Shlera

The $300 Husband Is A Zillionaire

Nap Regazzini

I woke up in a blindingly white hotel penthouse with a throbbing headache and the taste of betrayal in my mouth. The last thing I remembered was my stepsister, Cathie, handing me a flute of champagne at the charity gala with a smile that didn't reach her eyes. Now, a tall, dangerously handsome man walked out of the bathroom with a towel around his hips. On the nightstand sat a stack of hundred-dollar bills. My stepmother had finally done it—she drugged me and staged a scandal with a hired escort to destroy my reputation and my future. "Aisha! Is it true you spent the night with a gigolo?" The shouts of a dozen reporters echoed through the heavy oak door as camera flashes exploded through the peephole. My phone lit up with messages showing my bank accounts were already frozen. My father was invoking the 'morality clause' in my mother’s trust fund, and my fiancé had already released a statement dumping me to marry my stepsister instead. I was trapped, penniless, and being hunted by the press for a scandal I hadn't even participated in. My own family had sold me out for a payday, and the man standing in front of me was the only witness who could prove I was innocent—or finish me off for good. I didn't have time to cry. According to the fine print of the trust, I had thirty days to prove my "rehabilitation" through a legal marriage or I would lose everything. I tracked the man down to a coffee shop the next morning, watching him take a thick envelope of cash from a wealthy older woman. I sat across from him and slid a napkin with a $50,000 figure written on it. "I need a husband. Legal, paper-signed, and convincing." He looked at the number, then at me, a slow, crooked smile spreading across his face. I thought I was hiring a desperate gigolo to save my inheritance. I had no idea I was actually proposing to Dominic Fields, the reclusive billionaire shark who was currently planning a hostile takeover of my father’s entire empire.

Modern Mystery Multilinear narration Drama Comeback One-night stand

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Pain.

Disgust.

Unloved.

These words explain what I have felt for so long it has become part of me.

The pain I feel each time I wake up, knowing that no one wants me, not even my parents give a shit about me.

The disgust I feel each time I look in the mirror and see what I look like. Fat. Ugly. Disgusting. The cellulite on my thighs, the stomach, the dark stretch marks on my hips and everything, the oversized breasts that surprisingly have no stretch marks, the fat are that looked like that of a heifer.

The love I craved for everyday but never got it. I never really had friends because upon being fat and black, I was socially awkward. Very awkward. It was difficult to strike up a conversation with someone and when someone does it or when I manage to do it, I can't maintain it. So I never had friends to listen to me or a shoulder to cry on when I couldn't hold it all in anymore or a friend to at least lie to me and say "You are pretty, you don't look as disgusting as you think you do."

My parents weren't ever there. My mum was a big shot model who never wanted a child because it would ruin her perfect figure. Yes. Upon being all gross and fat, I am an accident. So when she gave birth to me, she went back to her normal life until cancer claimed her when I was 9. My dad, yeah. Another person that saw me as a mistake. He wasn't ready to be a dad when I was born but because he will need an heir in future, he didn't tell her to get rid of it or anything but he didn't want any more accidents, so he told my mum to do something to prevent further accidents, thus she tied her tubes. They didn't want me, never did. So they never cared enough to check if I ate, if I stayed out till 3 am, if I didn't even come back at all. I was just there in their uselessly big mansion which they used to show off, which never felt like home, which looked more like a museum (which was definitely not childproofed) than a home.

I hated mirrors so much, they showed me what I felt everyday. How heavy I am. I have tried a lot of times to lose weight but after each attempt, I got more depressed and went back to eating almost more because after working out for a while, who doesn't get angry when she doesn't see results?

Did it hurt? Yes. Did I stop eating? No. Did I get bigger? Hell Yes!!

Most times, whenever I see people celebrating their birthdays, I can't help but wonder what it feels like to do that. Yes, in case you are wondering, I have never ever celebrated my birthday. Today being one of those days, I am, as usual holed up in my room and thinking about my life and crying my eyes out. In all my 19 years on earth, my birthday has never been celebrated because uhm hellooo. Have you met my parents? But it's all good though. I plan on making my next birthday a memorable one, one I won't forget anytime soon, have all the fun in the world, love myself and stuff like that.

My name is Danica Maya Roberts. I'm 19 years dark skinned black girl and yeah, probably the biggest and most insecure black girl of them all.

*****************************************

"Miss Maya, your father requests your presence in his office." Mr Howard said through my room door. Mr Howard is the butler and has been with us since as far back as I can remember. He is a greying old man with the cutest granddaughter, Angel, who was the apple of his eyes. I smoothed my hands down my sweater which was big and mid thigh length. I put on my slippers, hoping that maybe he remembered it was my birthday. The sad thing is, even though I knew my parents, I still couldn't help but hope each year that maybe they'd remember my birthday. Up until my mum died, I kept hoping. Last year, I hoped. Every other year, I really hoped.

I knocked and patiently waited for him to invite me in. When I heard the distant "Come in", I walked in. There he was, the king sitting on his iron throne and reading the paper as he usually does all morning while sipping coffee. At 47, he didn't really look a day older than he did when he was 45.

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