Chapter 12: The Bargain

I didn’t move.

My feet felt glued to the floor, anxiety buzzing in my veins. I wanted to explain myself, but the words wouldn’t come.

"Mr. Caldwell, I won’t stay long. You…"

I started, but my voice faltered. I clenched my fists, trying to steady myself.

He stopped cutting, chewed slowly, then raised his eyes.

His gaze was cool, assessing. I felt exposed, vulnerable.

I lowered my head, feeling humiliated. "Can you help me?" My voice faded to a whisper.

I hated how small I sounded, but I couldn’t help it. I stared at the table, waiting for his response.

He didn’t reply. I thought he hadn’t heard, but then he repeated, "I said, go wash up and come back."

His words were heavy, laced with cold impatience at being contradicted.

The message was clear—no negotiations, no shortcuts. I swallowed my pride and nodded.

I followed the servant to the guest room. The bathtub was already filled with hot water. I slipped behind the sliding door, put my wet clothes in the basket, and handed them out.

The bathroom was warm and bright, with fluffy towels and lavender-scented soap. I sank into the tub, letting the steam melt away my exhaustion.

Soaked through, I finally felt alive again. Steam rose, so comfortable I wanted to cry.

I closed my eyes, letting the warmth seep into my bones. For a moment, the world felt safe.

Suddenly, I remembered those quiet, happy times. Summer study sessions always left a deep impression. The unspoken rule in class: the middle seats were for the top students; the further back or to the sides, the less of an academic star you were.

I used to sneak snacks under my desk, sharing them with Harrison during boring lectures. We’d pass notes, laughing at inside jokes only we understood.

I loved sitting by the window. Whenever seats were rearranged, I’d end up in the middle-back, far from the podium. Harrison, always patient, followed me wherever I went.

He’d tease me about my messy handwriting, helping me organize my notes. I’d steal his pens and pretend not to know where they went.

The scent of maple trees outside drifted in with the warm air. To block the sun but not darken the room, I’d tape exam papers to the glass. Sunlight filtered in gently, turning his eyes into amber lakes.

Friday after school was the best. Even the teachers seemed kinder, pretending not to notice my special friendship with him.

We’d sneak out early, heading to the local ice cream shop for double scoops and endless conversation. It was our little ritual.

Harrison loved to use ribbons he found somewhere to tie my hair. We’d sit together under the wisteria trellis by the school lake until the sunset faded. Flowers brushed our clothes, leaving stains and a sweet fragrance.

He’d take pictures of the flowers, saying he wanted to remember the colors. I’d roll my eyes, but secretly loved his sentimental side.

Facing the garden, we’d talk about school and the future.

We’d make wild plans—road trips, careers, living in tiny apartments with big dreams. I believed anything was possible with him.

College brought more freedom, but we saw each other less. I was always spontaneous, never liked planning trips. Whenever we traveled, I followed his preferences—hiking, staying in country lodges. We watched locals pound freshly steamed cornbread, the air thick with the scent of starch.

We’d get lost in small towns, exploring antique shops and trying every weird snack we could find. Harrison always took photos, documenting everything.

I wanted to try every local snack. He’d sit cross-legged under the wooden porch, watching me wolf down food, watching puppies play by the well.

He’d tease me about my appetite, pretending to be shocked when I finished a whole plate. We’d laugh until our sides hurt.

When we were young, these were just ordinary things. Now, they’re out of reach.

I missed the simplicity, the feeling that the future was wide open. I wondered if he did too.

I sat up from the water. Someone knocked gently, leaving something outside.

"Riley, your clothes are washed. They’re outside."

The voice was soft, almost apologetic. I wrapped myself in a towel, grateful for the small kindness.

The sweater in the laundry basket was still warm. My coat was probably still drying.

I slipped into the sweater, breathing in the clean scent. It felt like a hug.

I cleaned up in front of the mirror, feet rooted to the spot. Until the servant knocked again, worried, asking if I was okay.

"I’m fine. I’ll be down soon."

I took a deep breath, steeling myself for what came next.

Harrison was drinking wine. My seat was set with delicate dishes.

The table was laid out like a scene from a movie—crystal glasses, silverware gleaming. I hesitated, unsure where to sit.

"Mr. Caldwell." I lowered my eyes. "Can we talk now?"

I twisted my napkin, nerves jangling. Harrison looked up, waiting.

He took a napkin, dabbed his mouth. "The reason."

His voice was even, but I could hear the challenge behind it. I squared my shoulders, trying to sound confident.

"I’m a businessman. I don’t make losing deals. Give me one good reason why I should help you."

He watched me, eyes sharp. I felt like I was being interviewed for a job I desperately needed.

I steadied myself and started:

"I’ve acted in four web dramas, two cable TV shows—all supporting roles—but my personal search volume is over a million. My edits and ship pairings are popular, my trending topics have active fans, and my fan base is women aged sixteen to forty with strong purchasing power. If you can give me some resources, I can…"

I rattled off stats, hoping numbers would impress him. My hands shook, but I kept going.

He said nothing. I trailed off, feeling failure settle over me like a calm.

The silence was deafening. I stared at my plate, wishing I could disappear.

"If I give you resources, you’ll turn things around and repay me?"

He looked up, legs crossed, tapping the tip of his shoe on the floor—pitying, maybe mocking.

His tone was skeptical, almost amused. I swallowed, trying not to show how desperate I felt.

"Too many people say that. If talent were all that mattered in entertainment, you wouldn’t need to come to me."

I had no comeback. Talented people are everywhere, but opportunities are rare. I’d already been sidelined for more than half a year.

I wanted to argue, but he was right. Luck mattered more than skill. I’d learned that the hard way.

In this industry, fans are fickle. They come and go like celebrities making the rounds. If I quit, maybe I’d be the tragic memory for some. If I stayed, I’d be the scapegoat for any scandal, and otherwise forgotten.

It was a brutal truth. I’d seen it happen to friends, and now it was happening to me.

Taking a risk on me? For any businessman, it’s not a wise investment.

I tried to keep my chin up, but I felt exposed, vulnerable.

Harrison’s gaze lingered on my face for a long time.

He studied me, as if weighing my worth. I waited, breath held.

"Look up."

His voice was soft, but commanding. I lifted my chin, meeting his eyes.

He leaned back, rubbing his watch. "If I don’t help you, what will you do next?"

His words hung in the air, a challenge and a warning. I swallowed, thinking fast.

Of all the money I earned, seventy percent went to my family for peace of mind. Now the penalty was $800,000. If I couldn’t pay, then what? Just carry debt forever. Death wasn’t an option. Even if life was unbearable, I’d explode at the exploitative bosses before I gave up.

I pictured myself waiting tables, working double shifts, anything to scrape by. My parents would worry, but I’d never let them see me break.

I stared off for a moment, then laughed. "I don’t know," I said. "Anyway, I need to get my luggage from under my apartment first."

I tried to sound casual, but my voice cracked. Tomorrow was another battle.

Tomorrow’s problems can wait until I wake up.

I forced a smile, hoping he’d understand.

"Oh."

He swallowed, folding his hands casually. "You came here without even taking your luggage—did you really think I wouldn’t help you?"

His tone was almost teasing, but I couldn’t tell if he was joking.

I stayed silent.

I didn’t trust myself to speak. My heart pounded, hope and fear warring inside me.

He chuckled softly. "If you already assumed the outcome, why come?"

The question hung in the air, heavier than anything else. I searched for an answer, but came up empty.

"I don’t know. Harrison, I don’t know why I came either."

I met his eyes, almost giving up on myself. "Maybe because, at that moment, you were the only person I could think of."

The truth spilled out, raw and unfiltered. I blinked back tears, willing myself not to cry.

His smile froze on his lips. I lowered my head again, ears burning, chest tight and aching.

I fiddled with my napkin, embarrassed by my own vulnerability.

"Say whatever you want to mock me." I’d lost enough dignity already.

I braced myself for a cutting remark, but he just watched me, silent.

In the thick silence, my stomach suddenly growled loudly. All the harsh words before hadn’t broken me, but hearing my own stomach rumble made me want to cry. So embarrassing. How did everything go wrong at once?

I covered my face, trying to hide, rubbing my forehead over and over.

Harrison pressed his lips together, closed his eyes for a moment. With a wave, the butler quietly handed him pen and paper, then withdrew.

He scribbled quickly, crossing out appointments and adding new ones. The pen glinted in the light, gold nib catching my eye.

Gold nib scratched across the paper, swift and firm. Several items were crossed off the schedule, others added. He set aside the fountain pen, slowly twisted his cufflinks.

He moved with quiet efficiency, like he’d done this a thousand times before.

"The penalty is easy—I’ll handle it. I’ll coordinate the resources."

His words were calm, almost businesslike. Relief flooded me, mixed with disbelief.

I whispered, "What do I need to do?"

My voice was barely audible, hope flickering.

The chair slid back on the carpet with a muffled sound. He stood, looking down at me, gaze deep and unreadable.

He towered over me, hands in his pockets. I waited, breath held.

"Make me happy."

His words echoed in the quiet room, a challenge and an invitation.

Dusk was falling, and Harrison left again.

A deal.

The last rays of sun slipped through the window, painting the room in gold. I watched him go, feeling the weight of everything that had passed between us. Somewhere outside, the rain kept falling, but inside, the world was hushed, waiting for what came next.