Rent A Girlfriend

Chapter 2

The night air was thick, a humid mix of approaching rain and the expensive exhaust of idling limousines. Elara stepped out of the Grand Imperial, her lungs feeling tight. It was only as she turned to watch the taxi pull up that she saw a gold-embossed crest above the revolving doors, a stylized, silver ‘S’ woven into the hotel’s very stone.

Stark.

The realization was like a cold drop of water down her spine. He didn’t just meet her here, he owned the very air she breathed.

The ride back to her side of the city felt like a slow descent from Olympus. As the taxi moved, the gleaming glass towers of the center gave way to the bruised, neon-lit streets of her neighborhood. The smell of stale grease and damp concrete replaced the scent of sandalwood and silence. She fumbled with her keys, her heart still hammering seriously against her ribs, and practically tripped into the sanctuary of her one-bedroom apartment.

The silence of the room felt heavy. She kicked off Rachel’s heels and collapsed into her creaky desk chair. The laptop screen was a blinding, clinical white in the dark room. With trembling fingers, she typed the name into the search bar: Stark Conglomerate.

The results flooded the screen like an avalanche, burying her in a reality she wasn't prepared for.

Stark Conglomerate Secures Multi-Billion Tech Defense Contract.

Damian Stark: The Architect of Neo-Veridian’s Future.

Inside the Icy Empire of the City’s Most Eligible Bachelor.

She scrolled until her finger ached and her eyes burned. Page after page of cold, professional triumphs. There were photos of Damian looking exactly as he had at the bar. His expression was a mask of impenetrable granite, his eyes stared through the camera as if he could see the flaws in whoever was looking at the photo. He looked less like a man and more like a monument built to intimidate.

"What have I done?" she whispered, her voice cracking in the empty room as she rose from the creaking desk chair.

Her throat felt like it was filled with dust, tight with a mix of surprise and genuine terror. Her eyes landed on a bottle of cheap wine sitting on her kitchen counter, half-finished from the night before. She didn't bother with a glass. She unscrewed the cap and took a long, sharp pull directly from the bottle. The acidity burned her throat, a reminder of her reality compared to the vintage ruby she had taken at the hotel.

She went back to the desk, sat down and navigated away from the headlines, and opened the Rent a Girlfriend app. She stared at her own profile. It looked pathetic. There was no professional lighting, just a few well-angled photos and a bio that promised discretion. She wasn't even a five-star hire, she was a three-point-eight, a middle-tier.

"Why me?" she asked her reflection in the dark screen. "Out of all the elite models on this app, why choose a girl with a borrowed dress and a past-due electric bill?"

She clicked over to his profile, the one he’d used to hire her. It was a digital ghost town: no photo, a pseudonym, and the bare minimum of information.

An aggressive buzzing interrupted her thoughts. Her phone was dancing across the desk. It was Rachel again.

Elara closed her eyes, her hand hovering over the device. The guilt was a physical weight, making it hard to breathe. She couldn't hide forever. She swiped accept.

"Hey, Rachel," she said, her voice sounding thin and brittle.

"Elara? Where the hell have you been? I've been calling you for three hours."

"I’m home. I just... I just got in," Elara lied, wedging the phone between her ear and shoulder as she began to remove the red dress. She felt as if she were shedding a skin that didn't belong to her.

"Have you been ignoring me?" Rachel’s voice wasn't friendly. The cold, jagged edge of a creditor had replaced the warmth of their years of friendship. "Because it feels like you're ignoring me."

"No, no. I was busy. My phone was in my bag, Rachel. I didn't hear it."

"Busy doing what? Finding my money?" Rachel’s voice rose, vibrating with a desperate anger. "You promised me that refund two months ago, Elara. I have rent. I have bills. I’m done with the excuses. Don’t make me involve the police. I’m serious."

Elara stood in the center of her cramped dark room, shivering in her underwear. The red dress lay crumpled on the floor like a bloodstain. The walls felt like they were leaning in, suffocating her.

"Give me until the second week of this month," Elara said, her voice trembling. "I’ll have it all. Every cent. If I don’t... then do what you have to do. Call the police. I won't stop you."

"The second week," Rachel repeated, the threat hanging heavy in the silence. "I'm holding you to that."

The line went dead.

Elara let out a breath she felt she’d been holding since she stepped out of the hotel. She stumbled into the bathroom, the cold tiles biting at her feet. She turned the shower on, letting the water run scalding hot, trying to wash away the feeling of Rachel’s rage and the lingering chill of Damian.

When she finally crawled into her small bed, the sheets felt rough and thin. She expected to lie awake, haunted by the debt, but exhaustion took her like a heavy shroud. It was a deep, dreamless sleep, the kind that feels more like a blackout than a rest.

The sun was already piercing through the gaps in her cheap blinds when her phone chimed. It wasn't a call this time. Just a single, sharp notification.

She reached out, her arm feeling like lead, and squinted at the screen. 10:00 AM. She had slept for twelve hours.

The text was from Damian.

Meet me at The Vault at 2:00 PM. Wear something comfortable. D.S.

Elara sat up, the thin blankets pooling around her waist. The Vault. She knew the name. It wasn't just a boutique, it was an appointment-only place for the city's elite. A single scarf there costs more than her six months of rent.

She looked at her reflection in the cracked mirror across the room. Her hair was a mess, and her eyes looked tired. In four hours, Damian was going to start the process of erasing Elara and building a Stark.