The Master Of Deception's Richest Game

Chapter 3 3

Word Count: 842 | Released on: 22/01/2026

th the smell of lemon polish and lingering resentment. Kellen stood i

eyes were cold, hard chips of ice. She was holdin

aid. Her voice was crisp, academic. "

ss with white lace trim. A French Maid costume. It came wi

imsy fabric. He looked at Antoinette. She was waiting for him to refuse. She was waiti

" Kellen asked. His face was a

he reached into her purse and pulled out a stac

Five h

the bag and the cash. H

oss his chest. The skirt hit mid-thigh. He placed the cat e

e," he whispered

n't hunch his shoulders. He walked with the sam

tchen island. She looked him up

manded. "Something Fre

s. He picked up a chef's knife. The weight of the handle

ted clumsiness. She expected him

eaving the cutting board. Tap-tap-tap-tap. It was a rhythm he had learned in the back of

turned to the fridge, she stuck her foot out. It

imply adjusted his stride, stepping over her foot with the grace of a dance

y graceful for a gi

'am," Kellen said. H

au Vin filled the kitchen, rich and savory. Antoinette's stomach growled

vegetables with artistic precision, wiping the rim o

ult. Her eyes widened slightly. It was delicious. It wa

she lied. She push

id. He pulled a small notebook from the poc

or," she said.

kin. He began to scrub. He focused on the pattern of the grout. He analyzed the brand of floor wax-it was cheap, likely s

l. She wanted to feel like she was in control. But watching him work, seeing the focused, unembarrassed set

of crusty bread and dr

," sh

t the bread. He looked at her shoes-M

le at all

ntoinette gripped her fork until her knuckles turned whit

Chapter End

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The Master Of Deception's Richest Game

The Edge Modern

“I spent three years playing the perfect "placeholder" boyfriend for a billionaire's rebellious daughter. I was the safety net, the companion, and the professional distraction paid to keep her out of trouble until she reached her "real" future. But the moment she turned twenty-one, her father slid a fifty-thousand-dollar check across a polished mahogany desk and told me I was a defective appliance being disposed of. He demanded I sign a non-disclosure agreement and disappear forever, treating my years of service like a common trash pickup. I walked out of the estate with a face full of tragic longing, making sure the security cameras caught my wet eyes. But the second the iron gates slammed shut, I wiped my face and opened "Proxy," a high-end app for the 1% who need hired bodies for their dirty emotional work. I didn't have the luxury of a broken heart; I had a foster home to roof and dialysis bills to pay. My next gig was a "hazard pay" nightmare with Antoinette Lowe, a cold-blooded professor who used me as a vessel for her grief. One hour I was wearing a five-thousand-dollar tuxedo while she hurled porcelain vases at my head, screaming about the man who left her at the altar. The next, she had me in a French maid outfit, scrubbing her kitchen floors on my hands and knees while she mocked my dignity. I became her ghost, her servant, and her scripted lover, whispering "you are breathtaking" for a five-hundred-dollar bonus while a silent timer vibrated on my wrist. I lived my life in fragments: a silent audience for a violent cellist by night, and a commanding voice on a headset for a girl who couldn't sleep. I was everyone's everything, yet I was becoming a man with no face of my own. I realized then that these people didn't want a human; they wanted a mirror that didn't bleed. Antoinette started believing the lies I sold her, convinced she was my muse instead of my paycheck. She didn't see the calculation in my eyes or the way I analyzed her every weakness just to stay in character. "I am whatever you need me to be, Ms. Lowe," I told her, my voice a perfect mask of devotion. The obsession is growing, the roles are bleeding together, and the danger is peaking. But as long as the deposit clears, I'll keep playing the game until there's nothing left of me to sell.”