100 DAYS with Mr. Sebastian

hany

sound usually comforts me. But now, it makes the ache in my heart even worse. She doesn't know the half of

scroll, something catches my eye: "FAKE MARRIAGE, REQUIREMENTS: MUST BE A GOOD ACTOR." The words are ridiculo

onster. But the ad lingers in my mind longer than I'd like to admit. Fake ma

Elise's room. I open the door slowly, peeking in at her. She's snuggled under her blankets, her

protect her, that I'd keep her safe no matter what. But I can feel the pressure mounting. Am I doin

hilly air bites at my skin, but my mind is miles away, back in that endless loop of worry and fear. By the time I reach the café at 7:30, the weariness has

things couldn't get worse, they did. The café where I'd worked for years, t

y boss said without even looking me in the

king late shifts, cleaning tables long after the doors were locked. "Please, Mr. Daniels," I said, my voice catching

ds didn't even register. He just shook his

had gone mute, all the sounds of the city around me fading into nothing. I just stood there, staring at

searching for a new job. Those jobs I had i

begging for a chance to work. But it was always the same: a shake of the h

ants, even places I knew I was overqualif

myself sitting outside in the cold after another wasted

the usual garbage-until that same ad popped up again

t laugh. This time

and probably a scam but the promise of money was right there in bold letters. I

us. How desperate would I hav

ght of Don Mario's threats, the loo

itting on our kitchen counter, the rent

n. My fingers trembled as I typed. What am I doing? I hesitated for a l

eart dropped into my stomach

k screen, waiting for the guilt to hit me. But inste