The Contracted Substitute

Chapter 3

-MIA-

True to his word, Mr. Briarstone made the call, and my mom was in surgery the very next day. It went well, thank God, and thank Dr. Miller’s steady hands. The tumor was completely removed, and now she’s resting while they decide if she’ll need anything else.

Since Asher had moved her to a private room on one of the upper floors, I was allowed to stay with her for the first couple of days. I needed to be there when she woke up, even if she was groggy and barely coherent from the anesthesia. The doctors kept her sedated because of the pain.

Dennis came by, too. I couldn’t bring myself to tell him the truth about how I got the money for his tuition. So I gave him a half-lie. I said I landed a job that came with a scholarship subsidy. He didn’t question it. Just packed his things and left for California to finish high school and get ready for UCLA.

After two days, Asher got impatient. He told me it was time to move in with him. Said my mom was stable, and there was nothing more I could do.

He knew I was stalling. The man sees through everything. A wolf in Italian tailored suits.

So I packed my best clothes into a single bag and climbed into the car he sent. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t hoping he’d be inside, waiting. But it was just Jake, his driver. Asher was "too busy," apparently. Said he’d meet me at the penthouse.

But when Jake opened the door to the most luxurious suite in the heart of the city, I swear, my jaw nearly hit the marble floor.

Pale pink and cream cushion seating paired with light wood and white furniture, all accented with golden touches. Impressionist paintings lined the walls, their blurred brushstrokes softening the space like a sigh. I swear I spotted a Monet on the far wall, just above a marble spiral staircase.

In the left corner, a tall bookshelf framed a vintage record player, and the shelves were filled with classical LPs—names I didn’t recognize, music I’d never heard.

Everything was perfect. Too perfect. Pretentious. Feminine.

It didn't suit Asher at all.

I was running my fingers along the unfamiliar vinyls when he appeared. Dressing in another of his tailored suits sans tie, he crossed through a door I hadn’t even noticed.

"Ah, you're finally here," he said flatly, like I was just an ordinary mail arriving.

I snatched my hand away from the shelf, suddenly afraid I’d touched something sacred.

"Hi," I greeted, unsure if I should shake hands with him. After an awkward silence, my gaze shot back to the shelf before meeting his again. "Was this the type of music Linda preferred?"

Asher scowled. I guess he didn't like me hearing someone say his lover's name without dropping to my knees and letting out a prayer. His pale eyes narrowed, and he scanned the stack of vinyl.

"She liked to collect them. But I’ve never heard her listen to any of this." His eyes dropped, and for a moment, he seemed lost in a memory. Then, as if snapping back into place, he added, "Anyway, you’ll need some material to work on. Follow me."

I glanced back just in time to see Jake carrying my suitcase upstairs. It felt strange letting him handle my things without offering help, but I followed Asher down a corridor regardless.

We entered what looked like a study. The decor mirrored the main living area—soft pink palette, white and gold accents. A large, glossy white desk stood between two tall paneled windows, draped in light gray curtains. On the desk there were piles of photographs, CDs, and notebooks.

"Here you’ll find a lot of information about Linda. I want you to study everything carefully."

I stepped closer and picked up a stack of photos. Each one showed a gorgeous woman with straight, light brown hair and honey-colored eyes. Her smile was perfect. Pearly white teeth, lips curved in mischief, like she knew a secret and was teasing the photographer with it.

On the beach. Inside the house. At a park. A party. In the snow.

There was only one constant.

She was alone in every single frame. Asher was nowhere to be found.

Upon closer look, I saw her reflection in the sunglasses. Most of these pictures were selfies.

Linda clearly liked her image.

"How long were you two together?" I asked, still unable to accept the absence of photos of the two of them together in all this material.

"Almost two years," he replied, his voice warming for the first time since I met him. "But our families are close. We were practically raised together."

She looked a few years older than me in the pictures. If Asher was around thirty, then she must’ve been just a couple of years younger than him.

"She was very beautiful," I said quietly.

"She was…" His finger grazed the surface of a portrait before he placed it back on the desk. Then he looked at me again, cold and detached. "You need to change your hair. Make it straight like hers. My assistant will book you an appointment at her favourite salon."

I instinctively raised my hands to smooth my waves. "Oh." The sound escaped before I could stop it.

Asher stepped away from the desk. "Your room is the first door to the left upstairs. Jake brought your belongings there."

"Where’s yours?" I asked before I could stop myself, my mouth running ahead of my brain again.

"At the end of the hall. But there’s no need for you to go there."

A whole hallway between us. A bright red "Stay away". Message received.

Not that I had any intention of going to his bedroom.

"And what’s that on the seat?" I pointed to a few shoeboxes stacked over a cushioned bench.

"Heels. For you to practice. You can’t walk around in flats all the time."

I looked down at my feet. My old flats with peeling fake leather were sinking into the plush white rug.

"I’ve never worn heels before," I admitted, remembering how I’d skipped prom to cover Mom’s shift at the diner when she got sick.

"You have three days to learn and memorize her preferences. We’ll have lunch at the country club on Friday, and you’ll accompany me." His voice was firm, his expression unreadable. "I’ll leave you to settle in. If you need anything, call my assistant. His card is by the lamp."

He didn’t wait for a reply. No welcome. No tour to a place I'd live for the next year.

After I heard the front door closing at a distance, I walked over to the shoeboxes.

I swapped my worn flats for a pair of black stilettos and pushed myself upright, wobbly and unsure.

A classic Venetian mirror reflected my appearance. With blue leggings and a simple white T-shirt, the heels looked ridiculous on me. But I had to learn. I had to become someone else.

I took a few steps—unsteady, awkward—before falling face-first into the plush rug.

How the hell did Linda manage this?

I pushed myself up, breathless, and sat there for a moment.

Looking around, the truth slammed into me like a car crash.

This was my life now. A gilded cage dressed as a shrine to a lost love.

When I caught my reflection again, my brown eyes looked haunted.

And I feared the Mia I knew was already slipping away.