Invalid Contract

On the terrace of a towering high-rise, Mr. Wilmar sat on a chair overlooking a serene swimming pool, illuminated by the soft moonlight.

His chiseled features and piercing grey eyes glistened under the clear night sky, accentuating his undeniable charm. The cool, tranquil weather enveloped him, highlighting his frosty expression.

Raising a goblet to his lips, Mr. Wilmar spoke, "Call Lucent." In response, the device resting on the table before him lit up, instantly connecting him to Lucent, his personal assistant.

Lucent answered the call on the first ring and started reporting; speaking in a rushed tone as if afraid of angering Ryan. "Hello, sir. The papers for the Norwegian deal have been sent. We have resolved the issue at Zurek Farming Sector and replaced the chairperson of Loyola Enterprises, as per your instruction..."

Ryan's expression soured. Gripping the goblet's stem tightly, he snapped, "That will be enough, Lucent. Now, tell me about that girl with the blue eyes."

Lucent hesitated, stumbling over his words. "Um... Sir... I..."

"Seriously!" Mr. Wilmar roared, slamming the goblet on the table, causing the liquid to spill. "Must I teach you the basics now?"

"I did try, sir," Lucent stammered. "I attempted to contact her, but her number was unreachable. So, I sent the contract and details to the address listed in her former company." A lengthy pause followed before Lucent's voice trembled again. "I haven't received a response from her yet..."

The sound of knuckles cracking echoed in the empty space as Mr. Livingstone's fingers tightened into clenched fists. "Why didn't you call her, then?" he bit out each word.

"I did, sir," Lucent replied, his voice tinged with desperation. "I called her countless times, but her phone remained unreachable."

"Then go and meet her. Didn't you see her leaving a cabin at Lionel's Club?"

"Yes, sir..."

"She's probably just a gold digger, playing hard to get. Offer her the black card, and she'll be fawning over you in no time." Mr. Wilmar picked up the glass and downed its contents in one swift motion. "When I return, I want my sub eager and ready to be trained."

A distinct gulp followed, and Lucent's frantic voice responded, "You can rest assured, boss. I won't make a mistake this time."

"You better not," Mr. Wilmar warned, abruptly ending the call.

He opened the folder containing the pictures Lucent had sent. His expression turned distant, and his eyes glazed over. A sigh escaped his lips. "Perhaps this is for the best. It's time I confront my past."

With confident strides, he rose from his seat and made his way into his specially designed suite.

The spacious bedroom catered to his preferences, with walls adorned in shades of brown and cream, a pristine white bed dressed in black sheets, and a grand portrait of himself.

As he removed his shirt, preparing to step into the shower, his phone rang. A rare smile played on his lips as he listened to the words being spoken. He walked toward the window and leaned against it, tapping his fingers on the sill.

"It has been a pleasure negotiating with you, Mr. Stellar. We can finalize the papers tomorrow," he said. A brief pause followed before he continued, "Certainly, we can have dinner together. I've always wanted to savour the traditional cuisine of your country."

After ending the call, he sent Lucent a message: "I am returning the day after tomorrow. So, you better hurry up with the task."

Without bothering to check for a reply, he settled down to finish the German book he had been reading.

***

The next day, after completing his work, Lucent set out to meet Amara. He traced her car to a parking lot near a public garden, parking his Porsche behind her vehicle. However, Amara was nowhere to be seen.

Although there were cafes and shopping stores in the vicinity, he didn't enter them. Lucent reasoned that she wouldn't likely visit them, considering she had lost her job and sold her phone. Instinctively, he made his way toward the public garden, his eyes scanning the surroundings.

The place teemed with life—children engrossed in playful games, adults gathered in small groups, their conversations brimming with daily gossip.

He didn't have to search for long. Amara sat huddled on a vacant bench in a secluded corner of the garden, her face buried between her knees, shoulders trembling with silent sobs.

Lucent approached cautiously, his gaze sweeping the area. He settled onto the bench beside her, releasing a deep sigh. "Your life wouldn't be so challenging if you agreed to sign the contract I sent you," he began.

Amara's ears perked up at the mention of a contract. Her head snapped up, and she regarded him warily.

Extending his hand, Lucent introduced himself, "I'm Lucent, Mr. Ryan's personal assistant."

Amara refused to shake his hand, instead glaring at him, she snapped, "I recognized you the moment you uttered that ridiculous word. I'm wondering how you have the audacity to face me after sending such an outrageous offer."

Lucent smiled, adopting a soothing tone. "Miss Amara, please don't be angry. All terms are negotiable. If you believe the amount mentioned in the contract is insufficient, simply express your concerns. There's no need to play hard to get. After all, Mr. Ryan is the wealthiest man in the city."

Amara's blood boiled at his words. Rising to her feet, she gritted her teeth, "Who on earth do you think you are?"

Lucent flinched, anticipating a slap as her hand rose, but she hesitated and dropped it at the last moment. "Let me make this crystal clear: I have absolutely no interest in any kind of contract you have to offer," she enunciated each word deliberately. "If you dare to bother me again, I will sue you for harassment."

In a rush, Lucent thrust a black card into her hand, stammering, "I hope you reconsider your decision. If you change your mind, you can use this card to buy clothes or get a makeover before meeting at the Demonte Café..."

He backtracked hurriedly, increasing the distance between them. "Don't forget: card, Demonte café, sharp 7:30 in the evening."

Amara gripped the card tightly, her fingers turning pale. She contemplated throwing it in the trash but hesitated, considering the risk of someone misusing it. With a disgruntled expression, she tucked it into her pocket, planning to return it via post.

Amara crossed out the number 28 on the calendar, mentally confirming the number of days left to accomplish the challenge set by Arthur. She sat with a thump on the plastic chair. It had been the longest week of her life; every day appeared like an unending battle.

She wiggled her toes and stretched her legs. She would have to come up with a new approach. The blinking screen of her phone caught her eye. She picked up the white device and gazed at the screen for a moment. It was an unknown number.

Her heart fluttered, and she quickly picked it up; hoping that it was a confirmation call from some interview she had given.

"Hello, this is Amara Macall. May I know whom I am speaking to?" Amara's eyes fell on the wall clock as she spoke. She almost gasped aloud. It was almost 11:00 pm. Why didn't she check before picking up the call? Her voice grew sterner as she repeated, "Whom am I speaking to?"

There was a long pause before a feminin