IRINA
I took out some chocolate ice cream from the freezer, ripped off the plastic cover with no grace whatsoever, and flung it across the room without a second glance. The only thing my eyes saw was the frozen chocolate, and I couldn't help but lick my lips subconsciously.
"You poor chocolate, I'm so going to murder you."
"Meow," Zara, the fat, lazy bumpkin of a cat, tapped my foot with her paw. I could practically see the hunger in her eyes.
I groaned. I thought she had fallen asleep. All this sneaking around like a thief in my own house—for nothing. Seriously, was this cat created just to torment me?
"Zara, no. Chocolates are bad for you. They'll make you look old and ugly. Think of your cat boyfriends. They'll probably leave you for Natasha's cat if that happens. Don't let that bitch get one over you because of your desire to eat everything."
Her tapping intensified. "Meow meow meo—"
I was starting to lose my composure. "You little shi—"
A few minutes later, I walked back to the living room carrying a bowl of ice cream—and another bowl of cat cereal—with Zara smugly trailing behind. The smirk on her face was unmistakable.
Biting my lower lip in frustration, I sank into the soft, plush white cushion and slid the cereal bowl toward Zara, who sprawled dramatically on the marble floor, still shooting me that irritatingly smug look.
"Meow." I could only interpret it as, "That's it, honey. Pass my snack like a good girl."
The audacity.
I shoved a full spoon of cold chocolate into my mouth to distract myself. This exact situation had played out multiple times this week. A few weeks ago, the vet had placed Zara on a strict diet, but now she looked like she'd gained more weight than ever. That manipulative furball had mastered the art of emotional blackmail. I must be the definition of a goody-goody.
Now I had to brace myself for another lecture from the old vet. I had a feeling this would be our new language: chronic scolding.
Zara was just too evil. And extremely cute. Darn it.
I snuggled into my woolen sweater and checked the time on my phone.
11 a.m.
Mum's date was taking forever, and I tried not to let my mind drift to the kind of scenarios that could explain the delay.
Thoughts like that weren't exactly holy, and imagining Mum that way was... unsettling. Sure, I knew she gave birth to me, but my brain liked to imagine it was more of an angel Gabriel situation—he said the word, poof, I appeared, and everyone was happy.
You can't blame me. My mum is naive, immature, and playful. Honestly, I act more like the mother than she does.
Which is why I always worry when she goes on dates. It's like being an overprotective mum watching her clueless daughter step out into the world and praying no man takes advantage of her.
I yawned. Grabbing the remote, I flipped through the channels, my calm face slowly twisting into irritation.
"Seriously, what's wrong with Hollywood?" I grumbled. "Are they out of ideas for good movies? Even Zara could act better than this idiot on screen."
"Meow," Zara replied, lifting her milk-colored face from the bowl when she heard her name, then going back to her food with visible annoyance at being interrupted mid-chew.
My eyebrow twitched. Did the damn cat just snort at me?
Just then, my phone rang. I lunged for it, hoping it was Mum.
Nope. The caller ID shattered my hopes—it was my manager, Jenny. The most efficient, no-nonsense human I had ever met.
With a sigh, I answered in the voice I'd been perfecting for two years. "This is Conceal. Hi Jenny, what's up?"
There was a shuffle on the other end, then a very annoyed voice boomed through the speaker. "Where are you, you masked chummy-head?! You're supposed to have an interview at Rosel's in forty minutes, and we've all been trying to reach you for five hours! Please, tell me you're in a limo speeding to the studio, or I will bite you."
I bit my lip. "I forgot."
A heavy sigh. "Why is working with you always a nightmare?"
I smiled. "That's not true. I'm the cutest, funniest, most amazing client in your entire repertoire. None of those other folks have our chemistry."
She clicked her tongue. "You talk about being cute, but you're always wearing a mask. That screams insecurity."
My voice dropped into a serious tone. "Exactly. It's because I'm too cute. My beauty plus my popularity? Recipe for disaster. I can literally imagine all my male fans fainting on the spot if I look at them. And if I flash them my signature smile? Straight pass to the afterli—"
"Fine, fine, I get it. You're cute and amazing," she interrupted, voice laced with exasperation.
I giggled.
"What now?" she asked. "I know you're not dragging your lazy ass here for the interview, but we can't just bail on Rosel. Carter Wood will tear out the few hairs left on his shiny head—and I refuse to be the one that makes him go fully bald."
"Oh, poor Jenny. Carter and I are acquainted. Just feed him some line about the mysterious Conceal being busy with very mysterious things. He'll know how to spin it into a hot seller by morning. People eat that stuff up."
"Ugh," she groaned. "I don't know what's worse—how right you are or the fact that you use missed interviews as a marketing stunt."
"Don't tarnish my mysterious image, Jenny. I'm doing things a mortal like you wouldn't understand."
There was a pause on her end, then her voice returned—curious. "Are you having sex?"
My face flushed. My whole Conceal persona cracked. "Wha... What? How is that relevant?!"
"I mean, what else keeps you up late like this? And during that studio truth-or-dare game, I told you that I am still a virgin. So yeah, a mortal like me wouldn't understand. So, are you?"
My cheeks burned hotter. "Even if I was—which I'm not," I made sure to scream that part, "why would I tell you something so private, you perverted succubus?!"
"I mean, isn't sex what celebs like you have for breakfast, lunch, and dinner? Why are you acting like it's sacred?"
I exhaled. She was joking, of course. But these kinds of conversations always got under my skin because I always lost. I wisely changed the subject.
"How are preparations for the concert going?" I asked, regaining my composure.
She sighed, probably annoyed that I bounced back so fast. "Ticket sales have already hit forty-three million. The tech team just finished the lighting and sound setup and are demanding a raise. The dancers wrapped up rehearsals, although Brianna's out—sprained her ankle. She's heartbrok—"
Jenny kept talking, but I stopped listening. I threw in the occasional "oh" and "ahh" just to sound like I was engaged. Not my fault, really—something interesting had popped up on TV.
A zombie apocalypse movie.
But weirdly, these zombies weren't hideous. They were hot. Pale skin, dreamy red eyes. Even though they moved like animals and snarled like beasts, they still looked good.
I swear, whoever made this movie had issues. I couldn't help imagining myself as one of the zombies. I'd definitely be one of the prettiest...
"Hey, are you even listening?" Jenny's voice snapped me back to reality.
"Of course I am, Jenny," I replied smoothly, channeling Mum's shamelessness. "Why wouldn't I pay attention when you're trying so hard?"
"What was the last thing I said?"
"That's easy. Wasn't it, 'Hey, are you even listening?'" I said, mimicking her voice.
I could hear her seethe through the phone. "No. Before that."
I tried my luck. "You said I'm pretty."
"I swear, you make me so mad!"
Just then, I heard a car pull into the driveway. Mum was home.
"Jenny, I'll call you later. Promise. When I get to the studio, I'll treat you to a private concert to reward your hard work. Bye!"
Ignoring the curses and vulgarities thrown from the other end, I cut the call and stretched my limp arms. Zara was asleep, mouth wide open and arms sprawled on the marble floor. She looked like she was living the life.
I half-jogged to the front door and pushed it open. In the front yard, Mum was just getting out of her blue Chevy, and a middle-aged, blond-haired man stepped out of the passenger side at the same time.
I studied his features up close. He had shimmering light blue eyes, a pronounced jawline, and looked a bit Asian. He must have been a stunner in his younger years. He had a bubbly aura — the kind of man who'd keep smiling even if the world was burning. Which was exactly why it would hurt when my mum inevitably broke his heart.
"Honey!" Mum called, rushing to me and wrapping me in a hug. "I'm getting married!" she announced, twirling her ring finger in front of me so I could see the engagement ring.
I tilted my head. My frozen brain took a few seconds to process the nonsense she'd just said, and somehow, only one thought made any sense.
"You must be joking," I laughed — a hard, painful laugh that wasn't really laughter at all.
"Joe, come on! Introduce yourself! Let my daughter see how amazing you are!" Mum said excitedly, like someone who came home with an Oscar and was expecting a standing ovation.
"And you must be my daughter," Joe said with a smile. "Judging from your face, I guess your mum's enthusiasm might be a little much for you. Why don't we talk more inside?"
At that point, I was already gritting my teeth, ready to tell the bastard — who obviously tricked my mother — to fuck off. But I noticed some of our neighbors peeking through their windows to see what the commotion was about. With clear reluctance plastered on my face, I nodded.
Not that Mum needed my permission. She was already dragging him inside before I could answer. I took a deep breath and followed, lips pouted and hands clenched, ready to deliver a good punch when the moment came. I might seem shy about a lot of things, but nobody messes with my mother.
They hadn't known each other for more than five hours. And now they were getting married? Was the world full of crazy people?
The living room was still littered with wrapping paper and bowls from the snacks and ice cream I'd binged on earlier. Embarrassment washed over me — this was not the sight I wanted a stranger to walk into. But he didn't seem to care. He got comfortable on the longest sofa — the one I usually napped on — cuddling and whispering with Mum like I wasn't even in the room.
That was the last straw.
"Mum, you were saying something about getting married?" I said, struggling to keep from yelling.
Mum paused her whispering and looked at me with that familiar sparkle in her eyes. "I fell in love with Joe this evening, honey. Isn't marriage supposed to be the next step in our relationship?"
I resisted the urge to grind my teeth. "It doesn't work like that. And bastard, speak for yourself. Stop hiding behind my mum like a pussy."
I normally didn't use vulgar words, but I guessed Jenny was rubbing off on me more than I liked to admit.
Mum frowned. "That's no way to talk to your father."
"It's okay, honey," Joe said sweetly to her, and I was starting to get annoyed with how often he used that tone. But I didn't let it show.
"Your mum and I met at McDonald's. Not exactly the most magical place," he said. "She was sitting alone, crying her eyes out. It was quite the sight."
Mum began acting like a shy maiden, which only added to my helplessness.
"Being the gentleman I am, I asked why she was sad. And your mum poured her heart out, saying she had to break up with another man because he was as boring as hell. She said she was starting to think she'd never find a man good enough for her daughter."
I could already guess where this was going. "So you decided to be the scapegoat."
He raised an eyebrow at me, then turned to Mum with eyes that shimmered with infatuation. "At first, maybe. But now, I'll do everything to make this work. To make your mum love me. I've never met anyone so innocent and truly beautiful. So kiddo, you better start preparing to welcome a father, because I'm never letting her go."
"Oh Joe," Mum said shyly, her voice overly sweet.
I felt like his words were a challenge, and I could feel the frustration building inside me. The two of them went back to acting like middle schoolers in love, ignoring my presence entirely.
Stomping my foot on the ground, I stormed out of the living room, down the hallway, and into my room. I slammed the door and screamed into the air, letting out all the bottled-up frustration.
My room — a typical girl's space — had walls in a blend of pink and purple. The king-sized white bed was piled with plush teddies and pillows, which acted like my personal therapy squad. I collapsed into them.
It didn't exactly make me feel better, but the softness helped clear my mind a little. Before I could start plotting how to make that man leave, like I had with my mum's other ridiculous flings, my phone beeped.
It was an email.
I opened it, expecting something from Jenny, but what I saw left my mouth hanging open.
It wasn't from Jenny.
It was from Damien Vanguard.
I could recognize his email from anywhere. I was sure it was the real deal — I never made mistakes when it came to tech. No one was more familiar with the internet than Apparition, one of the most wanted cyber-hackers in the world. It was legit.
But I didn't know him. Not personally. Not even as Apparition or Conceal had we ever been on speaking terms.
It confused me. But I was curious.
Opening the email, I read the message:
Damien:
Hey, you're Irina, right? I have a job for you. I've got a hard-on, so I need you to be a cocksucker for me tomorrow night. Wear long black socks and come in a maid outfit. We'll start with some cosplay. One of my drivers will escort you to my hotel — he'll arrive at your art class by 2 PM tomorrow. Be early. I hate tardiness.
P.S. Get your pussy tight and ready.
I read it again. And again.
Then I turned off my phone and stared at it like it had turned into a bomb.
"Hey... I think my phone is broken..."