“Are you Number 32? You missed me after just a few days?” I asked, donning a sexy black dress with a deep V-neck, my makeup exuding a wealthy allure. I tried to portray a woman of the world, someone who had seen it all and was unapologetically flirtatious.

The handsome man across from me paused briefly before replying, “You must be Miss Colton. I’m Damian Farrar, your date.”

Wait, people are into role-playing for dates now?

“I know who you are. Short on cash again, huh? Just tell me if you need money. Let’s book a hotel straight away, I’m very busy,” I said impatiently, pulling a wad of cash from my purse and slamming it onto the table, doing my best to hide my trembling hands and shaking voice.

The man before me was exactly my type, and I had a hard time keeping a straight face. But since when did Bella Colton’s taste change? She always liked handsome young boys. How did this mature, steady urban elite catch her eye? Maybe because he’s just too good-looking to resist. It seems no one can resist the charm of a beautiful man.

The handsome man smiled and called the waiter to order, then said somewhat sheepishly, “Miss Colton, your entrance is quite unique.”

I huffed disdainfully. In truth, I didn’t want to behave this way. Who would understand that I’m actually someone who blushes at meeting strangers? But for the sake of several thousand dollars, a pure-hearted girl sometimes has to wear a seductive mask.

“Let me introduce myself. I’m Damian Farrar, 33 years old…”

“Stop. I won’t remember all that. Just book a hotel. You decide the place,” I interrupted. I had at least four or five men to handle in a day, how could I remember who’s who? Honestly, this guy’s lack of experience shows. If he wants the favor of a rich person, shouldn’t he just take action? Besides, his flirting skills are average, and at his age, pretending to be innocent doesn't suit him.

“Book a hotel? Shouldn’t we get to know each other first?” Damian laughed softly, his hand holding the wine glass almost gleaming white.

My phone buzzed with a series of beeps; Bella was rushing me. Time to act fast.

Summoning all my courage, I grabbed his hand, feeling my heart race, and almost clutching my chest to keep it from bursting out. I pulled him into the car.

Once the car door shut, I boldly tugged at his clothes, acting like some thug abducting a girl, groping all over, startling him.

“Miss Colton, what are you—” His face was so handsome, his nose so perfectly sculpted, and his lips so soft. As I kissed him, I felt a distinct response from him.

My face was crimson with embarrassment. I quickly pulled away and covertly pressed a button to release a special scent from a small bottle in the car.

This was Gwen Colton’s special blend, designed to make someone fall into a sweet sleep instantly and wake up as if from a delightful dream. Perfect for cutting straight to the point, paying, and sending them off.

I’m Gwen Colton, 22 years old. My half-sister Bella is the heiress of the Colton Group, a woman known for her flings. She only loved collecting, never caring for those she got involved with. Since she wasn’t interested in dealing with unpleasant tasks, I, who looked strikingly similar to her, became her go-to for dealing with the aftermath, especially needing money for Sophia Garrett’s treatment.

But today’s task was especially tough. I fixed the man’s suit and glanced at his peaceful sleeping face, feeling a pang of regret. Such a handsome man wasn’t someone I could covet.

My phone rang incessantly. Annoyed, I answered, only to hear Bella screaming, “Where the hell are you? Why isn’t Number 32 dealt with? Do you want the money or not?”

What?

A dreadful suspicion dawned on me. Did I get the wrong guy?

Frantically, I compared the photos on my phone to the man’s face. Not him. Not him either. None of them matched. I was doomed!

Just then, Damian’s phone rang. Panicking, I answered.

“Hey, boss, how’s the date going? If you don’t like her, the boys can take care of her. Hello?!”

I dropped the phone and raced to the nearest hotel with Damian in tow.

I hurried off to deal with another crisis after dumping the guy in the room. Bella had already bombarded me with dozens of texts.

Just as I was about to leave, the man seemed to regain consciousness. He grabbed at my sleeve, murmuring, "Don't go."

After placating a few other handsome young men and paying them according to Bella's standards, I stumbled back to my apartment. I wired some money to the hospital before collapsing onto my bed. But sleep eluded me. My mind kept replaying the sensation of Damian's lips and the fresh, woodsy scent of his cologne.

Damian must be the guy Bella's family set her up with. I had overheard something about him. Damian's family was extraordinarily well-off, so even rich girl Bella was marrying up with him.

More importantly, outwardly he was a university professor, but he also ran a successful bodyguard company on the side. A quick search popped up a picture of Damian wearing sunglasses, sitting in a suit with a crew of similarly dressed bodyguards behind him. As impressive as it looked, it gave off serious gang boss vibes.

I just hoped he wouldn't come after me. Yet, a part of me wanted to see him again. While I worried over this, Bella called.

"Did you meet Damian yesterday?" Her tone was far from friendly.

I panicked. If Bella knew I had flirted with her future husband and acted all wild in front of him, she’d definitely skin me alive for ruining her image.

“Well, that’s perfect. Keep handling him for me. Better yet, make him disgusted with me. It’s hilarious—I’ve not had enough fun to settle down yet. Marriage? Not a chance!” Bella’s irritated voice echoed her resistance to this arranged marriage.

I quickly agreed, feeling both relieved and anxious.

By day, I worked at an ad agency, doing makeup for models. This time, the model was Oliver Fielding, a small-time star fresh off a net series hit. Handsome as he was, his attitude was terrible. He hated every makeup artist he'd been assigned, and my boss finally sent me to deal with him.

I summoned all my focus, cautiously tending to Oliver’s makeup, fearing I might tick him off.

Midway, a tall man approached. I glanced up—it was Damian! Panic surged. He couldn’t find out I was doing makeup like some commoner.

Mentally chanting, “Don’t see me, don’t see me…” I watched him turn and look directly at me, startling me into smudging Oliver’s eyebrows into bushy rectangles.

I quickly apologized, burying my face in Oliver's chest and sneakily observing Damian from that vantage point. The assistant noticed and was about to scold me, so I quickly apologized again and dashed to the restroom.

Damn it! I remembered too late that Damian was here for a promotional shoot. His bodyguard company was recruiting new members today.

“Miss Colton?” I had my head down, lost in thoughts of escape, when I collided straight into Damian's solid chest.

“What, you again? Out of money?” I had to keep up the conceited, disinterested act.

“What is Miss Colton doing here?” Damian was dressed in his company’s standard uniform, sunglasses tucked into his pocket. He had an unmistakable boss aura that screamed ‘intimidating.’

I instinctively knew I was in trouble.

"Why do you care? If I have my eyes on someone and am chasing after them, do I need to report it to you?" I straightened my back, feigning a boldness, and said firmly. I was satisfied to see Damian's face darken.

Successfully gaining his disdain, I hoped he'd lose interest in Bella and refuse the alliance.

"That novice? I could knock him over in one go," Damian scoffed, pointing at Oliver who was innocently sipping water.

"What do you know? I happen to like that type," I snapped back, almost too bluntly.

"Oh, is that so? Come here," Damian said, slightly disappointed, and clapped his hands to summon a group of people.

A line of tall, muscular bodyguards in black suits and sunglasses approached me, making me want to bolt. "What are you doing?" I asked, feigning annoyance.

Damian chuckled. "You like toyboys, don't you? Well, I have a whole bunch for you to choose from."

With that, the bodyguards stood in a neat row, taking off their sunglasses and striking poses as if they were on a catwalk.

What the hell? I thought he was going to kidnap me! I pretended to scan them with disdain. Sure enough, they were all tall, with perfect features and likely sporting eight-pack abs underneath those uniforms. Toyboys?

Dealing with a gang boss is exhausting.

"Well, do you fancy any of them?" Damian leaned down to meet my eyes, though his height made it feel like he was towering over me. Damn height difference.

"No, I'm not interested in them," I said, feigning calm as I brushed past him. A picture of a proud, willful heiress. I almost admired my own acting skills until reality snapped back.

"Where the hell is the makeup artist, Rose?!" A sharp voice barked, startling the staff into silence.

It was my boss, Eva Hollis, notoriously strict. If she caught me slacking off, I’d be skinned alive. I thought of pretending to be sick and hiding in the bathroom, but before I could move, "Ouch!" Eva grabbed my ear.

Damian stepped forward, ready to play the hero, while his bodyguards looked primed for action. I signaled him to stop, and reluctantly, he did.

After hurriedly touching up Oliver's makeup and getting a scolding that cost me part of my salary, I collapsed into my office chair, utterly spent.

While catching my breath, I pondered how to keep up the charade in front of Damian. I glanced at my reflection. My makeup wasn't perfect today, but I usually modeled my look after Bella's, making myself resemble her closely. I was confident most people couldn't tell us apart. I even mimicked her gestures and speech.

The dilemma remained—how to explain my job here?

A knock at the door interrupted my thoughts. An employee asked me to do another makeup job. Confused, I said I was done for the day.

I opened the door, and there stood Damian! He specifically requested Rose, and as the boss, he was untouchable, while I was just an expendable worker.

Eva was nearby, pouring tea with an unusual demureness, as if she were a shy schoolgirl.