Forever with the Billionaire

Hillary POV

“I am sorry, Hills, but you can’t bury your father unless you pay off your debts.” That was what John told me yesterday when I demanded my father’s body.

It’s been a whole day since my father died, and when I tried to request his body so I could bury him. The hospital refused because I owed them. It’s not like I wasn’t going to pay, but I hoped they could let me take my father and bury him so he could rest in peace.

I have been on my couch ever since, thinking of how I could make money and bury my father, but every time I spent alone was agonizing as I cried every time I remembered my father.

Was that how people die? They die and cease to exist. Memories of them would be stuck in your head forever.

While thinking of how to make money, I got a call from an unknown number, and when I picked it up, it changed everything. “Hello.”

“Is this Hillary Williams?” The person on the call asked if

I would maintain silence as I wasn’t sure who was calling. It could be a fraudster or the loan sharks I owe. “Am I talking to someone?” The person questioned,

“Who is asking?” I finally said something.

“This is Rotimi,” the person on the call introduced, but I didn’t know any Rotimi, so I waited for what he had to say next. “You may not recognize me.” I do not recognize him. “I am calling to offer you a contract with my boss.”

I hung up and inhaled and exhaled as I was too scared to say anything. What contract was he talking about? I wasn’t popular enough to get a contract except…

The phone rang again, and I waited five seconds before picking up the call. “Hello.”

“Why did you hang up?” The person shouted, and when I tried to answer him, he said something else. “I am not a faker, alright. How do I know you are a physiotherapist? ” How does he know? I never gave anyone my card except the suicidal man I saved from the roof.

Right, the man I saved. I had forgotten about him. I wondered how he was doing, but that was not my problem, as I was still trying to figure out who the caller was. “You say your name is Rotimi, and you have a job for me? How do I know you are real?”Contentt bel0ngs to N0ve/lDrâ/ma.O(r)g!

“I’m sure you can’t find that out on the phone.” Note the sarcasm. He was trying to pull off a joke, which he failed at. “Meet me at the address I will send you in four days. Until then, ” he hung up before I could even reply. The guy was too rude for me to handle.

My phone beeped, and I read out the message sent by the unknown man.

“Whitemore Mansion!” My eyes almost popped out of my sockets when I read the address. Everyone in the whole of Mecianda knows about the Whitemore family, especially the CEO, who was responsible for designing the beautiful buildings in Mecianda and worldwide. There was no other person in the country who shared a surname with the Whitemores. I was invited by the Whitemore’s, which means that the person I saved from falling to his death was a member of the Whitemore’s family.

“Yay!” I screamed and jumped on the couch. My long braided hair hit my face as I jumped on the couch. I had finally got someone who was going to help me clear my debt and bury my father.

Please wait for a second. I stopped jumping and came down from the couch. I sat down and thought of what would happen if I got rejected or they hated me. I was freaking out about someone I hadn’t even met.

“Breath, Hillary,” I said, inhaling and exhaling. “That’s it.” I stood up from the couch and ran out of my house, not bothering to lock the door.

I don’t have any valuable things in the house anyway, except the trophy I got when I was in middle school and the only picture I had of my friend who died in an accident fourteen years ago.

I ran to the bus station and took a ride to the hospital. When the receptionist saw me, she gave me a weird look, probably because she recognized me and knew how much money I owed the company. “You again? You are here to pay for your father’s funeral?” She asked.

“No, I came for something else,” I explained, and she nodded, not bothering to raise her head from the computer she was staring at.

“I need to see Mr. Whitemore.” Yes, I ran out of my house and took the bus to the hospital. I needed to speak to Mr. Whitemore before I met him in his mansion.

“Whitemore?” That caught her attention as she raised her head from the computer and glared at me.

I know. Every girl crushes on Mr. Whitemore, but I’m not every girl. The guy was married to a blonde woman I had no idea of but always saw in the news how generous she was. I am not usually the one that handles it, anyway. “Why are you here to see him? Are you even related to him? Do you know who he is? ” Her series of questions rang in my ears, and I had to cover my ears to block out the noise.

“I have to see him.” It’s important.

The redheaded receptionist eyed me and then looked at her computer. “Mr. Whitemore has been discharged this morning.” She asked,

“What?” But I just saved him yesterday, I thought.  “How and when?”

“Don’t ask me questions, young lady. Look for a way to settle your father’s bills and get him out of here. ” Right, she had to remind me of my dead father.

“Thank you,” I sniffled and walked out of the hospital, not without a lone tear escaping my eyes. I wanted to bury my father so badly that I’d do anything for him. I’d wait five days if I had to, but I’d do it if it would help me bury my father. I have to find a way to talk to my landlady, who has given me a deadline.

Four days later,

“Get out of my house, you stupid girl.” I did not find a way to talk to my landlady. On the morning of the deadline, she brought three hefty men into the house and threw all my stuff out.

” I just lost my father, Mrs. Peters. I’ll pay up. I promise. ”

“And I just lost my mother,” Mrs. Peters replied sarcastically, even though her mother was still alive the last time I checked. She was old at eighty-nine but still alive.

“I am telling the truth, Mrs. Peters. You can’t just throw me out!” I tried to object, but Mrs. Peters made the three prominent men stand in front of my door. There was no change in her mind as she was determined. “Please!” I rushed to her to beg for two more days. By then, I would have signed the contract and requested pay. “Two more days!” I prayed, but Mrs. Peters pushed me away and stood behind the hefty men who could crush me with the tip of their fingers.

“What about my couch and my kitchen appliances?” Those were the only properties I had that were worth a few dollars.

“I am keeping them as collateral. If you don’t pay your rent in two days, I’ll sell your couch and the rest of your properties. ” Mrs. Peters made a threat.

“I’ll be back,” I took my luggage and a few things she threw on the ground, like my best friend’s portrait and my family portraits from when my mother was still alive. I picked them up, happy they were not broken and put them inside my luggage.

I guessed I had no choice but to leave and go where?

Well, I went to my office, but when I got there, I had another surprise. My office was locked, and I found a letter at the entrance. It was from the owner of the building.

“You are five months late on your rent, so until you pay up, I am locking this place up.” I groaned in frustration when I saw the heavy padlock on the door. The only place I thought I could run to was also locked. Why was I so unlucky? I had no friends I could go to. Not even one place. I was alone in the world.

I sat at the entrance of my office and buried my head in my hand. The warm tears streamed down my face as I couldn’t hold it any longer. I lost my father and got sent out of my home and office. Why was God punishing me like this? I sobbed silently with my head buried in my hand.

I didn’t know how long I had been crying, but the ringing of my phone made me wipe the tears off my face and answer the phone. My voice croaked, like how a frog would sound.

“This is Rotimi, and I’m reminding you of the contract.”

My face brightened when I remembered I had an appointment with Dr. Whitemore. It was my breakthrough. “I am on my way, sir,” I told him and hung up on the phone. “Yes!” I wiped my eyes again and stood up off the ground.

I dragged my luggage behind me and walked into the street. The first taxi I saw had passengers, so I had to wait for five minutes before another taxi passed. Please don’t blame the drivers. Blame me for getting an office in an isolated area because of the pay. “Where to miss?” A taxi finally arrived.

“Whitemore Mansion.”

“That would be ten dollars.”

Ten dollars for just a car ride? I didn’t say anything and just entered the taxi.

The driver drove out of the isolated area, and we soon entered the most significant part of the city, where the rich live. The area was filled with skyscrapers and fancy billboards with different celebrities on each one we passed. The driver drove out of the main road and arrived at the front of a gigantic black gate. “We are here, miss.”

“This is the Whitemore mansion?” I questioned

“Yes,” “Here it is,” the driver said, pointing to the name engraved on the massive gate.

“The Whitemore Mansion.”

“Beautiful. Last I heard, the owner doesn’t stay in the house. They say it belongs to a ghost. ” The driver whispered in low tones, which I found creepy.

It sent shivers down my spine, making me wonder if I would see a ghost.

I gave him the fare for riding in his car and got out of the vehicle.

“Be careful. The ghost story could be true! ” The driver shouted and drove away, shaking me from my head down to my toes.

I heaved a deep sigh and walked to the front of the gate. I couldn’t see anyone guarding the entrance. I was met with pure silence. I took my phone from my pocket and tried calling Rotimi, but before I could, the gate opened for me to enter.

Could a ghost indeed be in the house? I guessed I would have to find out. I walked into the gate and marveled at the large building in front of me. It was a three-story mansion that was beautifully designed. There were beautiful trees planted around the mansion and a large field of grass. I noticed corridors on each floor and an elevator at the center of the building.

What is an elevator doing in a three-story building? Rich people do know how to waste money. There was no one around, as it seemed empty, but as I got to the front door entrance, the door creaked open, making my heart jump for a sec.

What if the driver was telling the truth about the ghost story? What if they truly exist?

“Welcome, Miss Hillary.” A sturdy black man wearing an all-white outfit appeared in front of me.

The ghost is real. My luggage and My jaw dropped as I placed my hands on both my cheeks and let out a scream. There was a ghost in the Whitemore Mansion.