The  elevator opened to a short corridor. At the end of it was a double door, which he opened. He ushered her into the most luxurious hotel room she had ever seen.

To be honest, she had never been in anything like it but she couldn’t get the last words he said off her mind. What did he really have planned and was it going to be her death… truly?

Her eyes moved around as she took in the grandeur of the place. Her jaw dropped when her bare feet touched the Turkish carpeted floor. But, all her awe moments were short-lived when she remembered the man was right behind her.

She turned despite the impending doom that awaited her. She did not care if death would be caused by the man by her side or the migraine which still pulled at her. She believed she would die either way so why not appreciate that she was alive for now. At least until the grim reaper killed her.

A knowing smile curved his lips as he stepped closer to her. “Welcome to my penthouse, Sheila. Make yourself at home. There’s breakfast on the dining table. Eat something then take your medicine,” he said formally as he dipped his hand into his trousers and took out his phone. “Excuse me, I want to make some calls.”

His words lingered in the air as he disappeared through a door. 

His mood has changed, right? Was that how killers behaved just before they strangle or kill their victims? Do they switch up from nice and dark to formal and even more complex? She thought.

There she was, waiting for him to kill her. But he did not. Instead, he welcomed her, offering her breakfast and medicine. 

She narrowed her eyes at the direction he disappeared into. She did not understand the man. Why was he being strange? She was certain he would kill so why was he wasting time? Should she run now? If she did he would find her. He looked like the type. So she decided to take what he offered her. It’s better to be completely full with no headache and die, than hungry with migraine. Her spirit would be miserable. 

She followed the smell of the food, sat and polished off a sizable portion of toast, omelet, bacon, liver sauce, baked beans and tea. 

Sheila had taken the medicine he put aside for her.  What remained of the headache was a dull pain now. She was filled up and ready for whatever was to come. 

He found her sitting on a leather couch when he returned.

“Are you going to kill me now? Get on with it already. I hate suspense. I knew it will come to this one day,” She blurted out, not showing an iota of fear. 

He burst out laughing, the sound reverberating in the room. It made her tilt her head to the side in question.  

After a while, he calmed down and turned serious. “First of all… I’m not a serial killer or whatever you’ve cooked up in your head about me.  So… I won’t kill you. I need you alive. Secondly…” He trailed off.

“Yes?” she urged impatiently, tapping her foot on the ground.

A smile spread across his face. “Patience, little one.”

He walked toward a half-open door, pointing  in. “I think you will like a shower. This is your room, the place I promised you. There are dresses and shoes in there for you. When you’re ready, we’ll continue our discussion.” He headed back into the room he entered to make his calls.

Shocked that he mentioned  her filthy state. What type of gentle man would do that anyway? She knew she stunk. It had been a week since she had a bath and that was because she never got a space in the shelter. 

Shamefacedly, she  disappeared into her room. Closing the door behind her. 

The bathroom had a shower and a bathtub. She tilted her head to the side. 

Isn’t it illegal to have both a shower and a bathtub? It has to be. 

The mirror stand held all she needed for body and hair care, including a hair dryer. She washed her body and shampooed her hair… the first of its kind since the day she was chased out of the orphanage.

She often just used water. How could a street rat like herself afford such luxuries.

She returned to the bedroom, heading to the closet. Rows of gorgeous dresses hung there, that she only saw on shop displays. They were all in her size. Her brows furrowed at that. 

How did he know my size? 

She considered they belonged to a girlfriend or fiancée who shared the same size with her. 

That would be strange, she muttered. 

She picked a yellow floral cotton one and put it on. 

After brushing out the tangles in her hair, she held it back in a ponytail with a tie she found in one of the drawers. 

Catching sight of herself in the full-length mirror, a beautiful stranger stared back at her. For a heartbeat she thought another woman stood there. She turned quickly, but no one else was in the room. Only her.

She didn’t recognize herself.

The dirt and dust that had once clung to her skin were gone, stripped away to reveal a fragile kind of beauty she had long forgotten existed. Her features, once hidden beneath hardship, now seemed almost delicate for the life she had lived. Her eyes lingered the longest; they were clearer now, but still carried the weight of cold nights, empty stomachs, and too many days spent unseen.

Taking small, hesitant steps, she approached the mirror as though it might shatter the illusion. Her fingers lifted, brushing against the glass, tracing the outline of a face that felt like someone else’s. 

How long has it been since l saw myself like this? Since I had been allowed to feel like more than something forgotten?

She stepped out barefoot into the living area, but he wasn’t there. So she sat,  hands folded in her lap, waiting patiently for him.

Some twenty minutes later, her soon-to-be murderer walked in,  a phone to his ear. 

The moment he saw her, he ended the call. His gaze moved over her slowly, taking in every detail of the startling transformation as if he needed to be sure she was real. 

Fuck! She is definitely beautiful. The type of beauty that I could… no… don’t go there Cage. Breathe in… and out. It’s only a business deal. When it’s done… She will be long gone, then you can be a pervert to other women. He had chided himself.

But Admiration flickered in his eyes, darkening them in a way that made her pulse falter. 

From where she sat, she caught the subtle bob of his Adam’s apple, the only sign that betrayed him before he mastered himself again. His expression smoothed too quickly, too perfectly, leaving her wondering if she had imagined it at all.

“You sure look good,” he said caually, taking a seat opposite her. “We have much to discuss.”

He pulled a brown manila envelope from the side of his seat and pushed it to her. She gazed from the envelope to his face, her eyes questioning where he was going with this. He chuckled at her reaction. 

“If I wanted to kill you, there are several ways to do so that do not involve a letter bomb or poison,” he stated, his eyes dancing with amusement. He had never met a lady with wild imagination like hers. 

“What are the other ways?” she asked, breathless but curious, eyes narrowing.

“It’s more of pleasure and less of pain. Such intense pleasure that will make you wish for death.”

This man is crazy. Who on earth enjoys something and wishes to die, she asked  herself. But sharing pleasures with this man would be worth dying for, I guess. 

She smacked herself because she too was  as crazy as him to think like that. He was a rich weirdo with raging testosterone. 

“That envelope contains a non-disclosure agreement. You must not say anything to anyone about what we discuss here. I want you to go through the agreement and sign it,” He continued like he did not make the last comment.

She picked it up and scanned the content. Two sheets. She read through it  slowly in order to fully understand the words.

“Will this agreement be with me? If not, I’ll need a copy, please. I’m hoping I can get a dictionary as well and search out those words that I don’t understand,” she explained.

“No, this isn’t a school and you won’t take this as homework. All you need to do is sign it. Or do you plan to sell information to the press or use it to blackmail me in future for more money?”

Her brows furrowed. “I will never do that.” 

“Good. Sign it now and let me have it,” he demanded, obviously reining in his anger.

He pushed a pen close to her, giving him a cold stare. She picked up the pen and signed.

She met his eyes and said, “Now tell me your name.” 

The man smiled, showing off his dimples. His fingers slid through his crew-cut blonde hair that made him look like a boy and he put away the envelope.

“I’m sorry for being hard on you. I just need you to know how serious I am.  I’ll come out and be straight with you. I need a child.” 

She cut in matter of factly. “Then get married. It’s very simple to have a kid.”

He cocked his head to the side studying her. He had met people like her who appeared unyielding but eventually agreed with him. She was no different. 

“When I have you, why do I need to get married?” He answered sardonically.

She scrunched up her nose in disbelief. “You have me? I don’t understand.”

“I need a surrogate. I need you to bear my child.” 

His words were on replay in her mind as she sat immobile. How did he expect someone who had never been married or even had kids become a surrogate? She had concluded the man was definitely insane. She was about to protest when he spoke.

“Five million pounds,” he announced, watching her reaction change instantly from unbelief to interest.

This was a lot of money. Was he offering that money to me by any means? Was this some kind of trap men used now to cage women. She intoned.

“I will give you five million pounds to be my surrogate,” he clarified.

And to a girl like her, five million was more than enough to live a better life. Although she needed to think hard about it, the money was too enticing an offer to pass up. How could someone like her push over an offer like this?

“How is this going to work?” she asked, needing some type of  clarification.

“First, I will get married to you and after that we will go to a doctor to start the process.” As he spoke, he brought out another envelope. “This is an agreement. It states everything you need to know about the process. For now, you can stay here. I will come back tomorrow for my answer. Meanwhile, you can call for anything you want to eat. The kitchen knows you are my guest.”

 He took a card from his wallet and passed it to her. “There is five hundred pounds on this. You can treat yourself to the spa provided by the hotel. Take this as a form of guarantee that you will be paid very well for your services. But remember You’re not permitted to go out of the hotel. Understood?”