CHAPTER 3
1316 Words
Lila's head whirls when she stands in an elevator, counting lights ticking off seconds at a slow crawl. Walls closing in on each tick, choking her. She wants to yell, smash whatever's in her hands into a wall, run for it out of a desperate, fleeing need to get out. But she's a captive.
Her fingers dig into her forehead, and one question, frustratingly, repeats itself in her mind: Why am I doing this? Answered, at least partially, but buried deep beneath a veil of ominous foreboding: I don't have a choice, do I?
The elevator, a slow eternity, stopped, and her heart accelerated its pace. Her pulse throbs in anticipation, then her heart falls, a dizzying drop, when it glides open with a sigh to reveal a modern, stylish corridor, one scented with money and success and access to a lot of both. She is not concerned with any of it, not a single part of it, and not a single part when it comes to him.
What did I think I could do with it?
She walks in, her heels making a sharp, crystalline clicking sound with each exact step that tells her that she's doing something life-changing, career-breaking, family-changing, family-dividing, family-shattering, family-shaking, family-ravishing.
"Lila."
His deep, rich voice pours over her, heavier even than she'd steeled herself for.
Don't make eye contact with him. Don't allow him to peer through your cracks.
Yet naturally, when the eyes meet, she's already wavering. She offers up a strained smile instead.
"Elias."
He looks at her for a moment, and she can sense the pressure of his gaze sweeping over her.
Is he sizing me up?
"You look…" he pauses, searching for a word.
"Different."
That's one way to say it, anyway. Lila couldn't help sniping in her head.
"Not really. I don't know why I came here."
The words spill out, and it hurts. Because she doesn't know why she's here. She doesn't know why she said yes to it. She feels like a stranger in her body.
Elias steps aside to enter, and she takes a deep breath, willing her system to calm down.
You can do this. You can manage this. You've survived worse.
The apartment is chilly. There's sterility to it, a showcase not meant ever actually to be lived in. The contemporary decor, the minimalist decor, all of it is corporate executive.
None of it is real. None of it about me.
Her arms cross, and she tries to wave off encroaching chilliness with them.
Not my world. Not me. What in the heck am I even doing here?
"Nice digs," Lila mutters, her voice not containing even a hint of the enthusiasm she wishes she could feel.
Elias's eyebrow went up.
"I'm surprised at your lack of approval. You've always had an eye for decor."
Of course, of course, he recalls that. Her head reels.
All these small memories—memories I don't recall anymore. Is he the same man anymore? Has he changed so much that I won't even recognize him?
"I'm not here for your decoration, Elias. Business."
She holds her voice steady, puts a space between them.
She catches a glimpse in his eyes, here, and then it's gone.
What's that look like? I'm imagining things, I have to be.
Elias rises and moves over to a glass coffee table, pulling out a drawer. Lila's stomach clenches into a knot as she watches him withdraw a folder. That folder. That contract. That is one that will alter everything.
"Here's your answer," Elias says, pushing the folder across the coffee table towards her. "Simple enough." Marriage. Marriage will get me your financial backing and give me sign-off at a board level. Everybody will go home happy."
Happy?
She would laugh at him if she could. That isn't happiness. That's survival.
She accepts the folder, but her hands are shaking. She could practically sense Elias's eyes fixed on her, waiting for an answer. She detects a slight movement, a slight tension in the room, with every small movement.
Don't think about it. Don't even think about it. Think about the deal.
"I'm not your pawn," she blurts, a little rougher in her voice than she wants it to sound. Not a pawn, not a use.
Elias doesn’t flinch.
"You've always been more, Lila," he tells her, a little quieter, a little wick in a flame burning in his eyes.
Too stubborn?
She wishes to scream at him, fling the folder into his face.
No, Elias. I've had enough. I am not that girl anymore. And I don't have a place in your life anymore.
"I've had enough of your little game, Elias," she says softly, but can I possibly walk away?
He spins and moves to position himself at the window, and stands looking out at the city below, its lights and lights and lights a blur.
The tension between them stretches, thick and uncomfortable.
"Survival, happiness—take your pick. You have your money, your security, your freedom to make your choices. I have my freedom, my security, my life."
An equitable trade.
The words echo in her head, a mantra.
A decent bargain. If one may even call it that. If one may even live with such a bargain.
"I don't do it for wanting," she says to him gently, barely above a whisper.
Her heart tightens.
I don't do it for wanting.
I don't have a choice.
The tension in Elias's expression becomes cold, but not in his tone.
We all make sacrifices, Lila.
Her heart tenses.
We make sacrifices.
But when one gives too much? What then?
What becomes of one who takes and takes and takes and gives back only a shadow?
"I'm not your doll," she mutters under her breath.
Elias doesn't protest.
He just leans back in a casual pose, one arm crossed over the other.
You don't feel yourself trapped, Lila.
But trapped, she is not.
Here, she feels like screaming.
Here, she's been for a long, long while.
Here, I could have everything.
But not now.
Now, she wants to hit him, scream at him, hurt him.
But she doesn't.
She only lowers her head, trying to hold back a tear.
"I'll do it," she murmurs to him, and the echo of her voice off the room is a mockery.
The sound is a mockery.
Good.
Good?
The face Elias directs at her doesn't show a single emotion.
Good?
"There's one more thing," Elias says to her, voice gentle.
"The wedding? Not an act. Real. To make it real, we'll need to play the role in public."
Her heart sinks to her stomach.
What's that supposed to mean?
"It's a question of when we're in public, then, you're mine," Elias says to her, voice certain.
"Not a show. Mine. In it together, regardless of whether you'll own up to it."
Mine?
She wishes to protest, wishes to fight it.
But in her heart, she knows that it is true.
She's already his.
She's been his for years.
The weight of his statement comes over her, and Lila feels buried under its gravity.
I'm bargaining with a devil.
But it’s too late for that.
There’s no retreat.
“I’ll make it real,” Elias continues, unaware of her inner storm. The marriage, press intrusion. All of it."
She nods, and agreement rattles in her head in an uneasy sound.
"You have a knack for getting your own way, don't you?"
Elias's gaze follows her, face a mask.
"Not everyone," Elias says to her, voice gentle. "But I'm getting what I need for now."
Lila turns and walks towards the door.
She doesn't know if she's angry, sad, whatever other things she's feeling, but she knows this much:
No retreat.
She walks out into the hallway, her body tense, opposing thoughts in her head.
What on earth have I gotten myself into?
- Writer
