Fated Encounter
Serena’s Pov
“Eight P.M. If you're late, I might change my mind.”
His voice rang in my head like a broken record.
Musk Estate.
I breathed in.
I needed this. Mum needed me.
I stared at the tall, elegant gates in awe. I stood outside the towering black iron gates with my phone clutched so tightly in my palm that my fingers hurt. My phone beeped with a message.
The gates will open for you - Mr. Musk.
I stared up from my phone, the gates had parted open.
Beyond the bars stretched a long driveway lined with neatly trimmed hedges and dark cypress trees.The beauty and serenity was surreal. I walked hurriedly in silence. It was already a few minutes past eight. I wasn't sure how much lateness he would tolerate.
I should go back. I shouldn't be here. If mum ever found out about what I was about to do, she'd die of a heart attack. But she would die anyways if I didn't do this. I had to trust that today was my last chance to save my mother.
I met him two nights ago.
I stood pressed flat against the freezing brick wall of the state hospital, tears mingling with the rain, streaming down my face. My hands shook and I could barely grip the straps of my backpack. The ground beneath my soaked sneakers vibrated with a low, rumbling thunder that seemed to mirror the panic in my chest. Every single dime I owned, every scrap of my waitressing savings, every spare dollar I had managed to garner had just been drained into the hospital’s billing account.
And yet, it wasn't enough. Another tear rolled down my face.
The administrator's cold words still echoed in my ears: “Twelve thousand dollars by Friday, Miss Vance or we'll have no choice but to move your mother to comfort care.” I shivered at the thought.
Comfort care. A polite, clinical term for letting her die. I felt sick to my stomach and despair filled the emptiness I felt. I was completely helpless, trapped between a slow death for my mother and a world that didn't care.
Utterly screwed.
Blinding lights suddenly flashed in the darkness, before I realized that a black car was coming to a halt. It was a sleek Porsche cayenne and it stopped right in front of me. I straightened as I hurriedly wiped away the tears and feigned a bold facial expression.
The window lowered with a slow hiss and I heard a deep, male voice, almost a growl.
“Get in before you collapse.”
Deep and demanding. It sounded like an order. I wrapped my arms around myself tighter and stepped back, my pride flaring even in the blistering cold.
“I'm fine.” I wanted to sound strong but my weak, cold body betrayed me. Then I found his face. I couldn't see all of him but I saw his firm, sharp jawline then a flicker of amusement on the side of his face I could see. I glowered in anger.
“Most people would already be in the car” he told me. “I'm not a patient man.”
I leaned in to see him properly, hoping to get the best of him with the dim light.
Tailored suit, burly physique, much older than me.
“Then you should go.” I insisted and began to walk away, despite knowing how dangerous it was and how far the house was from the hospital. I had no money on me and the house was so far away. But I wouldn't stand there and look helpless.
“You are way too stubborn for a helpless person. Step inside now. Last time.”
Cars sped past us and the rain intensified and lightening struck, as if mocking my pride. If I didn't leave here, I would get sick from the rain or get attacked by bad guys. I couldn't risk either.
I hesitated for moments before walking carefully towards his car, which he had already opened for me. I was skeptical about getting his clean seats messed up with my drenched clothes. He could definitely read my thoughts and pulled me in swiftly and slammed the door beside me. I turned to him to protest when the car started to move and I shut my mouth. The warmth inside was redeeming while we moved in silence.
He didn't bother with starting a conversation immediately. He simply put his expensive suit around me and when his fingers touched my skin, I flinched. He groaned in disapproval.
“Thank you” I said in a shivering whisper. I held the suit onto my skin. It smelled of old spice, good whiskey, something classical and his very own enticing scent.
He smelled so good, so safe.
As the car moved through the downpour of New York, warmth thawed at my skin. I pulled his scented jacket even tighter around myself. That was when I noticed the name embroidered into the breast pocket of his dress shirt.
Rafael Musk.
Wasn't he the billionaire who owned half of the New York skyline?
“What’s your name?” His voice came, snapping me out of my thoughts at once.
“Serena,” I told him. My voice had become clearer. I was still shivering though. I ran my hand through my wet hair as I stole a glance at him.
“Young girls shouldn't be in the rain, especially at this time of the night. That's suicidal.” He didn't sound like he cared, it sounded like a statement. I adjusted to the seat.
“And young women shouldn't carry burdens that threaten to crush them.” It was supposed to be a thought. I didn't know I had said it out loud until I found his eyes on me. His stare was calculating and seemed to last more than I could endure.
“I'm guessing money will lift these…burdens.” He said ‘burdens’ lazily, as if he knew my problems and saw them as nothing. The way he said it lifted the pain in my chest momentarily. He turned his eyes away and scrolled through his phone. I let out a small sigh and wrapped the suit even tighter around myself.
“You talk about it like it's nothing.”
“Serena,” My name sounded precious as he pronounced it, slowly and carefully. I couldn't help but stare at his lips. “We all carry burdens. It depends on how determined you are to lift yours.”
I knew he was headed somewhere. And despite the calm control of his voice, I knew I wouldn't like what I would hear next. I forced my eyes away from his face and straightened.
“What do you want?” My voice didn't conceal my desperation. I felt my previous pride break, hope sprouting slowly.
I tensed when he caught my eyes. I saw desire, but I couldn't see what I could possibly give a man like him.
He looked like he was in his late thirties or early forties. Either way, he was out of my league.
“I want you. One night, in my bed.” His words felt like a stab.
He had to be joking. Anger coursed through me as I stared at him, at his very certain eyes.
I almost slapped that smirk off his face. I had done the most pathetic jobs because of my mother's treatment: cleaning, waitressing, babysitting for so little.
But prostitution?
“You have to be kidding,” I straightened to face him. “I am not a commodity. Let me out of the car.” I yelled, banging the door.
He didn't unlock the doors. Instead, he leaned closer, his scent of whiskey and cedarwood enveloping me completely.
“Tomorrow night,” he continued ignoring me, “Eight P.M. at my estate. I don't do hotels. If you're late, I might change my mind.”
A suffocating wave of panic and disgust washed over me. He wanted to pay me for sex. Every moral fiber in my body screamed at me to refuse, to claw at the windows, to choose the storm over this twisted arrangement.
But as my mind raced with thoughts, casually drifting to my sick mother, my eyes glanced down at the open leather console between our seats.
The dashboard light illuminated a stray piece of paper half-hidden under his briefcase.
My breath caught in my throat and my eyes widened with shock.
It was an official medical transfer directive from the very hospital we had just left. My mother's full name: ANNA WILLIAMS was printed in it. A stamped notation below it read: Transfer approved upon client arrival.
The date on the paperwork was from yesterday afternoon.
Before I could confront him he snatched the paper and tucked it away.
“The choice is yours, Serena,” Rafael said softly, his expression turning back into an unreadable mask of stone, completely indifferent to the fact that I had seen the file. “I’ll be expecting you tomorrow."
I stared at him, my heart hammering hard against my chest. The horror of selling myself was now tangled with a terrifying mystery. Who was this man and what exactly did he want?
I gripped the door handle, my knuckles white and trembling. I pushed the door open and stepped one leg out then paused briefly.
“And if I decline?”
His face lit up with a devilish smile that twisted my stomach painfully.
“You won't.”
I froze. A new chill coursed through me and not due to the cold this time, but because I knew I wouldn't decline. This man was too cold, too calm, too controlled for comfort. Would I survive a night with him? In his bed? And was that file just a coincidence?
