Faking Fate [Book 1]

Chapter Two: The Unlikely Offer

If there's one thing I've learned from growing up in a Victorian house, it's that life is best lived in the margins—between creaky floorboards and drafts from ancient windows that seem to breathe with a life of their own. You'd think I'd have gotten used to it by now, but tonight, the house felt alive, more like a sentient being than just wood and stone.

The wind outside howled like a banshee, rattling the cracked panes, while rain drummed against the windows in a relentless staccato. I was cocooned on the couch, buried under a quilt, wondering if the thin fabric was better at trapping heat or holding in the chill. Across the room, the fire in the hearth had dwindled to a few rebellious embers, more glow than warmth. A low groan escaped from deep within the house as if it were complaining about the weather too.

"I really should've taken that online course on storm management," I muttered, flipping the quilt over again in a futile attempt to get comfortable. My reflection in the window caught my eye—wild hair, tired eyes, and a look that screamed 'over it.'

The power had flickered out about an hour ago, and I was now left to the mercy of candlelight and what little warmth the fire could muster. I cradled a mug of tea—lukewarm at best, but at least it gave me something to focus on other than the draft that snuck in through the gaps around the windows. The grandfather clock in the corner ticked away rhythmically, a slow reminder that time was passing even if the storm seemed intent on stopping it.

"Who builds a house like this?" I asked the empty room, my voice barely louder than the storm outside. "A mansion that's half drafty barn, half haunted house. Brilliant."

The storm, of course, gave no response, but I could swear the house creaked louder in agreement. Sinking deeper into the couch, I pulled the quilt tighter around me and stared at the fireplace, silently pleading for the flames to come back to life. Just as I was contemplating getting up to throw on another log, I heard a creak from the front door. Probably the wind, I thought, or a squirrel with a death wish. Either way, I wasn't in the mood to investigate.

My gaze drifted back to the flickering embers, and I couldn't shake the feeling that this was just the beginning of the chaos. Not just from the storm but from life in general—the kind of night where your mind churns with all the things you've been avoiding. Bills, deadlines, and the ever-growing uncertainty of my freelance work loomed like shadows in the dim light.

Just then, a sharp crack of thunder made me jump, and for a brief second, I could have sworn the house shuddered with me. I glanced at the mantel clock. Nine. Perfect—just enough time for the storm and my racing thoughts to keep me wide awake.

And then, as if on cue, the rotary phone on the side table rang—a sound so out of place that I stared at it in disbelief for a few seconds before dragging myself off the couch. "Who the hell calls during a hurricane?" I grumbled, nearly tripping over the quilt as I made my way across the room. The lights flickered again, and for a moment, I thought the storm might actually swallow the house whole.

"Hello?" I answered, not bothering to mask the irritation in my voice.

"Emily James?" The voice on the other end was clipped and professional, a stark contrast to the wild storm that surrounded me.

"Yes, this is she," I replied, bracing myself for whatever absurd reason someone would have to call in the middle of a storm.

"This is Samantha Harper from the Historical Society. I hope I'm not disturbing you," she said, her tone polite but rushed. "I apologize for calling so late, but we're in a bit of a bind."

I frowned, trying to place her name. "Samantha Harper... Right, I think we've worked together before. What's going on?"

"Our photographer for tomorrow night's charity gala just canceled on us. We've been scrambling to find a replacement, and your name came up," Samantha explained, the urgency in her voice almost drowned out by the storm outside. "We've always admired your work and hoped you'd be able to step in on such short notice."

I looked around my living room, cluttered with bills that screamed for attention. Of course, the universe would throw me an unexpected job right when I needed it most. I let out a sigh, glancing at the pile of past-due notices on the kitchen table. "Tomorrow night? That's... cutting it close."

"I know it's a lot to ask, but we really need someone dependable," she continued, her tone practically pleading. "The event's being held at the Wolfe Estate, and Mr. Wolfe himself is overseeing everything. We need you to meet with him tomorrow at 2 PM for a briefing."

Alexander Wolfe. That name rang a bell. He was some big-shot CEO, practically a local legend. I took a deep breath, knowing I couldn't afford to pass this up. "Alright, I'm in. Send me the details."

"Thank you so much, Emily. You're a lifesaver," Samantha said, relief flooding her voice. "I'll text you everything you need to know."

As I hung up the phone, I couldn't help but feel the weight of it all settle in. This was no ordinary assignment. Alexander Wolfe had a reputation, and I wasn't sure if stepping into his world was a blessing or a curse.

I reached for my phone, curiosity gnawing at me, and typed his name into the search bar. It didn't take long to realize just how deep his influence ran. Pictures of Wolfe filled the screen—polished, successful, untouchable. His face was all sharp lines and cold eyes, the kind of man who could own a room with just a glance. And yet, despite his prominence, there were only a handful of images. He was either a very private person or extremely careful about his public image.

As I scrolled through articles and photos, a sense of unease crept over me. Wolfe was exactly the kind of person I had spent most of my life avoiding—people with power, wealth, and the ability to turn your world upside down without a second thought.

But then my eyes drifted back to the table covered in overdue bills. Power and wealth might be the last things I wanted to deal with, but they were also exactly what I needed right now.

With a resigned sigh, I dropped my phone onto the couch and stared into the dim room. Tomorrow, I'd step into the world of Alexander Wolfe, whether I liked it or not.