A Wife for the Billionaire

I didn't need to hear the completion of what Emily was trying to say, to know that I was in serious trouble.

"Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck" I repeated inaudibly.

"Oh my God, what have I done?" I asked myself.

The very first time, I'm meeting the man who had once been a mentor and I've ruined it with my anger.

I felt like slapping myself until the pain could match the uneasiness that thrummed through me.

"I just asked Richard-fucking-Wellington to exit his very own elevator in his very own company or die riding with me. By God Sofia, you are a fool" I echoed those words through me, but it did nothing to alleviate the guilt surmounting in my chest.

Will I blame life this time around? Or will I blame those who make it a living hell with their quick to remind status?

The truth was that, this was all me. I did it. I allowed my anger to score a number on me.

"How could you? This was your chance. Finally for once in your life, your dreams held a chance of coming through, but you just had to ruin it, didn't you?"

By God, I hated my conscience. Couldn't it see that I was already regretting every word I spoke in the last 5 minutes? Must it add to my guilt?

Some people say their conscience (or is it a general fact) is a small still voice barely discernible from the one yelling wrong. It's the voice of reason aiming at the right against the wrong.

But my own conscience isn't still neither is it's voice– small. Now, it feels like it's holding a megaphone in my mind screaming all the wrongs I managed to accomplish with the very words I uttered. And with it, a knife, slowly dragging the point through my heart, drawing blood.

Richard Wellington may no longer be a mentor, but I still loved his designs. There's still a part of me that longs to accomplish what he has done in the fashion industry.

I may not follow him, but I still go through his posts and I will be lying if I say that I'm not looking forward to the new collection. And it would mean the world to me if I can be a part of its success, even if it's just by typing words on a page.

Working under him would be a privilege and I fear I've messed that up.

"No, you haven't. Just apologize. Sincerely ask for forgiveness. Tell him you don't mean it" the voice in my head kept saying.

I once read that our minds know us more than we do ourselves. That if you are a winner, like you always remind yourself that you are one, then your mind will always strive, gear and think of ways for you to keep securing wins.

But if you are someone who feeds the mind with negative thoughts,

"I can't do this"

"I'm such a loser"

"I'm a failure" and the likes.

It will get to a certain point where your mind will accept and imbue every thought with such negativity. Instead of thinking up ways out of a difficult situation, it will keep reminding you that it's impossible to escape. That as a failure, why should you try to liberate yourself from such a situation?

Our minds know our stories far more better than we can write or tell them. It is the only companion we truly feel safe sharing our secrets and interacting with. In the darkest of times, it is all we've got and mine… mine knows just how much my future is hinged on securing this job.

Believe me, I want nothing more than to grovel before the high and mighty Richard Wellington until he accepts my apology, but I simply can't.

I opened my mouth severally to say the words, "I'm sorry", but I just couldn't form them.

Each time I tried, the voice of wrong , like a miniature copy of the devil in red and black with a pointy tail and holding a trident perched on my left shoulder. It will boom,

"Why should you apologize?"

"What wrong did you commit in trying to share a ride with him?"

"Besides you didn't even know it was him and even if you did, does that excuse his attitude?"

"Remember he started it, all you wanted was a ride up, he didn't have to be a bitch about it"

On and on, it went, silencing the other voice like that of an angel in white and gold with a halo ringed on his head and perched on my right shoulder.

Oftentimes, I wonder if both voices make up my conscience. If this tug war between right and wrong is truly their doing and if it is, then why do people often liken conscience to that small still voice like that of the angel's?

Or maybe our conscience is the willingness to pick a side in the tug war. To gently walk towards whichever side feels more appealing to one.

You know what, scratch all that. I don't even think I'm making any sense or maybe this uneasiness and guilt is reeling my thoughts to things I can't fathom. Things I don't understand nor can I comprehend.

And yet the truth remains that both of us are wrong, him most especially. I get that he is the CEO, but he won't lose that title if he shares a ride with me as he's doing now.

Why do people like to make things difficult? Why do they strive to bring out the demons we try to hide?

Had he behaved like a gentleman, wewouldn't be in this web of awkwardness. Had he politely asked me to leave, I would have done that without question, but for him to flaunt that privilege of his like a whip, that was what pissed me off especially after I tried reasoning and pleading with him.

He is a human being like me, his status in the society or simply born with a privilege doesn't elevate him more than being human. So, why then does he and others like him think themselves a higher being simply because life played fair with them?

When my life hadn't evolved into these caprices of sorrow and pain, I once watched an animation 'Avatar: The last Airbender'.

A certain misunderstood character, very handsome if I might add. I even remember having a crush on him then, he said,

"Some of us are born lucky while some of us are lucky to be born"

The character I'm talking about is the true heir of the Fire Nation, "Zuko". He said those words when he compared his life of strife where each stage is a test of worth, to the easygoing one his sister 'Azula' had. Where their father's favor came easy, even her powers seemed effortless.

I felt those words, not necessarily then. But years later, when I stumbled from the girl who had everything to one who had to labor as a slave for basic amenities.

And that brings me to another factor. The other reason why I no longer believe in God. A passage from his word says,

'The Lord is slow to anger, and abounding in steadfast love, forgiving iniquity and transgression, but he will by no means clear the guilty, visiting the iniquity of fathers upon children, upon the third and upon the fourth generation.'

When I came across that passage, I asked myself, "why should someone innocent like me pay for the crimes my fool of a father committed?"

Why would a God who is said to be slow in anger and abounding in steadfast love punish an innocent child for the sins of her parents? It just doesn't make sense.

And why should I keep praying to such a God, particularly when it seems my life is a testament to those very words?

Honestly, I never saw my thoughts extending to such concepts, especially in a matter that simply involved being the bigger person.

I was still battling on what to do when, 49.....50, and the elevator screeched to a halt momentarily causing me to lose my balance. I found myself falling backwards towards the same man I was yet to decide if he deserved my apology.

A ring of pain quaved through me as I felt my head connect with the metal wall of the elevator.

I barely had time to curse the wall and the man who allowed such incident to happen when I heard that voice I was already beginning to hate,

"See you in a bit… Sofia"

He even had the effrontery to grin at me. The nerve.

And the way he said my name, like the syllables were filth in his tongue.

If this wasn't a sign, I don't know what else is. This man is a monster who doesn't deserve my apology.

"And I would sooner die than let my lips form such words", I mumbled as I stepped out of the elevator, still pressing a hand on the part of my head that throbbed.