CHAPTER 1 — A FIGHT TILL DEATH DEAL.

🦪 DORA 🦪

“You have just signed a fight till death deal, where only one of the two players would get out of the ring alive… congratulations.”

“There are three cards that signify different meanings. The BLACK card is the most common; it’s the one you get when you get invited to a fight. This BLACK card comes with a written letter, the time, and the location for your pickup, and at that exact time, you’ll be brought to the fighting ring where you’ll fight until one of you dies. After this fight, the sum of 50 million dollars is given to the winner in cash, alongside 50 investors’ 1-kilogram gold bar, which weighs about 32.15 troy ounces, with an approximate value of $130,000 - $140,000.”

“The RED card. Not very common, it’s only given to players who have hit the top list and survived several fights. The RED card means the final fight, a fight with our top 1 fighter. This RED card comes with a dagger. If you win, you become our top 1 fighter, and only fighters who hit the top list get to fight you, until you lose and die, and the winner takes your spot. After this fight, the sum of 500 million dollars is given to the winner in cash, alongside 50 Iconic 400-ounce bars, which weigh about 27.4 pounds, with an approximate value of $1,600,000 - $1,700,000, depending on the moment’s market price.”

“And finally, we have the UMBRA card. Very rare! This card is black in color and has UMBRA boldly spelled on it with blood, so it stinks. The UMBRA card means elimination; it means UMBRA will find you and kill you, no matter what it takes. You only get this card when you break the rule.”

“The rule is: ‘Never back down from a fight.’ When you get this card, you get nothing and lose your life. Once again, congratulations! And thank you for signing a fight till death deal.”

🦪

My eyes shot open as the conversation that ended my sanity and safety replays in my head, my brain settling on the fact that my arms felt tied and numb.

I look down to find my hands bound to each other, so were my legs, and I am in a car that seems to be in motion.

I look up to find him, the one person I hate so much in this world, my father's best friend, Dale Lazarus, sitting behind the steering wheel, oblivious to the fact that I am awake and want him dead.

He's twice my age, I'm eighteen, and he's thirty-six, and all the days of my life, I've tried to get rid of him, but nothing worked.

He was my father's best friend, so I call him Daddy too. My father demanded it, stating it isn't too bad to have two fathers and that Dale Lazarus is a good person.

And although the word daddy leaves my lips now and then, I hated him. Whenever I feel his stabbing gaze on me, I feel strange, uncomfortable, and unsafe.

I just knew deep down that he wanted me, even though he tried his best to hide it.

And I hated that fact; I hated that he chose to hide something so obvious, just as I hate him.

He chose my father over any feelings he had for me and buried them.

My father, his best friend, mattered more; he chose to suffer and ignore me than disappoint his best friend.

And I hate him for it!

He should have chosen me first. Then maybe, just maybe, our relationship would have turned out different; it wouldn’t be this damaged.

I've never felt love and obsession, and just when I thought I'd feel one, he chose to shove his feelings into a box and then buried it under a tree.

Buried me! under a tree.

And I'd constantly ask myself if I was now invisible to him, if he still saw me.

And I was right, the only thing Dale Lazarus saw was my father, and the feelings he had for me didn't exist in his world.

And now, he wouldn’t exist in ‘My’ world.

I jerk, trying to free myself from the brutal robes that seem to be tightening with each stretch.

In between my struggles, he notices me.

“The man who protected you from me is gone, and he left me, you… Stop being a brat.” His voice rang out from behind the wheel as he glanced at me through the rearview mirror.

“I knew you meant no good.” I retort, and he smirks. “That’s the only thing you are right about.”

“I wish the Grim Reaper would take you and give me my father,” I add with all seriousness, and he chuckles, “It’s a little too late for that.”

Slamming my eyes shut, I jerk the robe angrily, “I want to go home!”

“If you are talking about your father's house, I burnt it down.”

I froze, my eyes slowly widening and reddening in shock and extreme anger.

“I'm going to kill you…” I whisper slowly and intentionally.

He glances at me through the rearview mirror with thin eyes, “You are about to die yourself. In your stupidity, you signed a fight to death deal with Umbra, a deadly cult.”

“I did it to avenge my father. The plan is simple: I'll go into the ring, find whoever killed him, and slit that bastard’s throat myself.”

“With what skill? You are just a stupid, crazy, little child who barely made it out of college. There's a lot more you don't know about this cult, Dora, yet you went ahead and signed a contract that would take your life at the first try… welcome to hell.”

“He was the only one I had! They… they took him from me.” A scream burst through my lungs, pointing my bound hands towards him. “I'll do whatever it takes, even if I would be thrown into the bottomless pit with the devil.”

Silence descends, Dale Lazarus says nothing, and just looks ahead, focusing on driving.

“Are you helping me or not?” I add to attract his attention. “You're a good fighter; you never lost a fight.”

“Your father lost just one fight, and he's turning in his grave. Probably restless, because he knows his 18-year-old daughter would do something stupid… and you did, signing a deal with the devil during your father's burial. People are looking for a way out, not a way in!” he scolds, his right hand spinning to the left on the wheel as he hits a turn.

“I am already in! I signed the damn contract already.” I point out.

“Yes, which is the biggest mistake of your life, Dora?” he snaps back, shaking his head.

The silence that follows is suffocating, a heavy weight that presses down on us both. Dale Lazarus grips the steering wheel, his eyes fixed on me through the rearview mirror, and I sit silently behind him, clearing my throat to speak.

“In a short moment from now, I'll get the stupid mysterious card or whatever they call it, and I'll be in the ring. You can either help me get ready, or watch me die.”

His lips curve into a cold, un-negotiable smirk, “I'll go for the third option, locking you in a room in a place where no one will ever find you.”

“You can't do that to me…”

“You have zero knowledge about what I can do.”

Another silence swoops in like a living thing, this one pulsing with anger and resentment. His eyes burn into my skin, a cold, hard stare that makes my skin crawl. I can feel his fury, his hurt, and his disappointment, but that didn’t stop me from talking.

“You are such a loser,” I growl. “The best friend you cherish the most is dead, and you sit here and do nothing about it?”

“Your father died in the ring! There's nothing we can do. Everyone signs a contract stating that there will be no legal consequences upon their deaths. You signed one, too, a death contract. Moreover, your father has killed more people than you can imagine.”

I throw my head back and let out a raw, guttural scream, the sounds echoing off the car. My hands clench into fists, nails digging into my palms as I yell, “That doesn't make it right! They killed him, and they deserve to pay. You'll be a pathetic loser, but I won't. I'd rather die fighting since I have no one other than my father anyway… I might as well join him.” The windows shake, my face turning red with tears streaming down my cheeks as I scream again, the sound muffled only by the confines of the vehicle.

“Am I invisible to you? Can't you see me at all?” His eyes meet mine in the rearview mirror, and for a moment, our gazes lock in a soft, gentle understanding. The tension in the car disappears, replaced by a warm, golden light that flows from his eyes to mine. “You have me… and I don't want you dead…”

I jerked my head back and threw out a sarcastic laugh, to think that I kept asking myself this question many years ago, if I was invisible to the almighty, breathtaking Dale Lazarus, I call daddy.

“You?” I respond coldly, “Yes, you are invisible. I don't like you! I hated you the moment I set my eyes on you; it was hatred and anger at first sight.”

“Why?” he whispers calmly.

“You produce a very negative Aura… I just don't like you.”

Time froze, the world around us melted away, leaving only the two of us, suspended in a moment of profound stillness. The air was heavy with unspoken words, and our eyes locked in a piercing gaze.

“It's the opposite for me,” he blurts out. “It was an obsession at first sight. I've held back every single moment I locked eyes with you; I've felt ashamed, sad, mad, and disappointed in my feelings. I felt like I betrayed my best friend for being in love with his daughter… but I couldn't stop it.”

“So you choose to hide and bury it? Bury me!” I interrupt.

Ignoring me, he continues, “You feel so wrong yet so right… And I'm trying really, really hard to hold myself back, all I so much want to do is pack this car and fuck the hell out of you in the back seat…”

Now, the silence between us isn’t comfortable; it is charged, a live wire humming with unspoken need. I can feel his gaze burning into me, heavy and possessive, every time the streetlights flash across his sharp features.

He didn’t slow down as he jerked the wheel, swerving the car into the empty parking lot of an abandoned industrial complex on the outskirts of the city. Gravel crunched violently under the tires as he stomped the brake, the vehicle lurching to a halt with a screech that echoed off the corroded metal walls of the surrounding buildings.

The engine died with a final, shuddering groan, and for a heartbeat, the only sound was our ragged breathing, syncing in the stale, heated air.

I barely had time to unbuckle my seatbelt before his door flew open, the hinge groaning in protest. He is out in an instant, his long legs eating up the distance between the car and my side, his polished dress shoes kicking up dust. The slam of his door, a gunshot in the quiet.

I turn just as he wrenches mine open, the metal protesting under his force. The dome light spills over us, casting his face in harsh shadows, his dark eyes were nearly black, his lips parted, breath coming in short, sharp bursts. He didn’t speak. He didn’t need to. His hand shot out, fingers curling around the delicate column of my throat before I could even gasp.

The contact was immediate, electric; his skin was rough, calloused, the heat of his palm searing against my pulse. I made a small, choking sound, my back arching instinctively as he yanked me forward, my ass lifting off the seat.

“You can't do anything to me…” I whisper positively, “You prefer suffering to ‘disappointing’ your best friend.”

Dale Lazarus drags me even closer with his strong grip on my neck, pressing his lips on my ear, “My best friend is dead.”