Chapter 9
Amara had a rare gift when it came to cooking—a natural talent paired with an imagination that seemed boundless when blending flavors. Though she dreamed of opening her own restaurant, the high costs of renting a suitable location in Monteforte City meant she had to start smaller. Instead, she founded a catering business, renting out a commercial kitchen in the building next to our apartments. Her goal was simple yet ambitious: to become the go-to caterer for the most extravagant events in the city, saving enough to one day bring her dream restaurant to life. I admired her determination and supported her vision wholeheartedly.
Spending time with Amara was like a breath of fresh air. Her boundless energy and enthusiasm were contagious, and she always seemed to be working on a new dish, with me as her unofficial taste-tester. Her company provided the perfect escape from the monotony of my work, a much-needed excuse to take a break. With her, I could almost convince myself that I was leading a normal life. Sometimes, I even entertained the idea of settling in Monteforte City for good.
One evening, I had just finished a project for one of my VIP clients. It hadn’t been particularly challenging, but the work required such intense focus on numbers and variables that my head throbbed by the time I was done. As if she could sense my fatigue, Amara texted, announcing she was coming over to celebrate. Her timing was impeccable. Reading her message brought a smile to my face—it was clear she’d taken another step closer to achieving her dream.
Two hours later, Amara appeared at my door, clutching three bottles of wine and grinning like she’d just won the lottery. Her excitement was so infectious that I burst out laughing at the sight of her.
"Come in before you drop those bottles," I teased, taking them from her trembling hands.
"You won’t believe what happened!" she exclaimed, practically bouncing on the spot.
"Hold that thought," I interrupted, guiding her to the sofa. "Sit down and wait until we both have a glass of wine. Then you can spill the details."
Amara obeyed, though her jittery energy betrayed her impatience. I uncorked one of the bottles, poured us each a glass, and handed hers over.
"All right," I said, settling into a chair across from her. "Now, go ahead."
She didn’t need any more prompting.
"Okay, so two days ago, I got an email," she began, practically bursting with excitement. "A guy said he’d tasted my food at the Trade Fair Anniversary and wanted me to cater an event he’s organizing. I looked up his company—turns out he works for the Red Ruby Casino!"
I raised an eyebrow. "The casino? Those guys are loaded."
"Exactly!" she exclaimed. "I met with him today—his name’s Theron Edgewater, the casino’s chief manager. They’re planning this ultra-exclusive event for their VVIP clients. Their demands are… unconventional, but the payment they’re offering is insane! I wouldn’t make this much even if I sold half my organs on the black market!"
"That’s incredible!" I said, raising my glass. "I don’t know how much your kidneys are worth, but this sounds like a better deal. Cheers to your success!"
"Cheers!" Amara laughed, downing her glass in a single gulp.
As I refilled our glasses, curiosity got the better of me. "What kind of unconventional demands are we talking about?"
She hesitated, fiddling with her glass. "Well… they want 20 waitresses. Only women. And they specified that they have to be attractive."
I frowned. "That sounds… sexist."
"I know!" she admitted quickly. "But Theron explained it’s for a themed event. The waitresses will be in costumes, and he swore there’s no ulterior motive."
Though her reassurances didn’t completely ease my unease, I chose not to press the issue. Extravagant VIP events were common in Monteforte City, and while the amount of money involved raised a few red flags, there wasn’t enough to justify advising her to decline the job. For now, I decided to focus on her excitement.
"What’s the theme?" I asked, topping off our glasses again.
"Disneyland," she replied with a grin. "The costumes are gorgeous—sexy, but still classy. They look like they belong in a high-end theater production."
"Well, at least they won’t look like—" I caught myself before finishing the thought.
"Like what?" she asked, narrowing her eyes.
"Nothing," I said, smirking as I took another sip of wine.
By the time we emptied the third bottle, Amara had fallen asleep on my sofa. Not entirely drunk myself, I managed to cover her with a blanket before heading to bed.
A week later, the day of the event arrived. Amara was in her rented kitchen, working tirelessly to prepare the appetizers and entrees Theron had requested. It was my day off, but instead of enjoying the break, I spent most of it worrying. A persistent, gnawing feeling told me something was bound to go wrong.
Sure enough, at 2 PM, my phone rang.
"Help! I need your help desperately!" Amara’s panicked voice came through the line.
"What’s wrong?" I asked, already bracing for the worst.
"Two of the waitresses didn’t show up! One’s sick, and the other had a family emergency. I can fill in for one of them, but I need someone else!"
"Are you asking me to be a waitress?" I asked, sighing.
"Would you?" she pleaded.
Every instinct screamed at me to say no. But I knew how much this event meant to her. Gritting my teeth, I reluctantly agreed.
"Thank you!" she cried, her relief palpable. "I knew I could count on you!"
"You already had a costume ready for me, didn’t you?" I asked, shaking my head at her predictability.
"Maybe," she admitted, laughing. "But I really, really need you. And you’ll be perfect—you’re gorgeous! Theron’s going to love it!"
Despite her enthusiasm, I couldn’t shake the sense of foreboding. As much as I wanted to believe this was just another party, deep down, I knew I was walking into something I might regret.