Her Final Mission

Once Eric had left, the system suddenly activated.

"Host, that was a clever move."

I asked, "What move?"

"The whole 'go die' act. Number One's affection meter just shot up. Should we keep up the pressure?"

I declined.

My dramatic exit only bumped Eric's affection meter up by 20%. Clearly, he was not that into me.

Why bother trying to win him over?

As I was contemplating my next move, my phone rang.

"Celestial Club 308. Be there in thirty minutes."

The call ended before I could respond.

No question about it–that was Lance, my enigmatic Number Three.

Lance, the lawyer, and I only met under the cover of night. Plagued by insomnia, he found solace in my arms.

Initially, our encounters were innocent, just sharing sleep.

However, one night, after one too many drinks, he crossed a line.

Amid my struggle, he confessed, "I like you, and I'll take care of you."

I was not one to get swept up in romance. It was just that Lance was ridiculously attractive, with the looks of a Hollywood heartthrob and the physique of a personal trainer. I fell into the same trap any woman might have.

After that night, I finally checked his affection meter.

A mere 30%.

Well, I was not disheartened. I figured eventually, I would win him over completely.

So, I kept finding ways to treat him right.

I was his personal chef, his therapist, his yes-girl. Whatever he wanted, I was there.

I kept thinking, if I just kept at it, one day he would see me differently.

However, I overheard him talking to his buddies, "She's not someone I like. She's just a convenient tool.

"I don't have feelings for her. It's Elaine I'm into."

He meant Elaine Harris, his friend, the sweetheart of their clique.

Ever since Lance dragged me to one of their hangouts, Elaine had it out for me.

She would throw dirty jokes my way and whisper sweet nothings to Lance, loud enough for everyone to hear.

At first, Elaine's jabs did not faze me. I mean, they were nothing compared to the physical torture I had endured from people like Janet.

However, when Elaine saw her words bounce off me, she upped her game.

She convinced Lance to snap some private pictures of me, even shot a bunch of little videos.

They would gamble with them at their secret parties, trading them like baseball cards.

When I found out, I was livid, ready to dial 911.

However, Lance said, "I'm a lawyer. You call the cops, and I'll have Elaine out in no time.

"Sure, Elaine might be safe, but can you say the same for yourself once those videos go viral?"

I had no comeback.

Besides, I had bigger fish to fry. Two CEOs who would not take kindly to being second fiddle.

Crossing them meant more than just a slap on the wrist; it could mean game over for me.

Lance's text popped up, and I wanted to just ignore it.

I was done trying to win him over.

I then thought, 'Why let them have the upper hand? If I'm going down, they're coming with me.'

I grabbed my phone and stepped out, ready for battle.

I was running 10 minutes behind when I hit Celestial Club.

The moment I swung the door open, I saw Elaine's nauseating grin. "Yara, you're late. You know the drill: being late means a penalty. Your secret snaps just got pricier by fifteen grand. Pay up, or they hit the web."

Her smirk was wide and mocking. Lance lounged on a couch behind her, looking at her with eyes full of adoration.

I shot back without missing a beat, "Go ahead, post them."