The Whole Package (Hearts to Buy #1)

Lily

I never imagined my life would derail this spectacularly. University was supposed to be my launchpad—a communications degree, then law school, all neatly planned out like stepping stones to a future I could almost touch. But life’s got a sick sense of humor, and mine decided to knock me off track with brutal precision. In the chaos of my parents' divorce during my final year of high school, everything I knew crumbled. The move to that cramped, suffocating house with my mom felt like the final nail in the coffin of my old life. Endless fights and fractured silences turned our home into a warzone. My grades, once my ticket to a brighter future, started slipping, and with them went my scholarship dreams, sinking like stones in a sea of disappointments.

It was like watching a house of cards collapse in slow motion, each card a shattered piece of what could have been. Now, I’m so far off course that I can’t even see the map anymore. I’m adrift, stuck in a world I never pictured for myself, stumbling through the wreckage of what could have been. It's a daily reminder of how quickly dreams can unravel, leaving you to pick up the pieces in the most unexpected places.

Then came the cancer—a beast that sank its teeth into my dad and wouldn’t let go. It drained him, bled him dry, and every day felt like another battle we were losing. Treatments dangled out of reach, taunting us with promises we couldn’t afford. And my mother? She might as well have been a ghost for all the help she offered. So, there I was, watching my friends head off to university, their futures bright and unburdened, while I stayed behind, buried under the weight of bills and responsibilities.

I scrubbed toilets, cleaned the houses of the wealthy, and did whatever it took to keep us afloat. But it was like bailing out a sinking ship with a teacup. The money was never enough. Doctor's appointments and treatments for my dad—piled up, relentless, and unforgiving. Debt clung to me like a persistent shadow, and my dreams slipped further away with each passing day.

Fate introduced me to Ava on a slow afternoon in a nondescript coffee shop, where I was busy wiping tables and serving broken dreams in ceramic cups. She spotted me, and I swear, her gaze cut through the steam and chatter like she’d already decided something about me. Ava was sharp, polished, and the scent of something far more dangerous than espresso clung to her. Her question was simple, almost cliché in a city like Los Angeles. "Ever thought about acting?" she asked. In L.A., who hasn't? But Ava's offer was draped in shadows, too tempting and yet tinged with the scent of something forbidden. It's only been a month since that encounter, a month of wrestling with the reality of my situation, of facing the relentless tide of bills and responsibilities.

“You’ll be fine,” Ava says, her tone laced with the kind of certainty I wish I felt. She leans in, adjusting my lipstick, her touch firm and practiced. I glance at my reflection, a stranger staring back, with smoky eyes and crimson lips. Ava’s made me look fierce, but inside I feel paper-thin, like one wrong move could tear me apart.

I study my reflection, the unfamiliar woman staring back at me with loose waves of blonde hair cascading over her shoulders. The dress Ava selected hugs my body a little too snugly for comfort; it's baby blue fabric, both elegant and confining. I'm not fond of how it accentuates my cleavage, leaving me feeling exposed. Still, Ava's touch is confident, almost motherly, as she clasps a string of pearls around my neck. "It's the epitome of class," she says, and I can't help but wonder if the pearls are meant to elevate the dress or serve as a lifeline in a sea of uncertainty.

My confusion must be written all over my face. "But why the dinner first? I thought we just—" Ava's perfectly manicured finger rises, cutting me off mid-sentence as she expertly tucks a stray strand of hair behind my ear.

Her voice is firm, leaving no room for misinterpretation. "We're not just fuck dolls," she states bluntly, and the raw honesty in her words sends a flush creeping up my cheeks. "They pay for the whole package — for us to look good, to make them look good, and to make them feel even better. If your client wants dinner and a show, then that's what you'll give him. You're the main event and the dessert. Got it?" Her gaze is piercing, demanding an understanding that I'm only just beginning to grasp. I nod, swallowing hard. Ava's not the type to repeat herself, and I'm quickly learning that every word, every nuance in this new world of mine, counts.

My words trip over themselves, a tangle of uncertainty. "What if...um, how much..." I stutter, struggling to give voice to the knot of questions in my head.

I can practically feel Ava’s impatience as she exhales sharply. "Spit it out, ."

The word finally tumbles out, raw and exposed. "Experience," I say, my voice barely above a whisper, my lip caught nervously between my teeth. "Do the clients expect someone with a lot of experience?" My eyes lift to meet hers, feeling fear and naivety.

There's a flicker of surprise in Ava's gaze, quickly masked, but not before I catch a glimpse of something softer, something almost empathetic.

"Are you a virgin?” Ava’s question lands like a slap, stinging my pride and forcing my gaze to the floor. My cheeks burn with embarrassment. I’ve spent years hiding, and now here I am, exposed in the most humiliating way possible. Ava doesn’t flinch, her eyes cold and calculating. She’s testing me, and I’m failing. "How old are you, really?" Her voice is sharper now, her gaze slicing through me as though she's already piecing together the truth.

"Twenty! I swear!" The words tumble out in a rush, a desperate bid for credibility.

Ava releases me, stepping back with a sigh. "You said twenty-five when we first met," she points out, a hint of accusation threading through her tone. I had, and it wasn't something I had forgotten, but the lie feels heavier now under her penetrating gaze.

"I know; I'm sorry," I rush out, my voice trembling with desperation. "I just really need the money. My dad needs surgery, and his insurance won't cover it all. We have to pay upfront..." My words falter as Ava raises her finger again, silencing me, her grip finally loosening.

"Okay," she says, her voice measured, but her mind is clearly racing as she paces the room. I can almost hear the cogs turning, calculating the risks and possibilities.

But I can't let her doubts become my downfall. "I’m not backing down.” The words surprise even me, coming out stronger than I feel. There’s no room for hesitation now, this is my one shot, my only chance to crawl out of the pit I’ve been stuck in. If I have to sell a piece of myself to save the rest, then so be it. I can’t afford to let fear stop me anymore

"This is not how you lose your virginity," Ava asserts, her tone laced with a firmness that brooks no argument. "Our clients expect professionals, not..." Her voice trails off, but the implication hangs heavily in the air; despite her words, her eyes have a softness. Taking a deep breath, I voice the thought, crude but undeniably real. "Bet they'd pay a lot for a first-timer," I say, meeting her gaze squarely.

She dismisses it with a wave of her hand. "You're not that desperate," she says, more a statement than a question.

But her assumption falls flat. "I am," I shoot back, my voice urgently sharp. "You don't understand. I have to do this."

Ava's expression hardens, a warning clear in her eyes. "Once a client pays, there's no backing out. It's not just about you. If we fail to deliver, we lose credibility. Our reputation is everything in this business. Clients leave, and the whole house of cards comes tumbling down."

"My virginity?" I scoff, a bitter laugh escaping me. "It's not some treasured prize, Ava. It's just a part of me I've never had the chance to give away. There's no deep meaning, no one I've been holding out for. My life's been nothing but a relentless grind, trying to save my dad from the inevitable. What kind of daughter would I be if I didn't try?" The words tumble out, raw and unfiltered, revealing a vulnerability I rarely allow myself to acknowledge. I glance down, surprised to find my hands trembling, clenched into fists at my sides. I swallow hard, fighting back the tears that threaten to breach my defenses. I can't cry now. I think, a flash of practicality in the storm of emotion. This mascara will run.

Ava responds with a pragmatism that seems almost surreal against the backdrop of my confession. "Let me make some calls," she says, her tone even, businesslike, as if my soul-baring moment was just another transaction. Who is she planning to call? The thought sends a shiver down my spine.

"We'll aim for the highest bidder," she continues, and I can barely process the words. It's really happening. "I'll screen him myself, ensure he treats you right. Everyone deserves that much, at least for their first time." Her words carry an unspoken weight, a hint of something personal, something painful. But I don't probe; I'm too caught up in the whirlwind of what's unfolding.

"Go change," she instructs, returning me to the present. "I'll find someone else for tonight." Relief washes over me, mingled with a thousand other unnamable emotions. Ava's giving me a chance, an opportunity no one has cared enough to throw my way, and right now, that's all I can ask for.