Running From The Amnesiac Billionaire Tyrant

The morning sun sliced through the gaps in the cheap blinds, stabbing directly into Aliya's eyes. She jolted awake.

She instinctively reached out to the space beside her. The sheets were completely cold. Cyrus was long gone.

Aliya rubbed her messy hair and walked out of the bedroom. The cramped living room was empty.

On the small dining table sat an upside-down plate. She walked over and lifted it. Underneath was a slightly burnt piece of toast and a fried egg.

Next to the plate was a sticky note. The handwriting was sharp and aggressive.

Taking the early delivery shift. Back tonight. - C.

Staring at the pathetic but deliberate breakfast, a heavy knot formed in Aliya's stomach. She was a fraud, currently enjoying the care of her victim.

She took a bite of the toast, forcing herself to swallow the guilt-laden food. Then, she walked back to the bedroom to change.

She crouched down by the bed, reaching under the frame to grab her slippers. Her fingertips brushed against a cold, cardboard box.

Aliya frowned and pulled the box out. When she read the label, she sucked in a sharp breath of cold air.

It was a large box of Trojan condoms. The plastic wrap was broken. Several packets were missing.

Cyrus's words from last night echoed in her skull: We always use protection.

Her face flushed a violent shade of red, while a cold sweat broke out across her back. If she had reacted a second slower last night, or if she hadn't pulled that excuse out of thin air, she would have crossed an irreversible physical line with a future tyrant.

The box was a blaring siren. It completely shattered any delusion she had of just quietly surviving in this apartment.

She shoved the box back into the deepest, darkest corner under the bed as if it were on fire. She dusted off her hands, her eyes hardening with absolute resolve.

Run. She had to save money and run immediately. She had to vanish before Cyrus's memory returned.

Aliya rushed to the living room and booted up the original owner's sluggish laptop.

She connected to the spotty Wi-Fi and opened Indeed and LinkedIn.

She scrolled through the standard clerical jobs. A $15-an-hour wage would never cover the massive cost of a fake passport or an international visa flight.

Her eyes finally locked onto a specific listing: Real Estate Sales Trainee.

The ad was blunt: Minimum base pay, but uncapped commission. Selling just one apartment in Manhattan would yield enough commission to buy a one-way ticket to Europe tomorrow.

In her past life, Aliya wasn't a top saleswoman, but she had sharp social instincts and knew how to read a room. It was the only skill she could monetize instantly.

She opened a Word document and began aggressively editing the original owner's disastrous resume.

She deleted the obvious, exaggerated lies about community college stints and high-end retail management. Instead, she used plain, sincere language to highlight her willingness to hustle, her desperation to learn, and a basic but solid grasp of communication. It wasn't a masterpiece, but it was honest enough to maybe get her a foot in the door.

Three hours later, her fingers cramped as she finally clicked "Send," firing the resume off to five different brokerages in Manhattan and Brooklyn.

Aliya let out a long exhale. She finally felt like she had placed an active piece on this deadly chessboard.

She spent the entire afternoon anxiously refreshing her email and staring at the screen. Two automated rejection emails hit her inbox, making her stomach twist into tighter knots. Just as the sun began to dip below the skyline and she felt the crushing weight of hopelessness settling in, the phone on the table vibrated violently. A local, unsaved number flashed on the screen.

Aliya picked it up, her palms sweating. A crisp, professional female voice came through the speaker, inviting her for an interview in Midtown Manhattan tomorrow afternoon.

A massive wave of adrenaline hit Aliya. She agreed profusely. When she hung up, she actually jumped up and down in the tiny living room.

But the adrenaline quickly crashed, replaced by a new, terrifying problem. How the hell was she going to explain getting a job to Cyrus? If she suddenly became ambitious, wouldn't his paranoia skyrocket?