[Hope we'd meet again soon]
The message seemed so short and yet so pleasant.
The morning sun didn't rise in the Anderson household; it glowed. Usually, the light filtering through the blinds was a signal for Blake to bury her head in a medical journal, but today, the atmosphere was different. There was no heavy silence, no lingering resentment from the night before. Instead, there was the clinking of real china plates,the set her mother usually kept locked away for "important" guests.
Blake walked into the kitchen, her head still spinning from the residual adrenaline of the previous night. She expected a death sentence. She expected to be grounded until her thirties. Instead, she found Kate standing at the stove, humming.
"Good morning, honey," Kate said, her voice unnervingly bright. She didn't look up from the omelet she was flipping. "You had quite an adventurous night. Your father and I were... surprised."
Blake sat at the table, her hands folded in her lap. "Mom, about the club, I—"
"Oh, forget the club sweetheart," Tom interrupted, walking in from the living room with the morning paper tucked under his arm. He looked at Blake not with his usual disappointment, but with a sharp, predatory curiosity. "That young man, Elliot. He called this morning. Very polite. Very well-spoken. He mentioned he'd like to take you out again. Today. At noon."
Blake blinked. "Today? At noon? I have a chemistry studies with—"
"The studies can wait," Kate said firmly, setting a plate in front of her. "In fact, I think we should go out this morning. You need something new to wear. Something that doesn't look like you're going to a funeral or a library."
For the first time in seventeen years, Kate didn't drive Blake to a tutoring center or a bookstore. She drove her to a high-end boutique downtown,the kind of place where the price tags didn't have numbers, only names. As Blake stood in the dressing room, draped in a silk cream-colored dress that hugged her frame in all the right places, she caught a glimpse of her mother in the mirror's reflection. Kate wasn't looking at Blake's face; she was looking at the way the silk shimmered, calculating the cost of the lifestyle that could afford such things.
While Blake was asleep the previous night, her parents thought of the lifestyle they could afford if the relationship worked with Elliot.
"If this works, Tom, we won't need to worry about the medical school tuition," Kate whispered, her voice tight with greed. "We won't need to worry about anything. Why wait ten years for her to become a surgeon when a man like that can write a check today? He's clearly infatuated. We just need to make sure she stays... appealing."
"He's the son of a billionaire, Kate," Tom replied, his voice low and hungry. "We play this right, and we're set. Just keep her focused on him. The books can gather dust for all I care."
The "future doctor" path hadn't been about her success; it had been about their financial security. And now, they had found a faster route.
At exactly noon, a black SUV pulled into the driveway. Elliot didn't send a driver; he was behind the wheel himself, looking effortlessly regal in a light gray linen suit. When he saw Blake standing on the porch, he stepped out and simply stared.
"I thought you were a dream I had last night," he said softly, his voice carrying that same grounded warmth. "It turns out my dreams have very poor imagination compared to the reality of you."
He guided he gently towards the car and opened the door for her while her parents watch from the porch, in that instant they vowed to do whatever it takes for him to become their son-in-law.
He took her to a restaurant overlooking the bay. When they walked in, Blake noticed the silence. No clinking glasses, no chatter from other tables. The host bowed deeply to Elliot and led them to a table in the very center of the room.
"Where is everyone?" Blake whispered.
"I wanted to hear your voice, Blake. Just your voice," Elliot replied, pulling out her chair. "Background noise is a distraction I couldn't afford today."
He had booked the entire establishment. It was an act of grandiosity that should have felt overwhelming, but the way he looked at her—as if she were the only thing of substance in a world of ghosts—made it feel intimate.
The conversation was effortless. Elliot didn't talk about himself with the arrogance of the rich; he talked about the world. He talked about art, about the architecture of the city, and he asked her about her dreams. Not the medical dreams her parents had scripted, but the real ones. Every but of the conversation brought light to her world.
"You have a grace that can't be taught, Blake," he said, leaning forward, his eyes locked onto hers. "People spend their whole lives trying to capture the light you carry just by walking into a room. You shouldn't be hiding in a lab. You should be the sun that everyone else revolves around."
He took a short pause and reached out for her hands "blake would you do me the honor of being my girlfriend"
"Yes...i would"
Blake felt herself falling. It wasn't just the money or the power; it was the way he seemed to truly see the girl behind the blonde hair and the tall stature. He treated her with a reverence she had never experienced. By the time dessert arrived, she was convinced she had found her soulmate. He was her Prince Charming, her escape, her savior.
The following week was a blur of decadence. The Anderson household had transformed. The anatomy textbooks were shoved into the back of the closet. Kate no longer scolded Blake for her appearance; instead, she spent hours doing Blake's hair, buying her jewelry, and talking about "the importance of keeping a man's interest."
Her parents' lifestyle shifted overnight. New furniture arrived. Tom bought a car he couldn't afford. They were spending money they didn't have, banking entirely on the billionaire who was currently courting their daughter.
One night, Blake stayed over at Christy's house. They were sitting on the bed, scrolling through photos of the date, when Blake's phone chimed with a bank notification. She frowned, opening the app.
Her breath hitched. Her balance, which usually sat at a humble fifty dollars from her allowance, now read: $1,000,050.00.
"What? What is it?" Sarah asked, leaning over.
"He... he sent me a million dollars," Blake whispered, her hands shaking.
"A million? Like, for real?" Christy shrieked, grabbing the phone. "Blake, he's not just a boyfriend. He's a god! What are you going to do with it?"
"I don't know," Blake said, her heart racing. It was too much. It was terrifying. But then she thought of Elliot's face, of his gentle smile, and the fear turned into a strange, intoxicating sense of security. He wanted her to be safe. He wanted her to be hers.
She never forgot her friends who made the meeting possible through their endless convincing words. Both of them got a cut from the money, a hundred thousand dollars each.
The second "official" date was even more intense. Elliot took her to a private clubhouse, a place hidden behind an unmarked door in the city's most exclusive district. It was dark, smelling of expensive tobacco and aged leather.
The way Elliot looked at her tonight was different. It wasn't just admiration; it was a visible, heavy obsession. He sat close to her, his hand never leaving the small of her back. Every time another man even glanced in her direction, Elliot's grip tightened just a fraction, his eyes turning into flint. Blake found it romantic—a protective fire she'd never had in her life.
"Drink this," he said, handing her a glass filled with a shimmering, amber liquid. "It's a celebration. Of us."
Blake had never really been drunk. Her parents were too strict for that. But under Elliot's encouraging gaze, she took a sip. Then another. The world began to soften at the edges. The bass of the music felt like a heartbeat. She felt light, untethered, and blissfully happy.
"I need... I need to go to the restroom," she giggled, her head swaying slightly.
"Do you want me to come with you?" Elliot asked, his thumb tracing the line of her jaw.
"No, I'm okay. Just a minute," she promised, leaning in to kiss his cheek.
She stumbled slightly as she moved toward the back of the club. The hallway was dimmer, the walls seemingly made of shadow. She pushed into the ladies' room, splashing cold water on her face. The reflection in the mirror was a girl she didn't recognize. She was flushed, glowing, and lost in a haze of luxury.
As she turned to leave, a hand shot out, grabbing her arm and pulling her into the corner of the small, tiled anteroom.
It was a man she didn't know,he works a sinister smile on his lustful face. He smelled of sweat and desperation.
"You're the one," the stranger hissed, his grip bruising her skin. "You're the girl he's been parading around. Do you really think your that special, do you really think you are out of reach from me?"
"Let me go!" Blake cried out, her heart hammering against her ribs. The alcohol made her sluggish, her movements heavy. "Elliot! Help!"
"He's not a savior, he's a collector!" the man shouted, his voice cracking with terror. "He doesn't love, he wants to own you! I can treat you better"
The heavy door to the restroom suite didn't just open; it was thrown back with a force that made the hinges scream.
The air in the room instantly turned cold. The music from the club seemed to die away, replaced by a silence so heavy it felt physical.
Blake looked up, tears blurring her vision. Standing in the doorway was Elliot. He looked at the hand the stranger still had clamped around her arm.
"I think," Elliot said, his voice a whisper that sounded like a serrated blade, "that you've made a very grave mistake with my property."