The Billionaire's Captive Mind

The scent of dust and dampness always hangs in the air of Willsden town. Its street, which was surrounded by crooked shacks and leaked roofs, seemed to have given up on fighting its way from the weight of struggle that it carried. Every morning, the pale sky is usually filled with smoke of clay stones, while women and men, with their goods on stale, mind their businesses. It was the kind of town that doesn't hide its poverty from the world, like a sore that no one had the dignity to hide. Pearline sat beside the wooden window of their single room house with her chin on her palm, mindlessly staring at the space. She looked far beyond the walls, alleys and the broken fences that houses Wills den. She desired to be free from poverty, despair and the unseen bonds that inevitably chained her to her father's pathetic fate. Faint smells of smoke and soap gushed out from the room that was behind her, her late mother's shawl that was neatly folded in a corner had the same smell. At any of her heartache moments, she finds solace in getting herself wrapped in it to remember the comfort of a voice that she would never hear again. Though it's been two years since her mother passed, the memory seems fresh with each passing day, especially when she sees how hard her poor father works just to fill the vacuum. Mr Riggs who was once a man of sharp shoulders and agile body has now been bent like the crooked trees by poverty. Due to the odd jobs that he does, his hands are blistered, and carries the weight of unsaid disappointments. Yet, beneath his tired eyes, lies gentleness whenever he looks at Pearline. She was the only child that he had with his late wife, she was enough motivation for him to rise from bed every single morning. “Pearl,” he said softly as he placed a cup of thin porridge before her, “eat before it turns cold, my daughter.” Her father's voice brought her from her thoughts and smiled faintly. “Likewise you, Papa. You’ve been working all day without rest.” “The most important thing is that you eat first and be strong. What I have in my belly can still sustain me.” He replied. She pulled the cup closer to her and stirred it with a wooden spoon. The porridge was watery, filled with more water than grain, but she had no choice than to force herself to eat it that way. Her mother had taught her long ago that gratitude was more stronger than bitterness. Outside, the town buzzed with muted life. Children walked across the streets barefooted, their laughter brightening their faces against the backdrop of hardship. Pearline joyfully watched them, remembering those days when she, too, ran and laughed freely without any single thoughts of survival on her chest. But those days are in the past now, but unfortunately her father's debts persists. Riggs drew out a roof and sat heavily, his brow furrowed in thought. The look was not strange to Pearline—his forehead carved with deep lines, eyes filled with worries that he wishes to stay hidden from her. “You are worrying again,” she said softly, pushing her cup aside. “Is it about work?” Her father sighed heavily. “It has always been about work, my Pearl. I cleaned the baker's yard, patched the miller's fence, even hauled wood for old man Cratch. And yet, it is still not enough to feed us adequately.” Pearline bent beside his stool, looked at him in his eyes and laid her hand over his roughened one. “But I am not complaining, Papa. We will manage like we have been doing.” Her words were supposed to bring calmness, but the tremor that she felt in his hand screams otherwise. They were so down asked by the truth. They could no longer live by managing. They were drowning, slowing, and neither of them could rescue each other. Riggs rose from his stool sharply, pacing the small room. He stared at the shelf where all his plans for businesses that never got fulfilled were scribbled. Fate had made mockery of his dream of owing a modest race that could alleviate them from poverty. “I’ve exhausted all alternatives, my Pearl,” he finally said with his voice trembling. “Your mother's gone, and you are the only one that I have left. I would curse myself if you continue to live like this. Pearline swallowed hard. She wanted to argue, to tell her father that all that mattered to her was his presence, that she would go through any hardship as long as they would be together. But inside of her, she was aware of his bruised ego. A man that is not capable of providing for his home felt like an incomplete man in his eyes. Later that night, as the sun set, Pearline stood outside and leaned by the wall mindlessly staring at the sky fade to indigo. As usual, she found comfort in the late mother's shawl that she covered herself with, breathing in its faint scent of lavender. The whispers of the wealthier quarters hung in the air across town, where men in polished shoes feasted on roasted meat and women laughed with no worry. That world felt like another planet, though close but unreachable. She heard her father's cough behind her. He sat in a stool, his face shadowed but his eyes glistening. “I need to see someone tomorrow,” he said. His voice was heavy with something Pearline could not name. “Someone who can be of help to us. It's risky, but I can't just watch while we continue living this way.” “Who, Papa?” She turned sharply. He paused, then shook his head. “Don't bother, my child.I’ll tell you at the right time.” At night, Pearline was awake on her mattress, looking at the cracks in the ceiling. Her father's silence was filled with storm, even though she doesn't know what exactly it was, she suspected danger. She pulled her mother's shawl tighter, hoping that her father would confide in her at daybreak. The night was restless. Pearline laid quietly under a blanket, her body weak but her mind heavy with thoughts. Her unreadiness echoed in her ears when each creaked the wooden beams. She turned and buried her face into her mother's shawl, holding on to the solace that it brought. While she struggled to catch some sleep, memories of gentler old ones gushed into her mind. She remembered her late mother's soft and gentle laughter, scattering through the kitchen. She also recalls the moments her mother's warm hands braiding her hair, the scent of lavender soap on her body after each hug that she gave. Her mother had been their rock, unwavering support even when the cupboards were bare. Unfortunately, sickness prevailed on a night—the fever and the unanswered prayers. Pearline was just sixteen, and it seemed like the pillar that holds their home was in shaky ground. She held tightly and remained in her father's arms as they buried the woman. Pearline had often seen his father staring mindlessly at his wife's grave with an expression of one who not only buried a wife but hope. The memories tightened her chest. Pearline said under her breath, “Mama, Papa is so lost because of your absence. I wish you were still here.” She heard her father's faint cough across the room. He was not sleeping as well, though both of them just laid down speechless. Silence ensured between them. When it was morning, Riggs was already up,scrubbing his hands in the basin. “Papa,” Pearline said softly, folding the mat that she slept with. “You look like someone who didn't sleep all through the night.” He feigned a smile. “Sleep will not provide food on the table. Work will.” Pearline moved closer, mindfully staring at the lines that are deeply carved into his face. He is looking older than his years. “Who are you going to see?” Riggs paused. “I am going to see an old…acquaintance who can be of help to us.” “Someone I have never heard of or seen?” Pearline brows furrowed. He turned away from her, using a frayed cloth to dry his hands. “And that's because he doesn't go everywhere all the time, more of a private person.” She wanted to question him further. But Riggs walked away from her trying to start the day’s business. Later in the evening, Pearline went to the town square with her father. Willsden was vibrant and yet weary in daylight. Goods filled the market stalls. Children ran barefooted between the stalls while their mother scolded. On the corner, a fiddler played a mournful tone, while he placed his hat on his knee With heaviness in her heart, Pearline watched all of it. Willsden was full of life but short of abundance. Every laugh was fragile, every smile was thin. People only survived but few were truly living. Riggs greeted passersby as they passed through the square, even though his eyes darted towards the eastern road. Grand estates where men like Mr Rloyds reside, were laid just beyond the road. Pearline also turned to the direction that his father was looking at. “I guess this is about him, right?. She whispered. Riggs was speechless. He gave no reply, but the silence that ensured between them echoed out louder than words would. Mr Rloyds was well known in Willsden. His name carries both respect and fear. A wealthy and influential business tycoon whose empire cut across borders. It was said that he used to be very poor, fighting his way to the top with cunning and mischievous ways. Others say that he had murdered and betrayed people that stood in his way. They remained a rumour since none has been without a proof. Pearline steps slowed, her heart beating fast. “Papa, do you really mean—” “This is the only option left for me, for us,” Rigggs interrupted sharply. “We cannot continue living like this. There is no money, no trade and no hope. If Ryolds will listen, maybe he will give me what I need to start afresh.” Pearline bent and grabbed his leg. “But everyone says he is dangerous!” “How does that matter?” Riggs cut her off sharply. “Of course, many things have been said about him. But have you forgotten that they also said he has enough gold that can drown a beggar’s debt. Are you deaf to this,my child? If I don't do this, we will remain hopeless in this town until death takes both of us. If I do this, maybe we have a chance to truly live, afterall.” Pearline swallowed hard. She wished she could convince her father further, to beg him not to go, but she saw fire in his eyes–one that she hasn't seen in years. It was determination. At night when they got home, Pearline sat outside their home with her cheeks buried in her palms. His father was inside, already preparing himself on how he would meet and talk to Mr Royles whose shadow loomed over their future. Pearline covered her shoulders with her mother's shawl, muttering a word of prayer under her breath. “Mama, maybe Papa would have listened to you if you were here, Or maybe, he won't have cause to go to him for help at all. But in all mama, protect him and protect me too.” A cold wind swept across Willsden from the east, where the wealthy lived in stone mansions with iron gates. Pearline shivered. She never knew that her father's choice would forever alter the course of her life, getting her bound to a man she would never love, and positioning her heart on a path with another she had not yet met.