Perilous Sea || Homer Series

Chapter Seven

"A grand performance where love is often the script, but rarely the truth." He added coldly, his voice void of any sentiment. “Besides, it’s not as if we have a choice. It all depends on the deal they agreed upon.”

My heart sank. A deal. As if our lives were nothing more than bargaining chips in their pursuit of power. It’s as if we had a choice—when, in reality, the decision had already been made for us. I clenched my fists under the table, anger bubbling beneath my skin.

Marriage is sacred. It should be our choice.

I wanted to protest, to scream that this was unfair. But the words got caught in my throat, swallowed by my own cowardice. How pathetic, Oceanna. You are so cowardly.

Uncle Danielle’s voice cut through the tense silence. “Is it okay with you to be engaged to someone you don’t like?” His gaze was sharp as he studied Wyatt.

I followed his stare, feeling a flicker of hope. Uncle Danielle was looking at me too, as if silently urging me to refuse. I knew he would stand by me. I knew he would back me up. But… was that enough?

Wyatt exhaled slowly before answering. “I don’t like marriage in general. I want to focus on my career.”

His voice was firm, but I couldn’t tell if it was indifference or defiance.

Uncle Kevin’s expression darkened as he turned to Wyatt, disappointment evident in his eyes.

“You would let Oceanna marry someone who doesn’t love her, Rich?” The room tensed. Uncle Danielle’s sharp gaze locked onto my father.

Dad held his ground, but the weight of the question pressed against him. “Of course not. That’s why we had an agreement, right? I’d win this case.”

His words were strong, but his tone wavered—uncertainty slipping through the cracks. Everyone heard it.

Aunt Cheryl leaned forward, her eyes piercing. “Are you sure, Rich? I can see the doubt in your eyes. This is your daughter we’re talking about. Would you really risk it?”

Aunt Jules scoffed, waving a dismissive hand. “Wyatt is a good man. Rest assured, Oceanna will be in good hands. Stop messing with Rich.”

Of course. She wasn’t against the engagement. Aunt Jules had always prioritized the family’s power over everything else. The more alliances they forged, the stronger they became.

Uncle Danielle’s voice cut through the rising tension. “Think about it, Rich. Your opponent is Joepher Xakousti. If anyone knows how formidable he is in court, it’s you.”

A sharp breath. A shift in the air.

Uncle Jonathan’s jaw clenched as he leaned forward. “Danielle, are you doubting our younger brother’s abilities?”

Uncle Danielle didn’t flinch. “It’s not about that, Kuya. We all know Rich and Joepher shared a strong partnership once. They knew each other’s weaknesses. They were inseparable. This will be harder for Rich than any of you realize.”

Uncle Jonathan scoffed, a smirk tugging at his lips. “That was in the past. We’re in the present now. Personally, I find it interesting to see them go against each other—this time, as rivals of justice.”

I bit my cheek, frustration seething inside me. How could he find this entertaining while we were the ones suffering?

I turned to Dad. He had never mentioned Joepher before. Not once. What had happened between them?

Aunt Julie snickered, her confidence unwavering. “You can surely beat him, Rich. You know his weaknesses.”

Dad’s eyes darkened, sharpening like a blade. “And he knows mine.”

Silence. Heavy and suffocating.

But soon, the conversation shifted again—back to the engagement, back to my fate being sealed like some trivial business deal.

I wanted to scream. But once again, I swallowed my voice.

"If Joepher wins, then Wyatt and Oceanna should act like they are together. We can’t risk our name being dragged through unnecessary scandals. Our family does not condone fixed marriages."

Uncle Cheryl’s voice was steady, calculated.

Uncle Kevin nodded in agreement. "Of course. It’s already settled, then."

I swallowed hard. Settled. Just like that. As if I had no say in it at all.

"This Saturday, we’ll announce the cancellation of Crescent and Zenos’ engagement," Dad said, but his tone lacked finality. He didn’t look pleased—if anything, he looked troubled.

Something wasn’t right.

"The media will be all over this," Uncle Kalliroe noted, his presence just as intimidating as the others. He had the aura of someone used to control, used to getting what he wanted—perhaps because he was both a soldier and the owner of a weapons empire. "It’ll be a big item to talk about."

Aunt Zeinab smiled, a sweet, deceptive curve of her lips. "We won’t answer anything. Let them assume they simply fell out of love."

I let out a shaky breath. I am surrounded by people with ungodly and vile minds.

This was all about power. Image. Reputation. Not love, not happiness, not even basic human decency.

And the worst part? I couldn’t even bring myself to fight back.

I could argue with my mom, yes—but with them? Against the family? I would lose. I knew I would lose.

After dinner, everyone busied themselves. Some talked in the living room, others gathered in the garden, and a few lingered in the kitchen.

I found myself outside, in the backyard, sitting on a marble bench with Kylie and Denes.

Ate Kylie placed a comforting hand on mine. "You must be feeling terrible after all this, Cean. I’m sorry you have to go through this." Her voice was gentle, laced with empathy.

I exhaled, staring at nothing in particular. "They’re obsessed with power. There’s nothing we can do about it." I glanced at them, my chest tightening. "But… it’s getting harder to understand, Ate. This isn’t just business anymore. This is our future."

A heavy silence settled between us.

Then, Denes stood up and walked toward the edge of the backyard, where the moon hung low, bright and undeniable.

"The moon is beautiful, isn’t it?" she asked softly, a small, wistful smile playing on her lips.

I nodded. Yes. The moon… the only light in this suffocating darkness.

Her voice dropped to a whisper. "I want to be an artist."

I blinked. That… I didn’t expect it.

"My parents supported me before," she continued, her fingers clenching into fists. "But then Aunt Jules told me I was being foolish. That I shouldn’t settle for something so trivial. She got mad. She scolded me."

Ate Kylie immediately stood and wrapped her arms around her, offering silent comfort. But I remained still, frozen in place.

I thought I was the only one who wanted something I could never have.

Everyone else had followed their parents' paths. Oh… right. I did too.

Denes let out a bitter laugh, but it was broken, hollow. "Dad couldn’t do anything. They apologized, but what’s the point? The damage was done. I felt dejected by my own family, belittled, diminished."

I closed my eyes, suppressing the sting of tears. I knew that feeling too well.

When they sent me to Australia, I was alone. Abandoned. I kept asking myself what I had done wrong—until eventually, I stopped asking. I simply accepted it.

Denes trembled before collapsing into Ate Kylie’s embrace.

"People always say we’re so lucky. That we’re the standard. That we live ideal lives. But they don’t know. They don’t see it. This is hell, and I’m burning alive."

Then, she broke.

Sobs wracked her body, violent and unrestrained, and panic surged inside me.

I rushed to them, holding her shaking form. "Denes, please, calm down," I whispered, desperate to steady her.

But the truth was inescapable.

This—this is the result of their greed.

And we were the ones paying the price.

Denes was only sixteen, the daughter of Uncle Danielle. Prim and proper, she reminded me of myself before the weight of expectations crushed me. She was also the youngest among the Homers—perhaps the most fragile, though she tried not to show it.

We eased her down onto the marble bench, her shoulders still trembling slightly as we helped her calm down.

"I'm sorry… I just needed to let it out," she murmured, her voice small, almost ashamed.

I reached for her hand, squeezing it gently. "We understand. I do understand you."

She met my gaze, her eyes glistening with unshed tears, and offered me a weak but sincere smile. "You’re brave, Ate Cean."

I felt my chest tighten. I wish I was.

But I wasn’t brave. Not really. They raised us to be unshakable, to show no weakness. But deep inside? We were all weak, just hiding behind masks of obedience and strength.

The silence stretched between us, heavy yet oddly comforting, until Ate Kylie finally spoke—her voice low, thoughtful.

"I never wanted to be a surgeon."

Denes and I turned to her, surprised.

"But I learned to love it… because I had no choice." She licked her lips, her gaze fixed on the endless darkness of the night sky. "Along the way, I realized that the hardest path is often the easiest way out."

She exhaled, her fingers tightening on her lap.

"I hate disappointment. I hate rejection. But most of all, I hate that I was never allowed to hate them. I was never allowed to refuse." She let out a bitter chuckle, shaking her head. "And sometimes, you say ‘okay’ just to end the discussion. Even when everything inside you screams ‘no.’"

She reached out, tapping both of our shoulders, her touch warm despite the coldness in her voice.

"Don’t make the same mistake I did. Fight for what makes you happy. Fight for your passion, for your dreams. Because no one else will fight for them but you."

Her words settled deep in my chest, stirring something within me—something I wasn’t sure I was ready to confront.

Could I do that? Could I really stand up for what I wanted?

I shook my head, my voice barely above a whisper. "I don’t have the courage. I’m still a coward."

"Same as me," Denes admitted, her lips pressing into a thin line.

For a moment, we just sat there, exchanging a knowing look—three girls bound by the same suffocating fate.

Then, as if on cue, we broke into laughter. It wasn’t the joyful kind, but rather a shared acknowledgment of our own helplessness. A quiet rebellion, however small.

Someday… someday we will learn to stand for what we want. We will be brave enough to face them. I hope.

The sound of the door creaking open made us pause.

Our attention shifted toward the figure stepping outside.

Wyatt.

His eyes scanned the backyard before they landed on me.

For a second, we just stared at each other, the weight of unspoken thoughts hanging in the air.

And suddenly, I wondered—was he just as trapped as we were?

"Do you need something?" I asked, my voice quieter than intended.

Wyatt’s gaze lingered on me before he spoke. "Let's talk."

I blinked, caught off guard. My eyes flickered toward my cousins. They exchanged glances before nodding at me.

"Go," they said.

I hesitated for a second before excusing myself and following him.

Now, we stood on my balcony—him leaning lazily against the railings, the city lights sprawling behind him, while I faced forward, gripping the cold metal. The night breeze kissed my skin, a small, fleeting comfort.

"What do you want to talk about?" I finally asked.

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, his voice came softer, steadier. "How do you feel?"

How do I feel?

I licked my lips, tilting my head back to look at the sky. The stars stared down at me indifferently, as if mocking my existence. How do I even begin to explain?

Empty.

Lost.

Like a puppet dancing to a script I didn’t write.

A small, humorless smile tugged at my lips. "Numb," I whispered.

Wyatt’s eyes darkened. "Cean."

I chuckled dryly. "I’m used to it. It’s okay… just a little upset, but I’ll survive. What about you?"

I turned to him just as the moonlight bathed his face. For a moment, I was taken aback—he looked ethereal, the soft glow catching the sharp angles of his jaw, the strands of his hair swaying gently in the wind. Dashing.

But his expression remained unreadable.

"Just preparing for something worse," he muttered.

I frowned. His words carried a weight that unsettled me. Wyatt rarely showed emotion, but I could tell—something was off.

"What’s worse than this?" I asked cautiously.

His lips pressed together before he let out a humorless scoff. "How f****d up."

I swallowed, my fingers tightening around the railing. "Is there anything we can do to stop it?"

He exhaled through his nose. "I don’t know. Hell wouldn’t even permit it."

Something in his tone made me pause. Like he knew something I didn’t. Like he was planning something.

I shook my head. Today had been exhausting. My body ached for rest, but my mind refused to quiet down.

"Where can I rest?" he asked, breaking my thoughts.

"Guestroom," I answered, turning toward the door. "Let’s go, I’ll show you."

The hallway felt heavier as we walked. A part of me wanted to say something—anything—to break the silence, but words felt meaningless.

When we reached the room, Wyatt stepped inside without hesitation. I remained at the doorway, watching him.

If things were different—if we had met under different circumstances—maybe we could’ve been friends. Good friends.

"You seem tired," I murmured. "Probably because of studies?"

He gave me a small nod before letting himself collapse onto the bed. The way he exhaled deeply, as if releasing a burden he had carried all day, made him seem almost… human.

Then, just as I turned to leave, his voice stopped me.

"Do you ever think of running away?"

I froze.

What?

I slowly turned back to him.

"That's hitting two birds with one stone," he continued, staring at the ceiling. "It would cancel the engagement… and you could chase your dream."

His words wrapped around me like a vice.

I had thought about it. So many times. But thinking and doing were two very different things.

I hesitated. "If only it were that simple… then I would."

I clenched my fists. "But it would just make things more complicated."

Wyatt’s eyes locked onto mine, searching—testing. "Would you rather stay here and cage yourself?" His voice was firmer this time.

I exhaled sharply. "I can’t just do that, Wyatt. It’s absurd. Running away would only make things worse. My only options are to endure… or to face it head-on."

Disappointment flickered in his eyes before he quickly masked it with indifference. "How shallow."

I stiffened.

"Your choices are a lose-lose game," he muttered. "You’ll bleed either way."

He wasn’t wrong. But there were consequences—consequences I wasn’t ready to face.

I forced a small smile, though it didn’t quite reach my eyes. "Maybe that’s because this wasn’t really the choice I chose… but the choice I was left to embrace."

Wyatt didn’t respond.

Instead, he just watched me as I turned on my heel and left.

As I closed the door behind me, his name lingered in my mind.

Wyatt Vilmaris.

A man of conviction. A man who knew exactly what he wanted and wasn’t afraid to take it.

And one day, I had no doubt—he would carve his way to success.

But me?

I wasn’t sure if I even had a path to take.