SHATTERED INNONNCE: BOUND TO HIS DARKNESS

INVITATION

I never thought my life would be so perfect or rather, balanced on the knife's edge of perfection. The email from my school lingered in my inbox, gleaming like a golden key to the future: "Miss Lawrence, congratulations on completing your bachelor's degree in law." One step away from a new life. All I had to do was confirm my attendance for the graduation ceremony. But it wasn't just a day it was a gateway, the threshold I'd been waiting to cross for so long. And yet, the air around it felt almost too still, too quiet, as if something waited on the other side, watching.

Just then, my phone buzzed, breaking through my reverie. The name flashing on the screen sent my heart pounding: Dispute Resolution Attorneys. I opened the email immediately.

"Good day, Miss Lawrence. You did an exceptional job during your employment at our law firm. We would like to invite you to an interview as a candidate attorney on Monday, 14 March 2024."

The words blurred as excitement took hold, the kind that makes your pulse race and thoughts scatter. My future the one I had planned so meticulously was almost within reach. But beneath my thrill, a faint shadow lurked, like a whisper warning that things were happening too perfectly, too fast.

"What's wrong, honey?" My mother's voice broke through, pulling me back to the present. I turned to see her standing in the doorway, her gaze soft but questioning, as if she sensed the storm brewing beneath my happiness.

"I did it, Mom! The firm wants to interview me!" I exclaimed, trying to let my excitement color every word. But there was a waver in my voice, a ripple of doubt I couldn't hide. Her face lit up, and she began her usual chorus of praise, her joy bursting like sunlight breaking through clouds. But something in her celebration felt hollow, like a fragile mask we both wore, pretending that everything was as it should be.

"We should tell your father," she said, her voice lowering as though she knew something I didn't. We walked into the kitchen, where my dad was slicing tomatoes, his back to us. When I told him the news, he froze, knife suspended mid-air. Slowly, he turned and gave me a smile but it wasn't his real smile. Behind it, something dark flickered, a crack in his usual composure.

"Come here, baby," he said, his arms open. I walked over, feeling the tightness in his hug, the way he held on a beat too long, as if trying to shield me from something he couldn't stop. His voice was rough when he whispered, "I'm proud of you."

"I know, Dad," I replied, but my words felt brittle, a thin shell covering the doubt that lingered between us. Something was wrong I could feel it seeping through the cracks of our perfect moment, staining it.

"We should celebrate!" my mom chimed in, breaking the silence. But Dad didn't look relieved; his gaze was distant, dark.

"Actually, we're going to Mr. Page's house for dinner tonight," he said, his tone matter of fact. My stomach clenched. Mr. Page my father's boss was more than just an employer. He had an influence over our family that I couldn't explain, a presence that loomed in the background of our lives, as if we owed him something we couldn't repay.

"I thought maybe we could have a quiet family picnic tonight?" I suggested, the words slipping out like a lifeline, a plea for some semblance of normalcy. But Dad shook his head.

"We'll have the picnic tomorrow. Mr. Page expects us tonight."

A chill swept over me. I had seen the way my father's eyes darkened whenever he spoke of Mr. Page, as if there was an unspoken debt, a binding promise that stretched beyond logic. And tonight, it felt like we were finally called to pay.

"Alright," I whispered, feeling the weight of something inevitable pressing down. "When do we leave?"

"He's sending a car at five," Dad replied, his voice low and resigned.

I turned and walked back to my room, the shadows deepening around me. The excitement from earlier was gone, replaced by a creeping dread that clung to my skin like a shroud. Tonight wasn't about celebration it was about surrender. And I wasn't sure who I'd be once the night was over.

At quarter to five, I stood before the mirror, taking in my reflection. My black bodycon dress clung to me, accentuating every curve, dark and sleek, almost like armor. Red block heels added a splash of defiance, a sharp contrast. My Afro hair was smoothed back into a low bun, every strand in place. I had always craved perfection, needed it like air. But tonight, as I stared at myself, I saw something different a shadow in my eyes, as if I already knew that perfection might come at a price.

At five to five, I spritzed on my perfume, the scent heady and intoxicating, a cloak to hide behind. I grabbed my bag and stepped out of my room. Dad and Mom were already waiting. Dad looked sharp in a royal blue suit, though his eyes were shadowed, his face set in grim lines. Mom looked like she had stepped out of a classic film, elegant and untouchable, but I could see the tension in her jaw.

"You look beautiful, my baby," Dad murmured, pressing a kiss to my cheek, but his smile didn't reach his eyes. His hand squeezed my shoulder, a gesture that felt more like a warning than a reassurance.

"You're stunning, my child, just like me," Mom said, her usual confidence laced with something darker, something she couldn't quite hide.

Before I could respond, a low, throaty hum cut through the quiet. The car had arrived. Dad moved toward the door, and we followed. When I saw it, my breath caught a black Mercedes-Benz SUV with tinted windows, the kind of car that promised power and secrecy. And beside it stood a tall man, broad-shouldered, handsome in a way that almost hurt to look at. His green eyes locked onto mine, sending a strange electric pulse through me. His posture was stiff, his gaze intense and unreadable.

"Go ahead, ladies, I'll lock up," Dad said, his voice tight.

Mom and I walked toward the car, tension thick in the air between us. "Good evening, ladies," the driver greeted us, his voice smooth and deep, like velvet laced with something sharp.

"Good evening," we responded, our voices almost in unison, strained and quiet. I slipped into the car's dim interior, the scent of leather and something metallic filling the space, wrapping around me like a warning. Dad joined us a moment later, and the car glided forward, carrying us into the night.

And I knew, with a certainty that chilled me, that tonight would change everything.