The Billionaire's Aerialist

Kiara was having the exact opposite of a blast. The changing room they set aside for her was bigger than she was used to, and it seemed like the old childhood bedroom of an entitled little prick. It probably was, considering what she'd seen so far.

One of the party organizers had thoroughly instructed a servant to lead her there through the back entrance, so the attendees wouldn't catch a glimpse of the 'performer' before the 'main act'.

Main act my ass. All those stuck-up moneybags couldn't care less about her performance. They would certainly be busy closing billion-dollar deals and complaining about the rise of the minimum wage.

The agency hadn't specified what kind of event it was, but based on the size of the kitchen she went through and the number of servants running like crazy, she assumed it was a fancy-ass party. And thrown by the modern equivalent of royalty, no doubt.

Who else would hire an aerialist to perform in the middle of a ballroom and guarantee a ceiling height of twenty feet for her silks? Not even the professional tent she performed on the summer had that kind of structure, but those messed up people thought their home should have a triple-height ceiling to compensate for their small dicks.

She wandered around the room, getting familiar with the place. Bounced a bit on the perfectly laid bed, messed the order of books too clean to have ever been read. She had a bit of time before she needed to get ready because they made her arrive two hours before the show.

The action figures were kind of cool, but still too systematically organized for her taste. The owner even sorted them out by cinematic universe, for Christ's sake! Kiara couldn't help herself and switched the Hulk and Batman. Much better.

She considered taking the Spider-man as her prize, but it still didn't feel quite right. She deserved something else from that place, something nice. So she kept on searching, opening a few drawers and cabinets to find her trophy of the night.

Most of them were empty, suggesting the room was indeed a leftover from the child that once lived there. Probably the heir to that damn empire, if she were to guess.

One drawer, much to her delight, was locked. The promise of hidden treasures was too much for her, and she couldn't contain the small devilish smile that made its way to her face.

She opened her traveling costume bag and took out a hair clip, trying to remember the YouTube video she saw the other day about unlocking doors with the thing. It took her way longer than the video suggested, and she had to watch it a few more times to get it done. But soon enough, she heard that magnificent click sound and bingo.

Inside the faithful drawer was a full collection of jewelry. She was no expert, but the total sum would undoubtedly surpass the order of millions. She rummaged through the pieces as if she were accustomed to it, but the truth was she had never put her hands in that amount of money before. Least of all that literally.

Her fingers felt the sharpness of the diamonds – at least she thought they were diamonds – and took a few pieces out to help her see everything inside. You had to be filthy rich to pile up gemstones like that. It looked like her lingerie closet, and that was saying a lot.

After a few minutes of search, her index finger accidentally worn a magnificent diamond ring that immediately caught her eye. It was a fucking masterpiece! Unlike most other pieces, it wasn't ostentatious or heavy. Two crossing bands filled with little stones, converging to a slightly bigger one in the middle.

That was it. She couldn't even argue. That perfect little ring would be her prize for the night. It slid to her finger by itself, it wasn't even her fault. She chewed over the idea of wearing it to her performance, weighing the risk.

It didn't take her long to conclude she should go for it. The piece would be too small to be seen from up high, and nobody would pay much attention to her anyway. She was mildly concerned it could get stuck in the aerial silk, but it was clearly made to be worn with fancy lace dresses without tearing them apart. Her instrument would be safe.

Kiara checked the time and began her preparation. She still had an hour to get everything ready before midnight. How original, scheduling a performance to the party right at midnight.

Her process was fairly simple, but she took it seriously. It was her art she was talking about, and even though those unappreciative bastards might not pay much attention, she would perform with all her heart. She only hoped that at least one soul would watch carefully enough to take a piece of it home, much like she'd do with her new ring.

That night she would present a personal favorite, a fifteen-minute performance to the piano version of Sia's Chandelier. Not that they deserved it, of course. But she didn't get many opportunities of a ceiling high enough to allow her to 'swing' from the virtual 'chandelier'.

She wanted to perform it on a festival she took part a while back, but much to her dismay the inner circles of the circus industry are not very accepting of modern song's routines.

She would have done it anyway if it wasn't for the strict selection process lead by one of her former instructors. The Russian aerialist slayed on the silks, and Kiara was crazy in love with her art, but the damn woman didn't accept any routine performed to a song released after the invention of the internet.

A last look in the mirror let her know she was good to go. Her makeup was dark around the eyes, making her blue eyes shine with a mysterious vibe. 'Thank daddy dearest for that' she thought, looking up to the roof in a silent prayer.

Her hair was loose to improve the flow during the routine. People would always cheer when she got upside down and flipped her hair, showing her sidecut.

The outfit was her favorite part, a cut out black lace unitard that contrasted brilliantly with her blood-red aerial silks. She knew it stood in a grey area between sexy seductress and murderous dominatrix, but that was precisely what she was going for.

She checked the time again, ten to midnight. The silks' safety knot was attached to the ceiling at the very center of the ballroom, three floors below. She would come in from the balcony on the second floor and swing her way above the public.

She estimated the ribbons would stop about eight feet above the ground, allowing them to flow above people's heads. Prior to the event, she asked to do a technical rehearsal to sort those things out, but apparently the hostess rejected the possibility. Bitch.

Kiara reached the balcony where her instrument was safely tied and undid the knot. She signaled at the DJ to plug in her flash drive and took a deep breath to concentrate on her silks and her number. When the first few notes of the top hit song played on the speaker, she clutched the fabric and jumped towards the main hall. Showtime.

The bar of his childhood home used to be a forbidden place for Chris. He would often sneak around the house hoping to simply sit on the high stools and play businessman. The image of his father drinking a glass of whiskey after hours was ingrained in his memory from a very early age, and he could almost see the stamp of his trousers' back pocket button engraved on the stool leather.

Today, however, the bar was full of drunk ass-kissers that stuck to the counter like scrambled eggs and the frying pan. As if they didn't have the means to taste that kind of liquor elsewhere.

He tried to escape the ballroom to go lay on his old bed for a while, but apparently it was being used to 'host the talent', whatever that means. His mother really went overboard with the party, inviting over three hundred people to celebrate his new role at the company.

Managing director, one step away from his father's position as CEO. But a party at the Wright's residence is never just a celebration, is it? If it were up to him, he would go out for drinks with the boys and consider it done.

But there were social standards to meet and people's hands to shake. Most important of all, to his mother at least, woman to be paraded in front of him. Speaking of the devil.

"Mother"

"Are you having a good time, son?" Patricia Wright could be called many things, but her most prominent quality was most certainly sophistication. If her elegant navy-blue dress, adorned with handpicked matching jewelry, wasn't proof enough, her poise definitely was.

"As good as it can be"

"Christopher!" she chastised in a tone perfectly tailored to reach only his ears in the most annoying of ways.

Not that he didn't love the woman, far from it. She gave him life, and a comfortable one at that, and affection in her own way. But she had unreal expectations for his goals and an unlimited amount of opinions regarding his personal choices.

"Sorry, mother. Yes, I am enjoying the party."

"Good. Have you met the lovely daughter of the Jacksons?"

There it was. Her number one subject of choice since he joined the family company, over five years ago. He thought that giving in to their wish to have a son taking over the business would be enough to take them off his back, but clearly it wasn't.

Apparently, his father could only embark on his well-deserved retirement once he knew a 'real patriarch' would take care of the company. Someone who 'knew the burden of taking care of a household'. His mother's words, of course.

"I didn't have the pleasure just yet"

"I'll introduce you two after the show. She's very docile"

Docile. Who describes a person as 'docile'?

"Sure"

"Perfect. Now come with me, the performance is about to begin, and I don't want to miss it. I know the perfect spot!"

Chris allowed her to pull him through the crowd, imagining just what kind of performance had the woman hired this time. She was always trying to outdo her own previous parties, and he had to give her credit. It was usually the highlight of the night.

He noticed when the DJ faded out a song to make room for whatever attraction was coming. A quick look at his clock showed him he was right, exactly midnight. His mother loved a good cliché.

He heard it before he saw it. Loud gasps took over the crowd, everyone looking up all of a sudden. He didn't know how he could miss the first swing of the enormous flowing fabric that dangled from the ceiling, but now all eyes were on the small girl hanging from it.

The music was spot on. Not only did she look like she was swinging from a chandelier but also the emotion of the whole thing. He didn't know much about circus performances, but he could feel all the sorrow she was conveying through the song. This was not the typical light party performance; it was pained and heavy.

Each split was opened and then forced to open a bit more. As if each action took a toll on her body and soul. She would fall along the fabric and show how hard it was to climb back up. And then, like her effort meant nothing at all, she would go back down into another fall. It was a shout out to all who suffer and rise to try again. It was an ode to struggle.

For an undetermined number of minutes, he didn't take his eyes off of her. Then he felt a bump against his shoulder, bringing him out of his daze.

"Sorry, man" drawled the drunken bastard. Only then did he notice most of the people had already gone by their business, ignoring the exceptional spectacle that was taking place right above their heads. 'Fucking idiots'.

He cocked his head back up to see the rest of the show, just in time to see her at the apex of the ceiling with multiple layers of fabric rolled around her body. She unhooked her feet from the upper part of the ribbon and spiraled down, picking up speed and rapidly approaching the ground.

Chris didn't know if her expression of despair was part of the show or if something had gone wrong, but he ran towards the center of the main hall just in time for her to halt a mere six feet above the ground.

At that moment, she looked right into his eyes and he could have sworn she saw his soul. She undid the knot that held her in place and let go of the silk, landing on her feet. He worried for a minute about a fall from that high, but her knees and ankles were clearly trained to absorb the impact.

Then she turned to him with a dazzling smile and winked. His heart turned inside his ribcage with that simple act, and he reached out to touch her like she was a delicate statue, too precious to be handled harshly.

She turned to leave, but he got to hold her arm before she could. He just wanted to ask her name. Why was she leaving in such a hurry? But a quick glance down made him notice a shiny object on her left hand.

"Where did you get that?" His voice came out weird, definitely a mix of his antagonistic feelings at the moment. That mysterious creature in front of he still amazed him, but his anger was boiling from the recognition of the priceless item attached to her ring finger.

Another careless guest bumped into him right before she could answer, and she took the opportunity to escape his grip. Then, favored by her petite size, she crawled between the crowded room and evaded the hall. He tried chasing her, to no avail. She quite literally slipped through his fingers and he was left alone once again.

Kiara cursed her way out of the ballroom, running towards what she thought would be the kitchen and, luckily, her way out of there. What were the fucking odds! The only person who had the decency to watch her act till the very end, that devilishly handsome piece of work that ran to hold her before she 'fell'.

Fate was way too cruel to her. Not that she would have stayed there and engaged in a heartfelt conversation about her act and whatever else with that delightful sin of a man. But still, must he be the one to recognize her minor theft?

How stupid was she to think she could wear it to the performance without consequence! Now she found herself in the kitchen pondering over whether it was safe to retrieve her bag from the changing room or she should simply go home with none of her stuff.

If he knew about the ring, then he knew where it was prior to its abstraction and the room was the first place we would search. No. She couldn't risk another encounter with the man, she'd rather go home in full costume.

She just wished she had hidden her cell somewhere inside the outfit, but she knew it was a no go for that performance. Too many risky transitions, she would definitely break the thing before the end.

Time was not in her favor, and she decided to count her losses after her physical integrity was guaranteed. Thinking on her feet, she chose to tell a little white lie to one of the girls in the kitchen. She was not an actress, but she could perform a role for a couple of minutes to get out of there. She chose the sweetest looking servant to ask for help.

"Hi, do you work here? I'm so sorry to bother, I don't know what to do!"

"What happened? Oh my, you are the circus girl! I only saw a bit of the act, but it was amazing! I love that song and..." Kiara would have loved to stay and cherish a fan, but the clock was ticking.

"I'm really sorry, I'd love to hear your opinion, but I have a big problem!"

"Oh, sure, can I help you?"

"You see, my mother called right before the show and said my sister is feeling unwell. I promised to go home immediately after the performance, but now I can't get to the room where I left my stuff."

"Why not? Do you want me to get them?" She was so eager to help, Kiara's heart clenched at the lies she was forced to tell. She almost felt sorry for lying to such a lovely girl.

"No! I think there is someone there, a couple. I heard things and didn't have the guts to get in. But I don't need my things right now; I can take them back tomorrow or whatever. I just need someone to call me an uber so I can get to my sister"

"Oh my, people have no decency at these parties! Don't worry, I can help you! I'll call the uber. Here, let me write down my cell so you can call me tomorrow and get your stuff." The girl handed her a piece of paper with her number, and Kiara appreciated the fact she would at least be able to pay her back for the ride.

"You are too sweet, thank you!"

"Of course! Now hurry to your sister, I'll get your bag as soon as the room is clear. Call me tomorrow"

"Thank you, I won't forget your kindness"

And with that, she left through the same backdoor that had welcomed her a few hours before.

The ride home was terribly uncomfortable. The driver kept ogling at her through the rear-view mirror, and she couldn't help but notice how exposed her costume actually was. It was perfect for a performance, but barely covered her body when looked up close.

Kiara was seriously holding back from speaking her mind to the driver, playing scenarios in her head on how she would curse his soul out if she was in a safer situation. She had taken too many Ubers in the small hours of the night to know it was best to keep her mouth shut. She asked him to leave her at a twenty-four-hour diner close to her building, hoping to grab a small snack before hitting the sack.

"Hi Josie, do you have anything left for me tonight?"

"Kiara, honey, what happened? No changing room again? You need to stop accepting these trashy gigs, you are too good for them!"

"Not this time, Josie. It was a really nice place, good money too. I just had to leave in a hurry, that's all" She hadn't realized how tired she was, but her voice sounded like shit.

"Here, honey, have this tuna sandwich. You need to eat something light, a heavy stomach is a restless sleep"

She laughed heartily, appreciating the caring nature of the older woman. She was about to take the first bite of the much-needed sandwich when her hand was pushed forward, causing her to drop half her sandwich outside the plate.

"Good heavens! What is that, young lady?" Oh crap, she forgot about the ring.

"Oh, right. It's a fake, it's part of the look"

"It doesn't look like a fake to me"

"Yeah?" She dismissed the subject, getting back to her sandwich. There was no way she could explain how the damn thing came to be in her possession, and the thought of it made her almost lose her appetite.

"I'll close the tab tomorrow, I'm out of cash today"

"Sure thing, honey"

Reaching home, Kiara went straight to the shower. She was feeling worse than she did after most performances, and it was certainly a result of her sprint away from Mr. Ring-owner.

While the scalding water undid some hard knots on her back, she allowed her head to travel back to the time she noticed him. It was right before her final helicopter drop, after she rolled the last layer of fabric around her body. She always took the few seconds before the fall to scan the crowd, see who bore with her through the entire show.

And there he was, just a tiny spot from the almost twenty feet height, but sure enough, looking at her in awe. During the drop, she hoped he would be one of the few that had that instinct to catch her. Those were always her favorites. She loved to look right into their eyes as she halted the fall.

Up close, he was even more of a vision. She was a sucker for beards, and despite the fancy suit being a turndown, she could easily see herself sucking face with the handsome bastard.

But then he had to notice her new tiny little ring. It probably meant he was close to the host, or even the owner of the whole mansion. Probably not, though. Granted, she had only seen the man for a couple of seconds, but he didn't strike her as one to own such an old-fashioned house.

Either way, he knew about the ring. And damn sure he would go after her for it. That's just how rich people go by things, even if the price of it was peanuts in comparison to his bank account. Was it? She looked at the shinning object she chose to wear during her shower. Was that ok to soak it? She had no idea how to deal with such a precious object.

She turned off the shower, preparing to bed with her head still full. The little locked box inside her nightstand cabinet was getting a bit too packed for her taste. She opened it up to check out the items it contained so far. All her dear prizes, awarded to her by her own self, were neatly organized inside.

She took out her favorites, reminiscing about the gig she got them from. A little porcelain fairy, with glass wings. It was so beautiful, but she found it thrown in the bathroom's corner they assigned to her for that particular show. Then there was the small version of a Venetian mask. She adored that one because the host was exceptionally rude to her when she told them the ceiling was not safe to perform.

One last look at the ring made her refrain from adding it to the box. The other items were in their compartments, and she couldn't see the ring fitting into any of the few open spaces. She decided to keep it on her finger until she figured out what to do. His face came to her mind while she prepared for bed.

She would get a burner phone and call her agent in the morning, asking him to keep a low profile for that gig. They never gave out personal information on the artists anyway, too many creeps and freaks coming after the girls. It was one of the reasons she signed with them in the first place.