Love in Disguise

James

"I can't take it anymore. You're the worst I've ever dated!" James' voice cut through the air like a blade. "You complain about every little thing, blame me unnecessarily, and you're too manipulative. You know what? I'm done with this fucking relationship. Nothing good comes from it."

Charlotte

"Oh no!" I exclaimed, my voice shaking with panic gripping my throat. "James, you can't do this to me, to us. We've been together for three years! All I did was love you. You've treated me like trash-cheating on me with other girls, hitting me-and now you're just going to break up with me?"

The weight of his words crushed me, with my heart shattered into pieces . How could he do this? After everything I'd endured for him? Tears began to fall, blurring my vision as I left the apartment in an unsteady manner due to the heartache I felt, my body shaking from crying. Each step away from him felt heavier than the last, like I was sinking into a dark, endless pit.

---

Hours later, I found myself at a club, the vibrant music of rhythmic Afrobeat that did nothing to match my broken spirit. I sat alone at the bar, surrounded by strangers who were lost in their own worlds. It was almost comforting in a strange way-to be invisible, unrecognized, and untouched by anyone else's life.

I downed shot after shot of tequila, hoping it would relief the sharp pain in my chest. But it wasn't enough. So, I kept drinking. Maybe if I drank enough, I could forget how shattered I felt.

That's when I saw him-Charles Goldberg, the young billionaire everyone in town whispered about. Dressed in a crisp blue button-down shirt and black pants, his presence commanded the room. He was the type of man who never had to try too hard. Everyone wanted him, and he knew it. His eyes scanned the club, and then they landed on me-sitting alone, drowning in alcohol and misery.

He walks over to me with a lot of confidence."Why would a beautiful woman like you be drinking alone?" he asked, his voice smooth as velvet. "May I join you?"

I barely looked up, the tequila blurring my thinking . "Do whatever you want," I whispered to myself, speaking in a way that didn't make sense because I was drunk.

He didn't need more of an invitation. He sat down beside me, ordering a drink of his own, and we fell into a strange rhythm of silence. His presence made me feel safe and relaxed, even if it was surprising, and continued drinking alcohol which made feelings changed, I felt less chess pain and more like I was relieved-detached from the pain that had gripped me for so long.

---

Before I knew it, his lips met mine in a kiss that was both electrifying and confusing. I didn't know what I was doing, but for once, I didn't care. I just wanted to feel something-anything that wasn't the hollow ache James had left behind. We entered into a private room in the club, which doubled as a hotel suite. His eyes locked on mine, and for a brief moment, I forgot everything except the magnetic pull between us.

"I don't usually do this," I whispered, my voice barely audible. But my body betrayed my words, drawn to him like a moth to a flame.

His hands slid down my waist, pulling me closer, his touches sparks the strong desire in me I hadn't felt in years. He noticed a star-shaped birthmark on my back and paused, staring at it and touching as if the birthmark caught his attention. The kiss deepened, urgent and intense. We both knew this was temporary-nothing more than an escape.

Eventually, I pulled away, my head spinning from the alcohol and the rush of emotions. I stumbled out of the room, grabbed some junk food, and made my way home, a confusing mix of regret and a sense of relief filled my chest.

---

The next morning, I sat on the couch surrounded by empty junk food wrappers, my head pounding from the hangover. Emma, my best friend, looked at me with concern, a cup of coffee in her hand. "Come on, stop crying. He doesn't deserve your tears. You're the kind of woman any guy would kill to have."

Tears gathered in my eyes again, despite my best efforts to hold them back. "You don't get it. I loved him. I gave him everything-my body, my heart. I made so many sacrifices."

Emma's eyes softened. "Does that mean you should get yourself drunk like this? You're worth more than this, Charlotte."

As I wiped the tears from my face, my mom entered the room, her presence calming. "Hey, don't sit here crying over that jerk. You're beautiful and strong. There are plenty of great men out there."

Her words were meant to comfort me, but I wasn't sure I believed them. Still, I managed a nod. Emma pushed me lightly. "Get dressed for work. Remember, you have that role at the studio. You don't want to lose it."

I forced myself to stand, battling the heavy feeling of heartbreak and the hangover. My mom made me breakfast, while Olivia, my little sister, prepared for school. After eating, I pulled myself together and headed to the studio.

-

At the studio, the weight of my emotions and others noticed. My boss, Ms. Adams, greeted me with a stern expression, her eyes sharp. "Why are you just coming in now, Charlotte?" she snapped, her tone biting.

I stammered, "I'm sorry, ma'am. I... I had a personal emergency."

Ms. Adams wasn't one for excuses. She stared at me with anger, her arms crossed. "A personal emergency? You've been late three times this week, Charlotte, and that's unacceptable. You were mixing up your words during yesterday's shoot, and your scenes had to be reshot multiple times because you couldn't focus."

My heart sank. I had hoped she hadn't noticed. I opened my mouth to explain, but she didn't let me.

"You know what?" she continued, her voice cold. "This isn't working out. I need someone who's reliable and professional. You're fired."

Her words hit me like a physical blow. Fired? My chest tightened and I could barely get the words out. "Ms. Adams, please, I promise I'll do better-"

"It's too late," she cut me off, her voice final. "Collect your things. You're done here."

I left the studio in a daze, unable to process what had just happened. Fired from my dream job. Everything was falling apart.

As I stepped out into the street, my phone buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out to see a new message from an unknown number: "We need to talk. I have information about James that you need to hear."

My pulse quickened. Who could this be? And what did they know about James? A new wave of tension gripped me. Should I investigate this mysterious message or try to piece my shattered li