DAISY JOYCE     

  It was one of those painfully dull days where time seemed to drag on indefinitely. With nothing pressing on my agenda, I found myself grappling with the notion of becoming the ideal contract wife. It had only been two weeks since our wedding, yet each day felt longer than the last. I reminded myself that it was summer—a time usually bursting with excitement—but I yearned for something more fulfilling to occupy my time. My thoughts began to sift through various ideas until one struck me: what if I could open a fashion boutique? The idea flickered in my mind, but a lingering doubt followed—was it even possible to establish such a venture without my husband's knowledge?        I couldn't help but glance at my bank account, reflecting on the substantial sum Damond had gifted me when it was first opened. A whopping 15 million dollars, a figure that seemed both thrilling and daunting. The truth settled uneasily in my mind: the contract had yet to be terminated, and I was still receiving a handsome amount of money almost weekly. However, I couldn't shake the fear that if the contract were ended, my financial cushion would vanish, as it wouldn't grow without business ventures to sustain it. This realization prompted me to consider a discreet escape, a way to plan for my future. Perhaps it was time to enlist Aliya's help.        I left my room, calling out for her. "Aliya! Aliya!" My voice echoed softly in our shared space.        "Yes, madam?" came her familiar response.         "We both took on this work together; I know it won’t last forever," I said, trying to mask the urgency in my tone. Aliya acknowledged me with a casual, "Okay."         "Let’s sit down for a moment," I suggested, gesturing for her to take a seat. "Would you mind if I borrowed some of your contact resources?"         "Not at all," she replied, an air of openness about her.         "I just wanted to ask if you have a sales agent or a listing agent?" I inquired, testing the waters carefully.        She looked up, a frown on her face. "Wait, are you thinking about moving out or buying land?"         "No, not at all. I'm not moving out, but I’m considering buying land—though I have no intention of building a house," I clarified, attempting to maintain a relaxed demeanor.         Aliya raised her eyebrows, clearly intrigued. "Okay, okay, chill out. Yes, I know a couple of agents. Let me just get their contact information."         As she pulled out her cellphone, I reached for it, but she stopped me mid-motion. "No, no, wait. I hope you won’t cause any trouble. You seem a bit too eager to get this done," she remarked, eyeing me cautiously.         She was right; I felt the weight of my secret hanging between us. I didn’t fully trust her since we’d only recently met, and I needed to protect my plans. "Not at all! You know, we are adults now, and it's time to explore our options," I responded, trying to sound casual.         "But you are married," she countered, her expression shifting to one of concern.         "Stop right there. Would you just pass me the contact information?" I added, giving her my best innocent look.         "Okay, okay, here it is," she relented, handing me her phone with a slightly hesitant smile.         "Thanks! You’re my first adult friend—really!" I exclaimed, handing her phone back and feeling a rush of gratitude for her help.        Suddenly, a cloud of smoke wafted through the air, making me cough. "What is going on? Why is it so smoky in here?" I asked, shaking my head.        "Oh! I totally forgot I was cooking!" she exclaimed, darting back towards the kitchen, her voice trailing off in the distance.         "Alright, I’ll see you later," I called out, retreating to my bedroom. As I opened my door, I couldn't help but feel a surge of excitement. I had managed to secure the contact information for two agents—Daisy, you’re one step closer to achieving your goals, I thought.        ---    

    DAMOND CHRIS 

      "Boss, it's time to go," Moore said, snapping me back to reality. I stood up, shaking off the remnants of my thoughts, and we made our way to the parking lot.        Sliding into the car, I ran my fingers through my hair, relishing the silence before a phone call shattered it. "Hello, dude! We're expecting you at the bar to celebrate with James for his upcoming wedding ceremony," Nathan announced cheerfully.         "Is he there with you guys?" I asked, hoping to gauge the mood.        "Yeah," he replied. "Pass the phone to him," I instructed.         "No way! Don’t be ridiculous. Get down here to celebrate!" James interjected before hanging up abruptly.        Moore shot me a glance as he changed direction. "We’re going to the bar then, right?"         "Yes, sir," he replied, his expression professional yet intrigued.        Upon arriving at the lively bar, the noise hit me like a wave. "This place is insane," I muttered as we entered. A burly bartender approached, guiding us toward the VIP room.        "Yo, bruh! You made it!" Nathan exclaimed, clapping me on the back. "I thought you’d bail because of your new wife. I see you’ve embraced your role as a devoted husband."        "Cut the crap and focus on your own life," I shot back, annoyed at his insinuation.        "Hey, dude, lighten up! Just tell us how your wife looks! I mean, she must be stunning with your taste, right?" Jordan chimed in, his breath laced with alcohol.        "Are you mocking me? I'm not here to discuss my wife," I replied coldly, feeling my irritation rise.        "Oh come on, forgive me! I forgot you can't see," Jordan continued teasing, but before I could respond, James interjected, waving for the bartender.        "Let’s just drink and have a good time; all the bills are on the groom!" he declared, a playful grin on his face.        "Good, because I’m not worried—I know I won’t be paying a dime today," I replied, feeling more relaxed.        "Congratulations in advance, James! Wishing you and your wife a happy marriage," I said, raising my glass to him as I took a sip of my wine.        "I hope to meet your wife at the ceremony on Saturday. We’ve sent you the invitation," James commented, his expression genuinely excited.        "I’ll be there," I assured him, trying to shake off the unease that accompanied my thoughts. We chatted and played drinking games, laughter flowing freely, but as the evening progressed, I felt a sudden flash of light pierce through my eye pulling my focus momentarily. Am I seeing things?—was it real, or just a figment of my imagination?