Million dollar girlfriend

One word to describe being Niall Horan's Girlfriend. Complicated. And it's not for all the obvious reasons you might think. I can handle the hate. I can handle the fans and I can handle having no privacy too. What's complicated is that he doesn't know the truth. One Direction's management hired me. I was hired to be Niall Horan's fake girlfriend. Right now you probably think I'm a real bitch. But you haven't heard the full story. My name is Casey Evans. I was homeless. I might as well tell you out straight. I lived on the streets. I didn't have a penny to my name and had to spend the cold nights on a wet, dirty pavement. That's why when I was asked to do it I accepted straight away. They took me off the streets, gave me a home and gave me a totally different look. Then for the best part. I was going to be payed. Payed a lot. They were going to pay me a million pounds and all I had to do was pretend to fall for a guy. A famous guy. A month was all I had to last. In the end things didn't turn out so simple...

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1. Prologue

My Mum died when I was 8. My father drowned everything out, one beer at a time. He had never really been aggressive or abusive physically, though he was verbally.

Until tonight.

It had been 10 years. 10 years today my beautiful mother left us behind. I walked downstairs to go and get some water. My father was lying on the table, surrounded by about 15-20 drinks. I shrugged it off considering that this wasn't a new sight. I poured the water from the cold jug. Taking a sip, I turned around hearing glass shatter.

"hey dad" I said gloomily.

He stumbled over to me slowly.

"Maybe you should sit down?" I suggested.

"Maybe you should shut the fuck up" he spat.

I nodded my head and stood there awkwardly.

"Umm. How much have you had to drink?" I asked.

He shrugged. "Perhaps a few"

"Maybe you should just have some water instead?" I spoke, cautiously attempting to take the bottle away.

He grabbed me by the hair and threw me across the room. I slid down the wall and hid in the corner. He creeped over to me one step at a time. My breathing got heavier and I began having a panicky attack. He picked up the bottle that he had broken previously and stood in front of me. I've never seen him this way. His face full of rage and evilness. He beat me with the bottle, leaving deep gashes on my face. He sat down in front of the television and soon passed out again. I ran up to my room and packed a bag full of clothes, food and other essentials. I quickly, but quietly, ran downstairs and out the door.

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