Chapter 2 A Room Full of Ghosts

"He needs to leave, he shouldn't be here."

I exclaim at the sight of a man waltzing in my living room, rearranging my ornaments like he owns the place.

His eyes roam with intensity. Why would they bring him to my new place?

To corner me I reckon.

He lowers himself ceremoniously into my couch, golden hair and skin a contrast to the couch's deep green fabric.

His smooth appearance and unreadable eyes are a charm for dominance and power. Old money meets modernity- he was hard to miss.

Quintin Deveraux.

"No Desirée, you need to snap into reality, this is for your benefit" Patra fake whispers.

I look at Randall in protest but he signals for me to be calm.

No no no, this isn't happening.

Lazy eyes met mine, "Take it... or not." he shrugs

You've got no options. I know, the room knows...

A persistent, spoiled nepo-baby and the very person I don't want around. His infatuation with me was like an obsession, always around, offering, insisting, wanting to be involved in my life. It was a full time job shunning him.

Now he had an offer to save me. My eyes close involuntarily. Insomnia has been my night companion.

Randall sets the documents on the table, showing us the places to sign. Right to the point.

I stare at the papers, grinding my teeth. This isn't just a contract, it's a collar with Quintin's name on it.

The public has made their choice, I have to make mine.

I was a powerhouse-coaching moguls, shaping brands. Now, I'm a murderer. My name and brand dragged in every show and gossip media.

Investors, clients, endorsements? All gone.

Everything I've built now dust.

Quintin brings out his pen, smirks and signs immediately.

"Your turn, Desirée," he rolls my name on his tongue.

I make my way to the table with my heart in my mouth.

He stands, towering over me and wrapping my palm with his as he hands me the pen.

I yank my palm free from his warmth and descend into my couch.

Patra and Randall give me a wistful smile. My fingers twitch, itching for my phone.

Jackson hasn't reached out, not even his signature passive-aggressive or blunt voice notes.

I unlock my phone and read his last message.

Jackson: Don't sign anything. Call me first.

Twelve hours ago. Ten missed calls, no call backs.

What could be more important than being here when I need him. I sigh, slamming my phone on the couch.

I had been stalling doing this, I knew they were bent on this offer.

"Jackson?" I ask

"Nothing from him," Randall says flatly.

So helpful. A burning sensation fills my throat as I blink back fury.

At our last discussion on taking Quintin Deveraux's offer, Jackson was on my side rejecting the offer.

"You will be getting into more shit. Handing over your brand and control." He paced.

"At his mercy Desi. He's a Hollywood prince," Jackson protested.

"Not while I'm here" Randall had countered.

"Jeez, one would think we were fools offering Desi as a sacrifice," Patra had rolled her eyes.

"It seems like it" Jackson bit back.

"You said it. Hollywood Prince."

"This could turn out well," Patra mused.

"We're going to control the agreement from our end," Randall tells Jackson.

"Who cares?"

"If he decides to go crazy, who is stopping him?" Jackson inquired.

"Hmm? The public damn right won't save Desi"

"Pessimism changes nothing Jackson," Randall warned. "We sink or take his offer"

"Leave my job to me" Jackson's spoke in a raised voice.

"We've left it for too long, now we're down to a last resort," Patra retorted.

"This isn't helping" I had screamed at them, tired of the back and forth.

Jackson was right. Quintin's persistence with me and his dominating reputation was alarming.

"I receive death threats every minute," I lamented in a raspy voice.

"Every breath I take outside is an act of defiance. We have to come up with a better plan" I stressed.

"Girl, this is the better plan" Patra chimed.

"I'm not standing for this," Jackson announced.

"Then you stand for Desirée, both brand and person being crushed," Randall responds.

"Desi" Patra whispers, nudging me to the present.

I suck in my breath, struggling to even my heartbeat. I can't believe it has come to this. I'm not a murderer.

The irony? Quintin Deveraux being my last resort.

He's always sent me advances and grand gestures for years. It was cute and teasing, but when I expressed my disinterest, he only turned it up.

Very nepo-baby. Easy life. Golden boy. Never been told no.

Now I need the relentless man who has everything handed to him.

I should be in control, like I've always been- running my business on my terms. But now I have nothing.

I'm lost and conflicted. My ego? Shattered.

I blink back the tears that have been threatening to spill.

"I need us to go over the contract again," I demand. My hands a fist on my lap.

He watched me without a word. He knew I had no way out.

"Anything for you," He says smoothly.

Randall set his phone to record.

"Ms. Desirée Ocampo, the agreement states that you and Mr. Quint..." his lawyer starts but he stops him.

"I'm a nepo-baby, as you've always pointed out. I have power, privilege, and goodwill." he said, spreading his arms, "All that you need."

"I am here to give them to you." his voice is calm but strong.

"The public has left nothing out in canceling you. I can turn that around."

He leans in, moving his index finger between us.

"You and I, together, a couple. That's the way out"

"Give them something to latch on." He flares his hands dismissively.

"By association with me and our teams, we will dissolve this scandal," he states.

"You get the perks of being the Nepo baby's baby." He smirks, slowly leaning back.

"No one will dare harm you when you're mine." he declares in a serious tone.

"What's in it for you," I ask, "You're so focused on what I get, but what do you get?"

"I get you, Desi."

He uses my nickname. The way he says it bothers me. His green eyes darken, ocean-deep, assessing my face - slow and deliberately.

I hold his gaze. This was the problem.

The lavish gifts, sending sponsors, buying out my courses, event centers and what not. Then his catch was me, me!?

I'm not a property to be bought by his grand gestures.

Randall had assured me I was at an advantage and I trusted him.

He and Quintin's lawyer had come up with the contract. There weren't any loopholes.

But even he didn't know what the catch was besides me.

The same reason Jackson is skeptical.

"Mr. charming and ruthless..., Patra clears her throat, addressing Quintin by his public-given title.

"...we appreciate your assistance at this trying time."

She continues, slow and steady.

"But I swear to God if you play any games, I will show you ruthless."

She hisses.

"What it means to be canceled by your precious fans"

"I'm not a publicist to be tried," she says menacingly.

"You can try, but it won't be necessary," Quintin responds coolly.

"You make my job easier. I'm glad Desirée has a passionate team."

I grip the pen as memories of my glory days fleet through my mind. What next?

It slips through my numb fingers. Quintin catches it with a smirk and hands it to me.

This can either make or break me. I recall all I know about Quintin and our past interactions. This time, he's having his way and I'm on the short end.

No turning back now. I inhale, sharp and uneven. Swallowing the last of my pride.

The pen is cool, smooth and deceptive against my fingers. One stroke. One signature. And my life is no longer mine.

Oh, Goddess.

"How does it feel to be mine? Quintin asks, flashing his white teeth.

I stare at the signatures- bold and binding. Frowning at that ever present maddening confidence of Quintin.

"It's time to put you back on top," he cheers.

"Oscar, over to you," Quintin tells his lawyer, holding me with his deep eyes. I look away, listening to Oscar.

"According to the contract, Ms. Desirée and Mr. Quintin both have to meet at least twice a week,"

He looks at me.

"Spend time getting familiar. It determines public perception."

He meets Patra's gaze.

"They have to be in the public eye, at events, on dates and in time, interviews. We have designated photographers to capture these outings."

Patra nods, squinting, already plotting.

Attached to a spoiled man, that's my solution. My God.

"The photos and information will be sold to media outlets for circulation," Oscar informs us.

"Thankfully the publication team and Mr. Quintin have been feeding the media's curiosity of him having a secret partner."

I glance at Quintin. Arms crossed. Attentive.

"This strengthens the plausibility of a relationship," Oscar explains.

"We build beneficial narratives with the photographs and our stories" Patra chips in.

Oscar nods. Randall adjusts his phone.

"It is important to stick to these terms in light of ending the scandal."

Oscar concludes just as the air thickens. The pen slips from my fingers again, this time rolling off the table.

I don't hear footsteps, but I feel him. A voice, cold as steel, cuts through the room.

"And it is important you halt this facade before it gets worse. "