Pay My Appearance Fee

The heavy mahogany door clicked shut, cutting Audrey off from the private room and leaving a stunned silence behind her.

A nervous chuckle broke the quiet at the table. One of the men shifted in his leather chair and loosened his collar. "Audrey sure has quite the sense of humor, doesn't she?"

"Don't take it to heart, Adrian," another friend chimed in, swirling the liquor in his glass. "Just buy her a designer bag and say a few sweet words tonight. She will come running back like she always does."

The man sitting opposite him let out a derisive snort. "Why even bother coddling her? Adrian, a man should never spoil a woman like that. If you bend over backward now, she will walk all over you for the rest of your life."

"Shut your mouths." Adrian glared down the table, his tone sharp enough to cut glass. He was sick of their useless chatter.

Giselle felt her chest tighten. She stared at Adrian's dark profile, her fingers tightening around her napkin. When did Adrian start defending Audrey in front of his inner circle? Had that woman managed to carve out a place in his heart during the five years she was abroad?

Giselle bit her lower lip, letting a look of pure distress wash over her delicate face. "Adrian, are you worried Audrey is genuinely angry with you? If it helps, I can go chase after her and apologize."

She reached out under the edge of the linen tablecloth, leaning close and gently poking his waist with a slender fingertip. Her voice took on a soft, whiny cadence. "Please do not be angry, Adrian. Look around. You are scaring everyone."

Back when they were teenagers, whenever Adrian lost his temper, Giselle would secretly poke his ribs under the dining table. It was their private code, a childish trick that never failed to disarm him.

The rigid tension in Adrian's shoulders vanished. The icy frost on his features melted away, replaced by an instinctive, patient indulgence. "I am not angry. Gigi, I could never be angry with you over anyone else."

Giselle lowered her eyelashes, a faint blush dusting her cheeks. "I feel the same way about you."

Relieved laughter broke out around the table again. The men picked up their drinks, cracking crude jokes to restore the festive mood. Just like that, the suffocating rift Audrey had left behind was brushed away as if it had never existed.

***

Audrey did not linger outside the restaurant. She hailed a cab and gave the driver the address for Summit Garden.

The luxury estate was a personal gift from Adrian's grandfather, Alistair Hawthorne, purchased specifically to celebrate their upcoming wedding. It was a sprawling property behind wrought-iron gates, filled with pristine lawns and sterile marble corridors.

"Ma'am? You are back early." Martha Higgins, the housekeeper, stepped out from the main foyer with a look of frank surprise.

Martha knew that today was supposed to be the day the two of them officially registered their marriage at City Hall. Seeing Audrey walk through the front door entirely on her own, without Adrian anywhere in sight, struck the older woman as odd.

Audrey did not offer an explanation. She merely gave Martha a brief nod and walked straight up the grand staircase.

She had moved into Summit Garden six months ago, but she had never treated it like an actual home. Most of her personal belongings remained in storage or at her old apartment. In reality, a single piece of luggage would be more than enough to pack away every scrap of her existence here.

As she walked down the second-floor corridor toward the guest rooms, she noticed the study door was ajar.

Adrian's silver tablet was resting in the center of the dark walnut desk.

A memory flashed unbidden across Audrey's mind. A few months ago, while waiting for Adrian to finish a conference call, she had reached over to wake up the screen, hoping to stream a legal drama. The moment Adrian saw her finger touch the glass, he had violently snatched the device away, raising his voice in a sudden, uncharacteristic burst of rage. He had claimed that he despised anyone touching his personal property and demanded she respect his privacy.

Audrey had believed him back then. She had blamed herself for being careless with his boundaries.

Yet only an hour ago, sitting inside Amber Grill, Giselle had been casually swiping through Adrian's personal phone without asking, and Adrian had only smiled at her with endless indulgence.

Audrey paused in the doorway. Driven by an impulse she could not quite suppress, she stepped into the study and pulled the tablet toward her.

She tapped the glass. A six-digit password prompt stared back at her.

Audrey inhaled slowly. She typed in Adrian's birthday.

The red text flashed immediately: *Incorrect Passcode.*

She paused, then typed in her own birthday.

*Incorrect Passcode.*

Audrey stared at the blank keypad for a long moment. Then, an offhand comment Giselle made during breakfast drifted into her head. Giselle had mentioned that she hated celebrating her birthday in school because it always fell directly on Labor Day.

Audrey unlocked her phone, opened a search engine, and looked up the calendar from the year Giselle was born.

Labor Day that year was September 2nd.

With steady, deliberate motions, Audrey pressed the numbers on the screen: 0-9-0-2.

A faint click sounded from the speaker. The screen unlocked smoothly, revealing a default background.

A bitter taste spread across Audrey's tongue, sharp and acrid.

The tablet was nearly devoid of applications. There were no games, no streaming platforms, and no business portals. The home screen was completely bare, save for the system utility folders and the photo gallery.

Audrey tapped the gallery icon.

The counter at the top of the album read: *3,344 Photos.*

Every single image was of Giselle, or of Adrian and Giselle together.

There were candid shots of Giselle eating ice cream on a cobbled European street. There were blurry selfies taken in the passenger seat of Adrian's sports car, with Giselle laughing hysterically at the camera. There were pictures of the two of them standing side by side on a beach at sunset, Adrian's arm wrapped firmly around Giselle's waist, his head tilted toward hers with an expression of open, unguarded tenderness.

Audrey felt a cold weight settle behind her ribs.

Throughout their three-year relationship and subsequent engagement, Adrian had refused to take a single casual photograph with her. Whenever she tried to take a quick snapshot during their anniversaries, he would turn his head away, claiming he found cameras irritating and hated having his picture taken. The only photographic record of their relationship was the formal wedding portrait currently hanging on the wall of the master bedroom—a portrait where his jaw was set stiffly and his eyes looked dead.

He had never hated cameras. He had simply hated being photographed with her. In these three thousand photos, Adrian looked happier, lighter, and more alive than he had ever appeared in all the years Audrey had known him.

Audrey locked the screen, wiped the glass with the hem of her sleeve, and set the tablet back down in the exact spot she had found it.

She walked into her bedroom, packed her clothes, legal briefs, and personal toiletries into a single rolling suitcase, and walked back downstairs.

Martha was wiping down the console table in the entrance hall. She looked up and blinked at the suitcase in Audrey's hand. "Ma'am, you just got home. Are you heading out on another business trip already?"

Knowing Audrey was an active trial lawyer who traveled frequently for corporate litigation, Martha assumed this was just another routine case.

Audrey paused by the front door. "Yes. Take care of yourself, Martha."

She stepped out into the crisp afternoon air, shutting the door behind her without looking back.

***

Adrian did not return to Summit Garden until late the following afternoon.

He tossed his car keys onto the marble counter in the foyer, his brow furrowed in irritation. Over twenty-four hours had passed since the scene at the restaurant, and Audrey had not sent him a single text message or made a single call.

Usually, whenever they had a disagreement, she would send a message asking if he had eaten or reminding him to take his stomach medicine. Her silence this time was jarring.

Adrian looked around the empty living room. "Did Audrey come home yesterday?"

Martha stepped out from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a dry towel. "Sir, I believe Madam left for a business trip. She took her suitcase and didn't mention when she would be back."

Adrian let out a quiet, dismissive breath. A business trip? She was clearly hiding from him, using work as an excuse to avoid a confrontation after her childish performance yesterday.

He did not care. Women like Audrey always behaved this way when their pride was hurt. Once she spent a few days alone in a hotel room and realized how ridiculous she was being, she would calm down and return on her own. After all, the Hawthorne family was the most influential dynasty in the city. They were already formally engaged, their wedding photos were finished, and making the marriage official was merely a formality.

As for her dramatic claim about calling off the wedding, Adrian did not take it seriously for a second. No woman in her right mind would walk away from the position of Mrs. Hawthorne over a petty breakfast argument.

"Fine. Let me know when she contacts the house," Adrian said, turning toward the stairs.

The master bedroom on the second floor remained locked. They had agreed to leave it untouched until after the formal wedding ceremony. Because Adrian had been sleeping in the west wing guest suite while Audrey occupied the east wing, he walked right past the closed doors without noticing that the massive wedding portrait on the master bedroom wall had already been stripped bare.

The moment he sat down on the leather sofa in his suite, his smartphone vibrated violently on the cushion.

The caller ID displayed the name *Alistair Hawthorne*.

Adrian cleared his throat, collected his thoughts, and answered the call. "Grandpa."

"Adrian, did you and Audrey finalize your marriage license yesterday?" Alistair's voice came through the receiver, deep and demanding. "I have been watching the family group chat all morning, and you haven't posted the confirmation certificate yet."

Adrian rubbed the bridge of his nose, his voice smooth and untroubled. "Grandpa, an emergency came up at the firm yesterday afternoon, so we had to reschedule our appointment. I forgot to notify you with everything going on. We will handle the paperwork right after your birthday banquet."

"Make sure you get it done without delay," Alistair ordered sternly. "Do not keep me waiting. At my age, I don't need unnecessary stress."

The old man paused for a beat, his tone sharpening. "By the way, I received word that Giselle has returned to the country."

Adrian's hand tightened on the phone. Five years ago, Giselle had fled overseas in tears because Alistair had arranged a strategic marriage for her with a man she despised. Adrian had never learned what Giselle and his grandfather said to each other during their private confrontation in the study, but immediately after Alistair dropped the proposal, Giselle had boarded an international flight without telling anyone.

She had not even said goodbye to Adrian.

That year, Adrian's relationship with his grandfather had shattered into cold silence. The tension between them had only begun to thaw when Adrian finally agreed to settle down and proposed to Audrey.

"Yes. She arrived yesterday," Adrian answered evenly, keeping his tone flat and indifferent.

Adrian's casual response seemed to placate the old patriarch. Alistair's breathing leveled out over the line. "Good. I will have your father reach out to her. It is time she came home for dinner. But listen to me carefully, Adrian. It does not matter who returns or what past grievances exist. I expect you and Audrey to submit your marriage registration immediately after the party. Do you understand me?"

Adrian's gaze hardened. "Yes, Grandpa. I understand."

After the call ended, Adrian dropped the phone onto the glass table and exhaled a long breath.

Alistair's eightieth birthday banquet was scheduled for tomorrow evening. The entire elite circle of the city would be present, and Audrey's absence would spark immediate, destructive rumors.

Adrian picked up his phone, opened his chat with Audrey, and saw that the last communication was still his unread message from the morning before.

He tapped out a line: [Grandpa's birthday party is tomorrow evening. Have you returned from your trip yet?]

He waited. Ten minutes passed, then thirty, then a full hour.

Finally, a notification popped up on the screen.

Audrey: [?]

Adrian felt his temper flare at the sight of the single punctuation mark. He typed back with aggressive force: [Audrey, stop playing games. You know how important Grandpa's eightieth birthday is to the Hawthorne family. Do you really want to make a scene on his big day?]

Across town, Audrey stood in the bathroom of her private apartment, wrapping a clean towel around her damp hair. She glanced at the screen of her phone resting on the marble vanity. There was no anger left in her chest, only a quiet, clinical detachment.

She picked up the device and typed calmly: [We are broken up. I will not be attending your grandfather's birthday banquet tomorrow. Take whoever you want.]

Adrian's patience snapped instantly. His reply came through seconds later: [Are you still playing these push-pull games with me? Who agreed to break up? I am coming to pick you up at seven tomorrow evening. Audrey, Grandpa has always treated you like his own granddaughter. Do you really have the heart to humiliate him in front of the entire city on his birthday?]

The text was a blatant mixture of emotional manipulation and veiled threats.

Audrey stared at the screen and let out a soft, dry laugh. If Adrian wanted an actress to play the part of his dutiful fiancée to keep his family peace intact, he was going to have to pay commercial rates for her labor.

She tapped the keypad without hesitation: [I can accompany you to the banquet, but you need to wire my appearance fee right now.]

Beneath the message, she pasted her private bank routing number and account details, followed by a brief instruction: [Make sure you list it as a professional service fee in the memo.]

Sitting in his suite at Summit Garden, Adrian stared at the bank details in disbelief. His face darkened with disgust. He had no idea what kind of juvenile extortion stunt she was trying to pull, but with the banquet less than twenty-four hours away, he did not have the time or the energy to track her down and argue over petty pride.

He opened his banking application, entered her account details, and authorized a direct wire transfer of three hundred thousand dollars.

Seconds later, Audrey checked the record and sent her final text: [Thanks, boss!] She couldn't be bothered to type even one more word.