Chapter 9 Karina
Karina
I settle into the uncomfortable chair at my cluttered desk.
My apartment is more claustrophobic and oppressive than ever.
I glance around and shake my head, disgusted by its state.
Furniture purchased at Goodwill years ago, stained from coffee spills and takeout mishaps.
Dishes piled in the sink from three days ago, clothes draped over every available surface, and the thin curtains barely blocking out the harsh streetlights.
This is not the life I imagined for myself at twenty-seven.
My life is a mess, and this apartment is just the physical manifestation of it.
I drop my head into my hands, and a long, unsteady sigh escapes me.
The bills. They pile higher with each new envelope my mother sends my way.
Tuition. Rent. Credit card repayments. My mother’s name is on so much of it, I hardly know where her mess ends and my life begins.
I want to rip up every page from that stack, scatter the pieces, watch them flutter like confetti, but the suffocating sense of duty keeps my hand still.
Instead, I restlessly push them around my desk, as if reorganizing the chaos will somehow make it disappear.
I drop my head back against the chair, defeated and desperate, lost in a whirlwind of obligations.
I have to do something.
I let out another deep sigh and clutch the phone in my hand.
My fingers tremble slightly as I scroll through the contacts, hovering over her name.
I try to imagine her reaction this time.
Will she be pleading? Manipulative? Will she threaten me with tears, silence, or worse, insults?
Feeling like her biggest regret all over again, the one who always disappoints, no matter how much I put my best foot forward.
I take a moment, drawing in a breath for courage, and reluctantly press call.
“Karina?” My mother’s voice is sharp and impatient. “Finally. I was starting to think you’d forgotten about your responsibilities.”
“Hi, Mother,” I start, “I was just going over the bills and—”
“Which you should have paid already.” Like always, she doesn’t let me continue. “Your brothers need their tuition settled for next semester.”
I can almost see her there, her dark hair streaked with gray, those eyes that never quite warmed when they landed on me. My chest constricts with a familiar ache.
“Mother, it’s not my job to—” I begin, but the words catch in my throat.
“Of course it is,” she snaps, the edge in her voice like a slap. “You owe us, Karina. You owe me. After everything I’ve done for you.”
Which is nothing, I want to say, but I don’t. It won’t do me any good.
Ever the black sheep. If my father were alive, she would be singing a different tune. Gosh, I miss him more than I could have ever imagined. “Mother, please,” I say, my voice softer now, pleading for understanding I know won’t come. “I’m doing the best I can.”
“Then do better.” The line goes dead. I drop the phone onto the desk, onto her unpaid debts. How much more of myself can I give before there’s nothing left?
I open up my laptop, scouring job listings, anything that pays more than what I’m already earning, working endless shifts at the hospital. “Come on,” I mutter, scrolling past another unrealistic offer. “There has to be something.”
God, please send me something. Anything.
I almost miss my phone vibrating and have to shuffle documents around to find where it disappeared. My heart stutters, hope and dread warring within me as I close my eyes and think, Please don’t be her again.
But when I flip it over in my hand, I see that it’s an unknown number. I slide my finger across the screen, answering the call.
“Hello?”
“Karina Reyes?” The voice on the other end is a woman.
“Speaking.” I straighten in my chair and brush a strand of hair behind my ear.
“Good evening. This is Minji Lee from Lee-Singleton Law. We spoke a few months ago.” There’s a pause. “You’ve been selected by our client, and he would like to have dinner this Saturday.”
“Huh?”
“This is Karina Reyes?” she asks.
“Yes, but—”
“I’m the lawyer you spoke to regarding my client who is looking for a, er, date. I’m calling back to inform you that you’ve been selected,” she repeats, but this time with an underlying tone of annoyance. Well, excuse me, it’s been months.
“Sorry, I was just getting caught up. It’s been a while, as you mentioned.”
She barrels forward. “My client wishes to discuss the details of your arrangement personally.”
“Arrangement?” My mind spins, reeling with possibilities, and my heart is a wild drum in my chest. Why would anyone need to discuss details for a date?
“Do you accept the invitation?” Minji’s voice is precise, demanding an answer.
A million thoughts crowd my consciousness, and I feel lightheaded, as if opportunity and desperation have suddenly traded places.
This is crazy. Absolutely crazy. I try to think back on the details from when we spoke in March.
There was mention of a sizeable fee, though no specifics were offered up.
Play it cool, Rina. What do you have to lose other than your mountain of debt? “Yes.”
“Excellent. I would like to meet with you first. There are a few things we will need to discuss,” she continues.
“Discuss?” I repeat, trying to keep the tremor from my voice.
“Before you meet my client. Saturday morning, ten o’clock. I will text you the information shortly. Have a good evening, Karina.”
“Thank you, Minji. I’ll see you then.”
The call ends, and I’m left staring at my reflection on the darkened screen. A dinner. An arrangement. With him. Who is him? I told myself I’d forget about this whole thing, that it wasn’t real. And now, months later, I learn I’ve been “selected”?
I set the phone down, letting out a deep sigh.
What if this man doesn’t like what he sees?
What if I’m not enough? I have to be enough.
There’s too much at stake. My mom’s constant harassment, my brothers’ college tuition.
This cramped excuse for an apartment? I’ve worked too hard to be living like I was back in the Johns Hopkins dorms.
I will be the best damn date this guy’s ever had.
I have less than forty-eight hours to prepare, to transform myself into the kind of woman a man like him would want. He’s undoubtedly well off, so I should be confident, poised, and alluring. A far cry from the sleep-deprived, scrubs-wearing doctor I am now.
My phone vibrates again, and I snatch it up. Minji’s text lights up the screen—an address.
On Saturday, I arrive at the designated meeting place: a law office in downtown Manhattan.
“Okay, Karina. This is it,” I whisper to myself, pressing a palm to my chest in an attempt to still the rapid beat of my heart.
With a deep breath, I step forward, my heels clicking against the polished stone as I approach the entrance.
I straighten my spine and square my shoulders.
I can do this. The doors glide open silently.
I’m ready to walk through the fire, to face whatever strange twist of fate this mysterious client of Minji’s has in store.
“Karina Reyes?” One of the receptionists greets me with a smile, her eyes glancing at the appointment book on her desk. “Ms. Lee is expecting you. Please follow me.”
As I step into the elevator, my mind races with anticipation.
“Here we are,” the receptionist says as she leads me down a hallway lined with polished wood and gleaming glass. “Ms. Lee will be with you shortly.” She gestures for me to take a seat in the waiting area.
“Thank you.”
She nods and turns on her heels. Not a minute goes by before Minji approaches with a confident stride, sporting a black bob that frames her face perfectly. Her eyes look me over. “Karina, it’s great to see you,” she says warmly, extending her hand.
“Thank you for the invitation,” I reply, shaking her hand firmly.
“Right this way.” She guides me toward a private conference room. We enter a space adorned with elegant furnishings and a sleek mahogany table. I pull out a chair and sit, my palms slick with sweat.
I cannot believe I’m about to do this.
“Give me one moment to gather the documents,” she says before leaving the room.
As I wait, I glance around. Everything screams of wealth, from the intricate patterns on the rug, the gleaming silver pitcher of water in the center of the table, the high ceilings.
At least I can rest easy knowing I’m in capable, professional-seeming hands, right?
When Minji reenters the room, she’s cradling a thick paper-filled folder in her arms. She places it on the table with a soft thud.
“Let’s dive in, shall we?” she suggests, sitting across from me.
She opens the folder and begins explaining the arrangement’s details.
“My client is offering you a marriage of convenience.”
I blink at her, taken aback by her bluntness. “A… a marriage?” I stammer, trying to wrap my head around what the hell she just said. “I thought this was for a date.”
“Allow me to explain,” she continues. “You’ll be compensated handsomely, as stipulated by my client.
” I shift in my seat, glance around in search of, what?
Hidden cameras? Surely this is some elaborate prank.
“However,” Minji adds, her expression turning serious.
“You must understand that this is strictly a marriage of convenience. There will be no romantic involvement between you and my client. What he wants is a wife in name only.”
I mean, that’s good. I’m certainly not down to fuck a stranger.
“Who is your client?” I ask, curiosity getting the better of me.