Daisy walked down the cracked pavement of her mother's neighborhood, the weight of guilt pressing against her chest. The air smelled of dust and distant charcoal fires, the scent of home, though she hardly had time to cherish it anymore.
Inside the dimly lit apartment, her mother lay on a worn-out couch, wrapped in a faded blue blanket. The hum of an old ceiling fan did little to ease the oppressive heat.
"Mama, how are you feeling?" Daisy asked, forcing a smile as she knelt beside her.
Her mother's eyes fluttered open, and for a moment, a small smile broke through her pain. "Daisy, my love. You shouldn't have come all this way. You must be busy with work."
Work. If only her mother knew the truth.
"I wanted to see you," Daisy said softly, brushing her fingers over her mother's frail hand.
A stack of medical bills sat on the small table beside them, a silent reminder of why she was doing this. The doctors had given them options, but all of them came with a price tag too high for a struggling daughter to afford. And so, Daisy made a choice.
Harry had given her a way out, a shortcut to security, even if it meant stepping over Edward to get there.
"I'll take care of everything, Mama," Daisy promised, though the words tasted bitter in her mouth.
Her mother sighed, eyes searching Daisy's face. "You always were my strong girl. But strength isn't just about survival. It's about knowing when to walk away."
Daisy lowered her gaze. If only it were that simple.
---
Later that evening, as she sat across from Edward at Javas, she watched him with newfound curiosity. He was nothing like the men she had scammed before. He wasn't arrogant like Harry, nor cruel like the others. He laughed too easily, spoke too sincerely. He trusted too quickly.
It made it all the more dangerous.
Edward leaned forward, smiling. "You seem lost in thought."
Daisy blinked, realizing she had been staring. She quickly forced a smirk. "Just wondering how someone like you is still single."
Edward laughed, shaking his head. "Ah, so you assume there's something wrong with me?"
Daisy shrugged. "Rich, handsome, charming. You should have women lined up."
His smile faltered, just for a second. "Maybe I just haven't found the right one yet."
The way he looked at her then sent an unexpected chill through her. It was too soon. He was already slipping, already believing in the illusion she was weaving.
She reached for her glass, hiding the slight tremor in her fingers. "Well, maybe your luck is about to change."
Edward grinned. "Maybe it is."
Daisy smiled back, knowing that for one of them, luck was about to run out.
--------
A House of Secrets
Daisy sat in the back of Edward's sleek black Mercedes, her fingers gripping the hem of her dress as he drove through the quiet, tree-lined roads toward his mansion. The streets were empty, the looming threat of the pandemic keeping the city subdued.
She had played this game before. The slow infiltration, the careful weaving of a false connection. But as Edward hummed softly to a song on the radio, she felt something different. A twinge of something she couldn't quite name. It wasn't guilt, not yet. It was something softer—unease.
The mansion stood at the end of Palen Road, an estate that bore the weight of old money. Daisy took a deep breath as Edward parked and stepped out, opening the door for her.
"You're not a kid anymore, Daisy," he said with a small smile.
She forced a chuckle, brushing past him. The grandeur of the house should have impressed her, but she was too preoccupied with memorizing exits, hallways, and potential hiding spots.
As they stepped inside, the scent of aged wood and something faintly citrusy filled the air. The marble floor gleamed under the warm chandelier light, and grand staircases curled upward like vines reaching for the heavens. Edward led her to the living room, where a man lounged comfortably on a recliner, grinning at them.
"Dero, this is Daisy," Edward said. "Daisy, meet Dero, my childhood friend and psychologist. He's a little strange, but you'll get used to him."
Dero sat up and studied her. "You're the first girl he's ever brought home."
Edward scoffed. "Don't listen to him. He's just here because he has nowhere else to be."
Daisy gave a polite smile, but she couldn't ignore the way Dero's eyes lingered on her—sharp, assessing. He was studying her, peeling back layers she wasn't ready to expose.
"Stay as long as you want," Edward said warmly, motioning toward the couch. "I'll get you something to drink."
As he disappeared into the kitchen, Dero leaned forward, voice low. "So, Daisy… what's your story?"
She hesitated. Lying was second nature to her, but Dero's gaze felt like it could strip away every falsehood.
"I met Harry through some mutual friends," she said casually. "And he introduced me to Edward. He seemed… nice."
Dero's smile didn't quite reach his eyes. "Nice men are often easy to break. But you know that, don't you?"
Daisy stiffened. "Excuse me?"
Before Dero could respond, Edward returned with two glasses of wine. He handed one to Daisy and sat beside her, oblivious to the undercurrents between his two guests.
"To new friendships," he said, raising his glass.
Daisy hesitated before clinking her glass against his. "To new beginnings."
That night, as Edward and Dero laughed in the living room, Daisy slipped away to explore. Her heart pounded as she crept up the staircase, her eyes scanning the corridors. Edward's bedroom door was slightly ajar.
Inside, the room was neat, almost eerily so. A bookshelf lined one wall, filled with classic literature and business books. A framed photograph of his parents rested on the nightstand.
And then she saw it—a black briefcase tucked partially under the bed.
Her pulse quickened. She crouched down, fingers brushing the cold metal clasps. Just as she reached for it, her phone buzzed. Harry.
She exhaled sharply and answered. "Not now."
"You need to hear this," Harry whispered. "The President just announced a full lockdown. No transport, no movement after curfew. You're stuck there."
Daisy's blood ran cold. "For how long?"
"Thirty-two days, minimum."
Her grip tightened on the phone. Thirty-two days with Edward. Thirty-two days pretending.
She looked at the briefcase again.
Thirty-two days to figure out what kind of fool Edward Palen really was.