Marry or Kill

01

M I N A

The cream-yellow lighting gently strokes my eyelids, its soft glow emanating from the singular light suspended above us. I track the hairs rising on my skin in the cold room, where the dark corners have been robbed of their warmth

My cheek gradually lifts from its prolonged contact with the cold, unyielding surface of the metal table. I move my mouth, move my toes, as I repeatedly blink, trying to veer away the blur from my eyes.

I trace my blurred eyes over my arms, where the amber lighting of the bulb casts a subtle glow on my skin. The light traces across my skin, creating a path to the unforgiving embrace of the shackles that encircle my wrist.

I smell tangy metal.

Momentarily disoriented, I find myself staring at the intricate patterns imprinted on my skin of hand marks. My breath hitches at the crimson undertones of my wrists. My dark hair sprawls on my face, tangled together in tiny strands as I look up.

I feel beads of sweat clinging to my hairline.

I swear the light quivers above us as I meet my father's unyielding gaze in front of me. I know age is withering him away, especially when he has that grim look on his face. I think that look is mostly when his eyes are on me—I think I remind him of my mother.

Hands grip my shoulders, and my back straightens on my seat. One of my father's guards. My back emits a series of clicks, some satisfying, some painful, from how long I've been lying unconscious on this table, my cheek plastered on the metal.

The shackles crackle through the air-tight room.

As if I should be giving formalities to my father who assigned someone to knock me out.

My father's voice slices through the disorienting fog that clouds my thoughts, his words landing with a weight that leaves me reeling. "I am well aware that the prospect of assuming leadership in The East is not a role you willingly embrace," he says, "but today, Mina, you find yourself with no choice in what I propose."

My mind races to grasp the implications of his statement. What is he talking about? What does he expect of me now?

"Then it's hardly a proposition, is it?" I retort, my voice dripping with contempt. I meet his gaze head-on, locking eyes with him in a silent battle. His emerald eyes, so like my own, betray nothing of his intentions.

A grimace twists my features as I take in the extreme measures he's resorted to in order to ensure my compliance. Shackled to a damned table, like some criminal. Is he truly so desperate, so devoid of sanity, that he would resort to such measures to control me?

Since the moment I turned down the role of leadership in The East after him, he's had it out for me. Then came the death of my mother and. I can only see the disdain in his eyes whenever he looks at me, a silent accusation that I can never seem to escape.

"You'll find that it is a proposition," my father snaps as he locks his hands together in front of him. The distasteful line on his face speaks volumes. "Very soon, Elias Romes will finalise a business deal, giving a percentage of this business to us," he continues. "And following that, you'll be entering into marriage with him."

Elias Romes.

The mere mention of his name feels like a twisted joke, a cruel irony in the twisted game my father is playing.

Despite my best efforts to remain composed, my voice comes out strangled and taut, betraying the turmoil raging within me.

"You cannot make me enter into matrimony with such a sick bastard," I spit out. But deep down, I know that my father's will is ironclad.