Page 9 of Accept Me (Fate’s Choice #4)

After two days of this hell, I was projecting stuff on him, sensing what I wanted to sense, hoping for a good man to appear, like some white knight. Someone fair and open, willing to give me a chance.

An unfounded incident of wishful thinking?

Hunter Nolan lowered his head and spoke quietly, with an almost… soft tone.

"I’m so sorry. That’s… unimaginable for anyone, let alone a teenager. You have my deepest condolences." It sounded genuine, not just surface-level sympathy. This bizarre feeling coming from him was really palpable, and it had a tenderness to it.

Really? What was going on?

Why did I have those phantom reads of him?

"What happened after that?" he asked.

I fixed my gaze on the booth floor.

"I ran again. This time to the police. They showed up and found him crying over my dad’s body. That bastard told them I did it, out of jealousy. His brothers were cops, so was his father. So they believed him, or at least said they did."

Hunter Nolan shut his eyes. His face was still, but his energy told a different story. I just knew he wasn’t listening to this completely calm.

"That’s why I spent two years in juvenile detention for omegas."

"I understand," he said quietly.

"I managed to finish high school while in juvie. I wanted to go to college. The money I got upon release, along with what I’d earned working in the kitchen, was just barely enough to cover my first semester, or so I hoped.

But I knew it wouldn’t last long, and I needed a job.

I got hired as a kitchen assistant at a restaurant owned by a certain man. He took an interest in me."

Again, I had to pause briefly to clear my throat. Dylan looked so uncomfortable, as if he was forced to sit on a chair made of thorns painfully digging into his butt.

"We had a relationship. But his intentions weren’t what I thought.

I was inexperienced and very alone, with no family, no friends, and scared I wouldn’t be able to make ends meet.

He offered to support me financially. He basically covered all the expenses for my second semester.

At first, he didn’t ask for anything in return, but that changed soon after I told him about my past. Things started shifting, gradually.

He justified his behavior by telling me he had a specific kink…

sharing. He begged me to agree. I considered leaving him, but I knew my funds were not enough to cover the rest of the year.

The dorm fees were much higher than I’d expected.

I tried to find other restaurant jobs, but nothing worked out.

And I was making more there as the cook’s promoted assistant than I would have anywhere else.

I wanted to keep that job, so… I gave in. "

My voice grew quieter, more… robotic. I guess, as my strength was escaping me, it was the only way to keep going, to desensitize myself to my own story.

"After close to a month, I found out he was taking money from his friends who had sex with me. I was furious that he turned me into a sex worker without me even knowing it, and we fought. I tried to run away, but he… beat me. I didn’t give up, I kept fighting.

He was so desperate to keep me around that he eventually said we’d split the money.

And I was stupid enough, insecure enough, to agree.

At first, it was two clients a week. Three months into the semester, it became three.

By mid-second semester, it was four. I couldn’t take it anymore.

As soon as the school year ended, I finally had enough cash saved up and found a cheap room in a beta-only dorm. That’s when I ran."

Now was the time to pause. My back was so tense it was getting hard to sit up straight. I made an effort to steady my breathing, hoping it would help relax my muscles; it felt like my asthma was kicking in. Still, I pushed through.

And as incredible as it sounds, I managed to keep my face blank the entire time, like a mask, though underneath, I was a mess.

"In my second year, I started working at another restaurant as a kitchen assistant, but obviously, the pay wasn’t even close.

After a few months, I realized I wouldn’t be able to cover the next year’s tuition.

Then a friend told me about a strip club.

He made decent money there, no sex involved.

He kept pushing me, said I had the body for it, so I gave it a shot, hoping I could save up for two more years of school.

At first, it was fine. The pay was really good.

But pretty quickly, the atmosphere changed.

I caught the attention of numerous clients.

Some asked for time alone in the back room.

I refused, and that created tension between me and my boss.

He kept pressuring me more and more. I stayed long enough to gather the money, fourteen months, constantly clashing with him.

Finally, there was an unpleasant situation that just made me quit for good. "

My short breathing pause could have given him a chance to ask some additional questions, but he just listened, not interrupting.

"I was already two and a half years into my public health major by then. My luck had changed; I eventually managed to land a job in my field, at Malden Pharmaceuticals. I worked there through the second half of my sophomore year and all of my senior year. Part-time, in the evenings after class. I worked hard, and got a raise pretty quickly. I started saving up for another goal of mine: matchmaking agency services. Three months before graduation, I had enough money and signed up with Fate’s Choice. "

Until now, everything I’d said had been rather flat, emotionless. Beyond the tension in my voice, not much gave away my feelings. It was like I was telling someone else’s boring life story.

But now, my voice became saturated with bitterness.

"I waited for offers. Graduation came. Then three months passed, still nothing. So now I’m here.

One of the staff told me this fair is my last chance.

If I don’t get paired with anyone, they’ll refund me.

That’s the only reason I came, even though I made it clear in my application that I didn’t want to participate. "

That last part I just had to say out loud.

Let him know my frustration with this fucking agency that was supposed to help me, and instead I was here, after two humiliating days.

I didn’t care that a Fate’s Choice employee was sitting right next to me.

Dylan kept staring at his hands, looking anxious the whole time.

"You still work at Malden?" Mr. Nolan asked.

"Yeah, but I’m remote now, on the helpline. My supervisor trusts me, so I got a more independent position. I oversee ten AI agents. Basically, I’m the last stop. When clients aren’t satisfied with the answers the AIs give them, they get me."

Mr. Nolan stayed quiet for a moment, so did I. But he studied me carefully.

For some strange reason, I felt a little better now.

Like a weight had just been lifted off my shoulders.

I was simply grateful just for the chance to tell my story.

For the first time since this event began, someone was actually listening.

Even if Hunter Nolan ended up rejecting me, I’d still see it as more fair, because at least I got to say my part without being interrupted.

That was all I wanted from the fucking beginning: a genuine chance.

Now, I could just place my future in Fate’s hands.

Dylan broke the silence, turning his body slightly toward Mr. Nolan.

"Do you have any more questions for Star?" he asked quietly.

"No, that’s all."

Another tense pause settled over us.

Really? No more questions? So what now?

Dylan cleared his throat.

"Maybe… Star, do you have any questions for Mr. Nolan?" His voice was tight with uncertainty.

Unsure how to react, I blinked slowly, of course keeping my expression unchanged. "I’m not really in a position to be picky about offers from people interested in my contract."

My words seemed to seriously shock Hunter, and he suddenly straightened up as if hit in the back. Dylan was also visibly surprised, his mouth gaping.

Mr. Nolan fixed his eyes on me for a moment, and his brows furrowed.

And bam, again, I somehow knew … just knew it was upsetting to him to see me strip myself of the right to be treated like any other contractee.

He opened his mouth, as if to say something, but the employee beat him to it.

"You must be curious about something , Star," Dylan whispered, leaning forward a little, concern painted on his face.

But the words didn’t really register with me.

"I used to work in sex services. I’m not under any illusion about what that means for my chances at a place like this fair. It’d be pretty arrogant of me to sit here and start firing off questions."

Hunter let out a slow breath, still seemingly baffled by how I doubled down instead of backing off. One more time, he opened his mouth, but Dylan beat him to it again, which was kind of annoying! Let the guy talk, dude!

"I don’t see anything arrogant about it, Star.

It’s about safety, about making sure it’s the right match.

And everyone—whether they’ve worked in sex services or not—has the right to ask and know who they might be entering into a relationship with.

" His tone carried the weight of something rehearsed, probably something he was trained to say, but there was also a hint of frustration in his furrowed brow, like he was disappointed in my self-effacing attitude.

Maybe he was right, but he didn’t sit in the glass booth for two days, ignored. It could weigh on anybody’s self-esteem.

Still, for the sake of them both, I lowered my head, thinking about it. Finally, I took a cautious breath, bracing myself. My hands clenched tight, lungs beginning to act up again.

What if I scared him away with some weird phrasing of what I wanted to ask?