Contracted to the Billionaire

Episode 1

“You’re on your way to getting fired, Seraphine.”

My heart thumped loud and fast as Ace, the manager of the restaurant I worked at, walked up to me with a rough paper in his hand, telling me that I would soon get fired.

I couldn’t afford to get fired. Not now, not ever.

“Did I do something wrong?” I enquired, taking deep breaths and trying not to panic at the possibility that I could be fired right here and now.

“I’ve been looking at your records for the past two weeks. You have been out of focus, doing absolutely everything wrong. Just this week alone, you’ve taken foods to the wrong tables, and it’s only Tuesday.” He handed me the paper he held, and it had the amount of money I was to pay for the plates broken by me.

“I’m so sorry for this, you can take it out of my salary. I just—”

“It’s not about the money you’re being paid, Seraphine. You’re like a walking time bomb, just waiting to detonate. If one more customer complains about your service, I will not hesitate to fire you. Do you understand what I’m saying?” He nodded his head, prompting me to follow suit and assure him that I understood.

“Yes, Ace. I understand what you’re saying. Again, I’m sorry.”

“Keep your head in the game,” he muttered, walking back to his office.

Being a waitress at the fine dining restaurant just three streets away from my apartment was the only thing I could afford to hold on to. I had to support my mother in paying back the loan she had taken from a bank affiliate to treat the cancer I had for five years when I was twelve.

Millions of dollars still had to be paid, and my job – along with my mother’s – didn’t pay enough to sort it out in a year, so I would have to work tirelessly for a long time.

Business was slow that Tuesday, but I was thankful for it. I could not afford messing up an order one more time, and my head was still stuck in ideas for jobs that paid higher.

By the time I was done with my shift and made it home, I found my mother setting the dining table in the kitchen.

“You’re back. I expected you to take thirty more minutes to close up at least,” she said with a smile.

“It was a slow day. I got us steak, medium rare.” I smiled, opening the bag and setting the food down.

“You really don’t have to spend your money on all this stuff.” Mom shook her head. “We can’t afford to live like this.”

“Relax, Mom. I got it from work. They didn’t charge me much.”

My mother was one of the best people I could ask for. My father ran away when I was struggling with cancer, claiming that he was not my father.

I remembered overhearing their heated argument.

“What, you want me to believe that the child in there is mine? She’s a complete failure. She has cancer, and it’s hogging all of our money!” he had complained, even when he didn’t have a job or any money. The loan my mother had taken was what had been keeping me alive the whole time.

Somehow, his words stuck with me up to date. I was not always a negative person, but I would more often than not replay his words in my head whenever something went wrong. Maybe he was right, and I was a failure. I had put my mother in the condition that she was in anyway.

“Seraphine?” I flinched as my mother snapped her fingers in front of my face. “What are you thinking about? Let’s eat while everything’s still warm.”

She had baked biscuits from scratch – her favorite thing to do.

“So, I’ve managed to pay up to five hundred thousand dollars out of the debt,” she announced.

“Oh, that’s perfect. How much do we have left to pay off?” I questioned, my eyes bright.

“About two and a half million.”

Just as she said it, my heart dropped. Two and a half million was still a long way to go. It had taken her a full year to pay five hundred thousand dollars, how much longer would it take?

“I’ve been thinking of getting another job. I barely do anything in the mornings, so—”

“No.” Mom shook her head in disagreement. “You’re not going to do that, Seraphine. You’re my daughter. I really appreciate everything you have been doing so far, but getting two jobs and burning yourself out is where I draw the line. You’re already doing enough. Let me pay off the debt for the loan that I took.”

“You’re forgetting that you took the loan because somebody had cancer.” I pointed to myself, raising my brows at her with a smile.

My mom took my hand and blinked at me in assurance.

“Don’t take up another job. I was thinking of taking another anyway.” She shrugged.

“What? No! You can’t do that. You already got two jobs occupying your day. When will you have the time to…” I trailed off as she raised her eyebrow, prompting me to think about it.

She couldn’t possibly be thinking of having late night shifts.

“Seraphine,” she called, knowing fully well that I was going to argue with her about her choice.

“You can’t do that. You’re really going to lose your sleep for a third shift? At this rate, you could die before you get to pay the rest of your debt off,” I snapped.

“It’s fine. I can handle it,” she assured.

“No, you can’t. You know what? Let me get another job for my mornings. Then, we can both have double shifts and have the night to ourselves. It’s not fair that you have to work three shifts. It doesn’t make any sense to me. I can’t let you do it.”

My mom barely argued. She only looked down at the table as tears flooded her eyes. She finally nodded, clearing her throat.

“Fine. You can take a job. Just don’t overwork yourself. It’s just… I don’t know if things would have been easier if your father were here.” She sniffled, wiping her tears.

“Trust me, they wouldn’t. He didn’t have a job. Any money that found it’s way into his hands, he always found a way to lose it to gambling and alcohol. If anything, things would be worse with him here.”

“You’re only twenty, Seraphine. You don’t deserve this.” She started to cry again, but I caught her tears before they could fall.

Before I could give her words of assurance, a knock on the door distracted us.

“It’s late, who could it possibly be?” I questioned, standing up and walking towards the door with my mother walking closely behind me.

I opened the door, only to be met with a group of men who didn’t look like they had come to have a casual discussion with us. They all filed into our apartment, ignoring my mother’s questions on who they were and what they were doing there.

“Who are you? What are you looking for? You can’t just step into the house like that! I’ll call the police.”

One of them, who appeared to be the leader, sat on a single-sitter couch and lit a cigarette as he stared at me and my mother.

“

Where is the money your father is owing us?”