The Master Of Deception's Richest Game

Chapter 5 5

Word Count: 636 | Released on: 22/01/2026

nscious, mumbling incoherent strings of numbers and insult

inical. He knelt in front of her and began to wipe the smeared makeup from her face

r head lolling to the side. "I'

. It was a cheap digital Casio. He

urmured to himself. "Ten-M

n he opened them, the cold indifference was gone. His eyes were soft, pooling with a warm,

cold, limp h

ice dropped an octave. It was

him. She saw the way he was looking at her-like

woman I have ever seen," he lie

er head wea

behind her ear. His fingers lingered on her cheekbone. "He was a

She was starving for this. She dra

strength, the way her mind worked. He used generic romantic tropes

asn't the ugly, angry crying of bef

an it?" sh

dead in the eye. "

seconds in his head. Five hundred

tch vibrated silent

e as if a light switch had been flicked off. His posture stra

, Ms. Lowe. I wil

affection was like a physical slap. She reached for him

n. He placed a glass of water and two aspirin on the nightstand-liability pr

ed his hand as h

" she

discussed in the contra

nd away. He turn

e wiped his hand on his pants, scrubbing the skin as

hit his face. He took a deep breath, expel

all of them,

n. The money from the Parker termination had cleared. Th

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.”