Chapter 2
1124 Words
(Leila’s POV)
The train ride home felt like a different world. My reflection in the window was faint. Outside, the gray sky seemed to weigh down on the city. I didn’t notice the passenger’s much-just vague shapes and muffled voices. Before I knew it, my stop arrived.
The apartment felt smaller than ever. The air smelled of soap and something burned—Mom must have left something on the stove.
They were waiting in the living room. Mom stood near the window, wringing a dishtowel into knots. Dad sat hunched forward, elbows on his knees, staring at a water ring on the coffee table like he could fall into it.
No one spoke at first.
“I’ll do it,” I heard myself say. My voice sounded flat, as if it belonged to someone else.
Mom’s head jerked up. Her eyes went wide, the towel falling to the floor. “Leila, you can’t—”
“I have to,” I whispered. My throat burned, but the words kept coming. “If I don’t… they’ll come here. They’ll dig, and they’ll find out about her.”
Dad made a broken sound, somewhere between relief and pain. “Sweetheart, I never wanted this. If I could change it—”
“You can’t.” My voice cracked. “It’s done, Dad. You made it done.”
Tears slipped down Mom’s face, “Are you sure?”
No, I thought. I wasn’t sure of anything except that there wasn’t really a choice. But I nodded.
I waited until later to call. I looked at my phone, the number Dad gave me felt heavy on the screen. I pressed “call” before I could change my mind.
A woman answered, voice sharp, professional. “Blackwood Holdings. How may I help you?”
My mouth went dry. “This is… Leila Carter. I— I’m calling about the arrangement.”
“Please hold.”
A pause. My pulse pounded in my ears, so loud it made the walls blur.
Then another voice, deeper, colder. “Miss Carter.”
It was him. Adrian Blackwood.
“I’ve decided,” I whispered. “I’ll… agree.”
“Tomorrow,” he said, words like cut glass, “two o’clock. My office. We’ll discuss terms.”
Before I could ask anything, the line clicked off.
I sat there, staring at the phone, the quiet ringing in my ears louder than the city noise outside.
Morning felt like moving through mud. My hands shook as I tied my hair back. I changed my shirt three times, finally settling on a plain black blouse that didn’t look too new, didn’t look too desperate.
Mom hovered near the door. “Do you want me to come with you?”
I shook my head. “No. I have to do this myself.”
Her arms wrapped around me, warm and trembling. “Be careful, Leila,” she whispered into my hair.
The subway ride stretched and blurred. At every stop, my heart jumped, part of me wishing the train would break down, that the city would flood, that something—anything—would keep me from stepping into his office.
Near the gallery stop, the construction site was louder than before. Metal beams clanged, workers shouted instructions over grinding drills. For a moment, I watched them—faces smeared with sweat and dust, building something from nothing.
Then the doors closed again, carrying me away.
Blackwood Holdings was all glass, steel, and quiet power. The kind of building that seemed to look down on the street, polished windows reflecting nothing back.
Inside, the lobby smelled of expensive polish and cold air. A man in a black suit guided me to an elevator lined with dark wood.
I caught my reflection in the polished metal. My cheeks were too pale, hair pulled too tight. My eyes looked afraid—and worse, hopeless.
The elevator opened onto a floor of marble and glass walls. At the end of the hall, he stood waiting.
Adrian Blackwood.
His suit was charcoal, cut so perfectly it almost looked like armor. Dark hair, neatly styled, and those eyes—cold, gray, sharp as broken slate.
For a moment, I couldn’t move. He didn’t look at me like a person. More like a piece on a chessboard.
“Miss Carter,” he said, voice calm, almost bored. “Come in.”
My legs felt numb as I stepped into the office. Floor-to-ceiling windows framed the city below, but the air felt colder inside than out.
He nodded toward the chair and I sat, the chair’s soft scrape on the stone floor echoing slightly
My voice almost failed me, but I forced the words out. “I have questions.”
One eyebrow lifted, barely. “Ask.”
“Why me?” My voice trembled. “Why do this at all?”
For a moment, he studied me, gaze sharp enough to sting. “Because I can,” he said simply.
The words stung, sharp and final.
“And what happens to my family after? Will they really be safe?”
“If you do as you’re told, yes.”
I swallowed, throat dry. “What do you mean, do as I’m told?”
“You’ll appear as my wife in public,” he said, each word deliberate. “In private, you’ll do nothing to embarrass me. You’ll answer when I call. You’ll follow the rules I set.”
My breath caught. “Rules?”
“Yes.” His eyes didn’t soften.
The room felt smaller, the air sharper, pressing into my lungs until it hurt to breathe.
Silence stretched.
“Do you agree?” he asked, voice flat again.
I thought of Dad’s shaking hands. Mom’s quiet tears. And Eva, small arms around my neck, babbling soft sounds that meant “Mama.”
I forced my head to nod. “Yes.”
He picked up a file from his desk, flipped it open, and handed me a pen. “Then sign.”
The pen felt too heavy. My signature looked strange at the bottom of the page, like someone else’s name.
When I handed it back, his fingers brushed mine—cold, steady
“Welcome to your new life, Mrs. Blackwood,” he said quietly.
The words made something c***k inside me.
Outside, the elevator ride felt longer. The lobby was still bright, empty.
My legs shook as I stepped onto the street. The noise of the city slammed into me—horns, footsteps, voices—but it all sounded far away.
Somewhere in my chest, something whispered it’s too late now.
And for the first time since I agreed, tears slipped down my face, hot and silent, as the crowd swallowed me whole.
- Writer
