The Disguised Girl: Captivating The Billionaire King

The sharp blades of the scissors bit into the thick black hair. Dasia stood in front of the cracked bathroom mirror in the rundown Queens apartment. She didn't blink. The metal snipped again, and a heavy lock of hair that used to reach her waist hit the stained floor tiles with a soft thud. It was a brutal, uneven hack job. She picked up a razor from the edge of the sink and ruthlessly dragged it through the jagged ends, texturizing the choppy mess into a rough, wild style that screamed rebellion. Her jawline, usually softened by the dark waves, now looked sharp and unforgiving under the flickering fluorescent light. She dropped the scissors into the sink. Her fingers grabbed the roll of medical bandages. She wrapped the coarse fabric around her chest. She pulled it tight. Too tight. Her ribs screamed in protest, and her lungs struggled to expand against the crushing pressure. She ignored the burning in her chest and pinned the bandage in place. She pulled a massive black hoodie over her head. She yanked the hood up, casting a dark shadow over the upper half of her face. The girl in the mirror was gone. A violent pounding rattled the thin wooden door of the apartment. "Gerald! Get your ass out here!" Felix Adler's voice bled through the cheap wood, thick with panic and irritation. "We are going to miss the train to Penn Station!" Dasia grabbed the door handle and yanked it open. The hinges shrieked. Felix stood in the hallway, his fist raised for another knock. He took one look at her and stumbled backward. His eyes widened, scanning her flat chest, the brutal haircut, and the dead, cold look in her eyes. He sucked in a sharp breath. The air hissed through his teeth. "What the hell did you do to yourself?" Felix demanded. His shock quickly morphed into a sneer. "Listen to me. You think changing your look is going to make people forget? You're still the trash who ruined his team." Dasia's expression didn't shift. Her heart beat a slow, steady rhythm against the tight bandages. She didn't waste a single word on the low-level assistant. She grabbed the worn canvas bag holding her custom keyboard, slung it over her shoulder, and walked forward. Her shoulder slammed directly into Felix's chest. Felix gasped, clutching his collarbone as she shoved past him without breaking her stride. He stared at her back for a second before scrambling down the narrow stairs after her, cursing under his breath. The cab ride to Manhattan was suffocating. Dasia sat in the back seat. She pulled a black surgical mask over her mouth and nose. She leaned her head against the cold glass of the window and closed her eyes. The heater blew dry air against her face, but her fingers inside the hoodie pockets were ice cold. The taxi slammed on its brakes outside Penn Station. Dasia pushed the door open before the car fully stopped. The biting November wind whipped against her jeans. She shoved her hands deeper into her pockets and walked toward the entrance. Felix paid the driver and jogged to catch up. He kept looking over his shoulder, his eyes darting around the crowd. He was sweating despite the cold, terrified that a reporter would spot the disgraced e-sports player he was forced to babysit. They stepped into the massive, echoing main hall of Penn Station. A giant digital billboard hung from the ceiling. It was playing a loop of a cologne commercial. The face on the screen belonged to Carlton Gordon. The captain of Blackflame. King. Felix noticed where she was looking. He let out a harsh laugh. "Don't even think about it," Felix spat. "Don't try to pull a stunt and bump into him for clout. He would crush you." Dasia turned her head slowly. She locked eyes with Felix. The absolute, freezing contempt in her dark eyes made Felix's stomach drop. The rest of his insult died in his throat. A sudden, deafening scream erupted from the left. A mob of middle school girls holding neon signs rushed forward. The wave of bodies slammed into Dasia and Felix, tearing them apart. Dasia gritted her teeth. The crowd shoved her forward. She curled her arms inward, protecting the keyboard bag against her ribs. A girl behind her shoved hard against her spine to get a better view. Dasia's boots hit a patch of freshly mopped tile. The rubber squeaked. Her center of gravity vanished. She pitched forward, falling straight toward a small clearing cordoned off by massive men in black suits. Instinct took over. She threw her hand out to catch herself. Her fingers clamped down hard on thick, expensive fabric. The sharp, freezing scent of cedar and mint flooded her senses, cutting through the smell of sweat and train exhaust. Her forehead crashed into a wall of solid muscle. The impact sent a dull ache through her skull. The body beneath her hands went completely rigid. A wave of pure, suffocating hostility rolled off the man she had just hit. Dasia pushed off the hard chest and snapped her head up. She found herself staring into a pair of deep, ocean-blue eyes. They were filled with absolute, unfiltered disgust. Carlton Gordon looked down at the boy in the cheap hoodie. His eyebrows pulled together in a tight, furious line. Felix broke through the crowd just in time to see Dasia's hand on Carlton's custom trench coat. Felix's knees buckled. Carlton lifted his long fingers. He flicked the spot on his lapel where Dasia had touched him, as if brushing off a cockroach. He let out a low, mocking scoff that vibrated in the quiet space between them. The fans behind the security line shrieked in outrage, screaming at the boy in the hoodie for touching their idol. Dasia didn't flinch. Her heart rate didn't spike. She looked down at her own sleeve and calmly brushed off invisible dust. Then she tilted her head up. Above the black mask, her dark eyes met Carlton's. She looked at him the way a person looks at a piece of garbage rotting on the sidewalk.