Chapter 3

​Chapter Three

​~ MIRA ~

​‘Freya. No, she couldn’t be the one.’ I tried to swallow the bile rising in my throat. My father hated her. She loathed him. I was probably just imagining things, or my brain was still clouded by the lingering haze of last night’s alcohol.

I tried to convince myself I had misheard as my father’s hand fisted in my hair, dragging me toward my room while he let out a low groan of fury.

​“How long were you standing there!” he roared and shoved me hard, sending me sprawling across the bed, and in one fluid, terrifying motion, he unbuckled his belt.

​“Daddy, please! I just walked in when you saw me!” I lied, my voice trembling. I prayed the lie would be enough to shield me from the coming storm.

​“You cheap whore!” He growled, the words sharp as glass. Then, the belt landed a heavy, stinging lash against my skin.

​I screamed, begging for mercy, but he was a man possessed by cold rage. He must achieve what he wants when he's angry.

He didn’t stop until his arm grew tired and then he backed out, locked the door, and left me in the dark.

​Hours later, a heavy thud against the wood startled me. Before I could speak, the door swung open. My father walked in silently, the aggression from earlier replaced by a terrifying, calm look. He sat on the edge of my bed.

​“You have to stop eavesdropping on conversations that don't concern you, Mira,” he said softly. “If you don’t want to be punished again.”

​I remained silent, staring down at my bruised fingers as they twiddled nervously in my lap.

​“Mia is sick. You know that,” he continued, his voice dropping to a manipulative simmer. “The hospital is demanding we clear the bills before they perform the surgery. We don’t have the money. We need to raise it together to save her.”

​‘We.’ That word hit me like a physical blow.

​He was doing it again. Another scheme to derail my life. Three years ago, the moment I finished high school, he had packed me off to work for a family to ‘save for my education’ . Two days in, I was framed for a theft I didn't commit and forced into three years of indentured labour to pay it off. While I was slaving away, my father bought a new house and took Mia on vacations.

​I had only been home for twenty-four hours. My ‘freedom’ had lasted exactly one day before he told me there was no money for my college tuition.

​“We?” I asked, finally lifting my teary eyes to meet his. “What do you mean, we?”

​I wanted to be a surgeon. I wanted to be a woman of greatness, a career professional who owned her own life. But looking at my father, I felt that dream slipping through my fingers like sand.

​“You’re moving in with my best friend tonight,” he said, standing up with an air of finality. “You’ll work as his secretary. Your five-year salary will cover everything Mia needs.”

​The room seemed to shrink. I sprang to my feet, anger finally overriding my fear. My throat tightened so hard it hurt to breathe.

​“No! I want to go to school! It is your job to save your daughter, not mine!” I screamed, my hands clenching so tight my nails drew blood from my palms.

​“You’re leaving now. Get your bag,” he said, his voice cold and flat. He walked out without looking back.

​I slammed my fist against the locked door, a silent growl tearing through my chest. I couldn't do this again. I had to run. I scrambled for my handbag and found my phone. The first person who came to mind, the only person I trusted was Freya.

​She answered on the first ring.

​“Freya, I need your help. My father is forcing me into another contract for Mia’s bills. I need to get out of here. Please.”

​I waited for her to tell me it would be okay, to give me a plan. I always listened to Freya, even when my gut told me not to.

​“Your sister’s life is on the line and you want to run away?” Freya’s voice wasn't comforting. It was irritating. “What are you even thinking, Mira?”

​The flame of my anger flickered and died, replaced by a cold confusion. “I want a life, Freya. Five years? I’m twenty one already. I can’t waste my entire youth achieving nothing. I already gave up three years for a crime I didn't commit, and now…”

​“We are talking about Mia’s life!” she yelled, cutting me off. “Why are you being so selfish? Would you really just watch her die?”

​“Mia doesn’t even like me!” I cried, the tears finally breaking through. “She treats me like trash.”

​“Mia says you don't treat her right either,” Freya snapped. “Now is the time to prove her wrong. Trust me, once she makes it out of surgery, she’ll never treat you badly again.”

​Click… The line went dead. My head spun. Mia says I don't treat her right? How would Freya know that? They had never met; they supposedly hated each other.

I tried to shake the suspicion, telling myself I must have vented to Freya about it and forgotten.

​I scrolled through my contacts for Nora. Freya’s words stung, but I needed a second opinion. I needed one person to tell me I wasn't crazy for wanting a life of my own.

​The phone rang once. Twice. On the third ring, Nora picked up, but before I could utter a word, a hand snatched the phone from my grip.

​I spun around. My father stood there, his eyes bloodshot and rimmed with a dark, manic energy.

​“Get your things. They’re waiting outside.”

​‘They?’

​I moved like a ghost, hurriedly folding my few belongings into a box while my father watched me like a hawk. ‘I have to save Mia, I whispered to myself’, trying to find a reason to survive this. I’ll show her I love her.

​Outside, a sleek, black luxury car sat idling at the curb. It looked like danger crouching in the street. As I approached, the door swung open. The interior was shrouded in darkness. I couldn't see the driver’s face, only the silhouette of a man who remained as silent as a tomb.

​We drove in total silence until we pulled into a massive, gated compound.

​“We’re here, Miss Mira,” the driver said, finally speaking as he stepped out to open my door.

​I stepped onto the gravel, my breath catching. The mansion screamed wealth, the kind of wealth that bought silence and power. A servant appeared out of the gloom to take my bag.

​“My name is Vick,” he said. “Call me if you need anything.”

​He led me into a large living room and left. A moment later, the atmosphere in the room shifted. It felt as if the air itself grew heavier, bowing to an invisible pressure. A man stepped into the living room.

​He was huge , tall and built like a heavyweight boxer. His face was a map of jagged scars, silver lines that spoke of a violent past. He looked like a nightmare dressed in a perfectly cut suit.

​“You’re welcome, Miss Mira Femriss,” his baritone voice vibrated in my chest. “I imagine you know who I am, even if we haven’t been properly introduced.”

​“I don’t know you,” I whispered, trying to stand my ground, but my legs instinctively shuffled backwards.

​“My name is Blade Silas. Your boss,” he said. A smile flickered across his lips, a brief, chilling movement that held no warmth. Suddenly, his eyes flashed deadly gold.

​I blinked, certain it was a trick of the light, but I knew it was his eyes. Before I could look again, he turned and left.

​I took another step back, trembling, and slammed into something solid. I shrieked and spun around. A man stood directly behind me, masked his presence just as intimidating as Blade's. The only thing I could see were his eyes, the same haunting bronze-gold as the Draven's.

A surge of suspicion washed over me.

​“Nice to have you here, Mira,” the masked man said, but his voice was different from Draven’s, smoother, but no less dangerous. He didn't wait for a reply before walking away.

​“Let me show you to your room, Miss Mira,” a third voice spoke.

​I jumped, nearly losing my footing, but the servant caught my arm with startling speed before letting go just as quickly.

​“No,” I gasped, feeling the walls of the mansion closing in on me. The air here felt strange, as if it were sucking the very little peace left in my soul. “Show me the garden. Anywhere but inside.”

​“As you wish.”

​He led me out to a sprawling, moonlit garden. I walked deep into the greenery, desperate for the scent of fresh air to clear the terror from my lungs. I was halfway down a stone path when my heart stopped.