot Elara a glance colder than a tax audit.
She, in return, offered zero acknowledgment. Why should she greet the man currently running her late father’s company like it was a hobby? Irony had never slapped so hard.
And just when she thought her morning couldn’t get any more tragic, the gates of hell opened and Freya came skipping out like Satan’s cheerleader.
She clung to Loretta’s arm like a toddler with attachment issues but her eyes? They were Laser-focused on Elara.
“Mom, can I come too? I have nothing planned out this morning. Pretty pleeease?”
‘Oh, yay. A bonus demon. Lovely.’
Loretta’s smile was so sugary Elara nearly got a cavity. “Of course, darling.”
Elara clenched her jaw to stop herself from rolling her eyes so hard they’d fall into the back of her skull.
Fast-forward to the ride with all three women in the same car, and Freya, surprise surprise, wouldn’t shut up. Elara silently counted backwards from ten to avoid snapping Freya’s neck. It didn’t help.
“So, Mom… does this mean you won’t be Elara’s guardian anymore?”
Loretta responded with a hum, eyes glued to her phone, because parenting is optional when you’re a villain in a soap opera.
But Freya wasn’t looking for answers. No, her target was clear, full mental destruction of Elara.
“Oh my gosh, isn’t this basically like getting disowned?” Freya blinked dramatically. “She doesn’t have any family left. Does this mean she can’t use our family name anymore?”
Elara didn’t respond. She balled her fists, channeling every ounce of self-control not to grab Freya’s six hundred dollar purse and yeet it out the window.
The Dalton name was her father’s. Loretta was the one who should’ve changed hers but instead, she clung to it like a social ladder, climbing all the way up to petty prestige.
“We’re here,” the driver announced, and Elara flew out of the car like it was on fire.
Not just because Freya’s voice was an actual crime against peace, but because her perfume had declared chemical warfare on Elara’s lungs.
The building wasn’t much to look at. Elara narrowed her eyes. If this was a trap, someone was getting strangled, no trial, no jury. Her gaze landed on her aunt but she chose to stay quiet.
Then they stepped inside, and she muttered, “Don’t judge a book by its cover, indeed.” The place was nice. Like… “I suddenly feel poor” type of nice.
Refined furniture, pristine décor. The kind of place that made you want to sit up straighter and pretend you weren’t mentally calculating if you could afford the pen on the desk.
Loretta did most of the talking, of course. Elara stayed quiet until they were ushered into the director’s office.
The nameplate said “Mrs. Veronica.”
Elara observed the woman behind the desk. Pleasant smile. Polished look. Very… non-threatening.
Which, honestly, was more terrifying than a grumpy face. Anyone who could smile this much in this line of work was either a saint or a serial killer.
“This is the girl you told me about?” Veronica asked.
Elara tensed.
Not because of the question, but because Freya had already turned the office into her personal catwalk, gliding across the room like she was preparing a playing detective.
“If you’ve seen her, I’d like to sign the papers and get on with my day,” Loretta snapped. “I’m a busy woman.”
Of course you are. So busy you forgot how to fake basic human decency.
Veronica remained calm, the kind of calm that screamed I will destroy you, but with manners.
She produced a document. Loretta pounced on it like a reality TV villain and signed without even reading it. She was supposed to be smart when it came to things like this but apparently not.
Then and only then, did she ask about the money.
Veronica’s smile turned slightly wolfish. “I wanted to tell you before, but you were in a haste. The money will be up to her. What’s your name, sweetie?”
“Elara—”
“What do you mean?!” Loretta cut in, her voice hitting decibels only dogs could hear. Freya abandoned her office-tour to join the chaos.
Still, Veronica didn’t blink. “The client left a blank check. She decides the price.”
Elara’s brain short-circuited.
A blank check? That was either a blessing or a bribe. Possibly both.
Loretta turned to her like a loan shark in a movie. “You better write a reasonable amount. If you need help—”
“Mrs. Dalton,” Veronica cut in, still sugar-sweet, “please refrain from urging my partner. She must not be pressured.”
Partner. Ha! That word had never been used so dramatically. Luckily, Elara didn’t hear any of that because she was still processing the absurdity of the blank check when Freya nudged her like an angry parrot. “Say something, goddamn it!”
Elara ignored her. “What kind of job is it?”
Veronica looked… impressed. “An escort job for a business meeting. One day.”
Freya gasped. “Just one day? Like, not even overnight?”
She sounded so disappointed Elara almost offered her tissues.
Everyone ignored her. Loretta was too busy holding her breath for the amount Elara would write.
“So I can decide… any amount?” Elara asked again, because surely this was a prank.
Veronica nodded.
Elara picked up the pen and wrote the most ludicrous number her brain could conjure. Something that screamed “I have bills and zero shame.”
She half-expected Veronica to raise an eyebrow. Or call security.
Instead, she just added the check to the file and made a call like this was Tuesday.
Was she overthinking this?
Then Veronica said, “Your ride will be here any minute. In the meantime, go through the contract. Try not to make any mistakes today.”
Elara blinked.
“Wait—TODAY?!”
Maybe she should’ve asked before signing her soul to a mystery client with a blank check because the real show started now.
- Writer
