chapter 6

**Fiona's POV**

What was I thinking agreeing to that ridiculous deal? Regret gnawed at me as I stared at my reflection in the bedroom mirror. Samuel Fox's only intention behind that deal was clearly to humiliate me.

He had sent over a box containing a note with his private number, a pair of shoes, and a blood-red dress that clung to every curve I had. The old Fiona—the one before I found faith and embraced a more modest life—would have relished wearing this dress. Back then, I thrived on luxury, and a dress like this, with its exorbitant price tag, would have been a drop in the bucket.

The shoes were another story. They were stunning, with elegant, modest heels. It was a surprising choice given the scandalous nature of the dress. One might expect sky-high stilettos to match such an outfit, but thankfully, these were much more manageable. I hadn't worn heels that high in ages, and I could imagine the calamity of stumbling around in them. The thought of embarrassing myself—or worse, breaking a limb—made me appreciate the lower heels.

I took another look in the mirror and sighed deeply. There was no way I could go through with this. The neckline of the dress plunged so low that it barely contained my breasts, and the hemline was scandalously short, barely covering my thighs. The thought of turning around to see the back was unbearable.

Despite my hesitation, I mustered the courage to turn and inspect the back of the dress. The result was even worse than I feared. The dress rode so high on my backside that from behind, I might as well have been wearing a very expensive, very risqué piece of lingerie. It was an extreme analogy, but nothing made sense at the moment.

Was this deal worth losing my dignity? There were other opportunities, other projects. Was proving my competence worth sacrificing my self-respect? After a moment of deep thought, I decided it wasn't worth the trouble.

I picked up my phone and retrieved Samuel's number from the note. As I was about to dial, a message from my father popped up:

*Fiona, I don't know and I honestly don't care how you managed to convince Mr. Fox to put you back in the deal and also make you his date for MY charity event tonight, but I just want to tell you do not even think of attending. You have no business there. Don't ruin this for me, your dear dad. One more thing, since this is the only logical explanation I can come up with for Mr. Fox's sudden change of heart, I just want to chip in that if you've reverted to your "charming ways," please let your dear daddy know because I've recently had some clients who are proving difficult and would like your services in paving the way.

P.S: I'm being serious, Fiona. Stay at home. THAT'S AN ORDER!!!*

The audacity! My father had managed to insult me and order me around in one message. The nerve of him to suggest I was a "charming" anything, or worse, a call girl. I was beyond infuriated.

Well, one thing was certain: I was going to that event, even if I had to go dressed as a maid, a harlot, or a lunatic. I was livid beyond reason, and no amount of rational thought could deter me now.

I returned to dressing, deliberately avoiding the mirror. Seeing my reflection would only force me to reconsider, and I had resolved to do something irrational tonight.

Just as I finished my preparations, my phone rang. The caller ID showed a private number. Normally, I wouldn't answer such a call, but today, I was in no mood for caution.

"Hello?" I answered, my voice tinged with irritation.

"Hello to you too, Miss Bruckner," came the cold, unmistakable voice. Even though I hadn't heard it in person recently, I could recognize Samuel Fox's voice anywhere.

"What do you want?" I snapped, trying to ignore the fact that I would be seeing him in less than an hour. A girl needs her mental space before a battle.

"That was direct, but I don't mind. I just wanted to confirm if you received the dress and if you still plan to attend the event tonight?" His tone carried an edge of satisfaction.

The dress was clearly part of his scheme to make me uncomfortable. I had half a mind to tell him off but kept my composure.

"Yes, I'll be there tonight. I just finished getting dressed." I said with forced bravado.

"Really?" His incredulity was almost palpable.

"Yes," I replied, my defiance clear.

"And you're actually wearing the dress I sent? Remember, that was part of the deal," he said, his smirk almost audible through the phone.

"Yes, it's a lovely dress," I said, stretching the truth. I didn't think he'd buy it, but I didn't care.

"I'm almost impressed by your resilience. Almost," he replied. "But I'm not surprised. Anyway, a car will pick you up shortly. I'll see you at the party." Without waiting for a response, he hung up.

As promised, a limo arrived shortly. Minutes later, I found myself outside the hotel where the charity event was being held. A brief conversation with the receptionist and an elevator ride later, I stood before the grand doors of the event hall. The murmur of conversation and music filtered through the doors.

I took a deep breath, steadying myself before pushing open the double doors. I stepped into the hall with my head high and a smile that barely concealed my apprehension.

My entrance drew a mix of glances and stares. Some faces lit up with recognition, but I ignored them all. My sole focus was to find Mr. Fox and escape this madness as soon as possible.

Scanning the room, I spotted him almost immediately. To my surprise, he was already watching me. Even from a distance, I could feel the intensity of his gaze. It stirred something inside me—something confusing and unfamiliar. Was I really feeling this way about him? It was unsettling.

I whispered a prayer for strength and clarity, hoping God would keep my feelings in check and help me survive the evening without any emotional or physical mishaps.

As I walked towards Mr. Fox, my resolve was tested by the unexpected touch of a male hand on the small of my back. I spun around, ready to confront the intruder, but the words caught in my throat when I saw who it was.

"Sup, Fiona! I knew it was you the moment you walked through the door," said Ethan, my high school best friend, with his polished British accent.

"Ethan!" I exclaimed, thrilled. Despite the four years since he'd moved back to the UK, we kept in touch regularly.

Without hesitation, I pulled him into a hug, which he took to the next level by lifting me off the ground and spinning us around. We laughed and grinned at each other as we broke apart.

"So, what brings you to America?" I asked.

His expression darkened, and his reply clarified everything. "What else?"

I knew instantly. "Oh, your dad," I said sympathetically.

He nodded, clearly displeased. It seemed the pattern of wealthy, difficult fathers was a recurring theme. Why couldn't they just treat their children with respect?

Before I could ask more, a hand snaked around my waist. The owner of the arm whispered, "That's enough chitchat. You're here for me alone." Then, in a louder voice, he addressed Ethan, "I'm Sam Fox, and I'm here to collect my date." He emphasized the word "date" with unwelcome intensity.

Without waiting for Ethan's response or mine, Samuel began leading me away.

"What do you think you're doing?" I whispered urgently, trying to keep a polite smile on my face.

"No, Miss Bruckner. The real question is, what are you not doing?"

"I don't understand. You saw me talking to Ethan and you rudely pulled me away."

"In case you've forgotten, you're here as my date, not to rekindle old friendships," he said dismissively.

"He's my—" I started, but he cut me off.

"I'm not interested. But I suggest you put on a more convincing smile. We're approaching the mayor and his wife." His tone was final, and he turned his attention away from me, focusing straight ahead.

As much as it pained me, he was right. I was here as his date, and we were about to meet important people. I forced myself to put aside my frustrations and donned a smile that, though artificial, was as genuine as I could manage.