Episode.3
1042 Words
She agreed reluctantly.
Abigail walked to and fro in the small room, her bare feet brushing against the cold floor. One hour—that was what Luke had given her. It wasn't just enough, it was too much.
Her gaze moved to the window's steel bars. The door was locked.
Her chest tightened. A cage. This whole place is a cage. She turned to the telephone on the nightstand with shaking hands. She dialed
One ring, two.
Then Clara’s voice, smooth and detached. “You should be getting ready”.
Abigail's grip tightened around the receiver. “You can't be serious.”
Clara sighed. Why wouldn't I be?
I won't do it.
She paused and then let out a soft chuckle. Then don't stay there and work off the debt like every other girl.
Shivers went down Abigail's spine. You know this was Luke's doing.
Clara didn't bother denying it, of course. Who else would pay for damaged goods?
Abigail's throat burned; you had no right. Clara's voice lost its amusement. And what right do you have, Abigail? Your father left you drowning in debt; you have nothing; you are nothing. Luke is giving you a way out; take it or don't; it's none of my business.
The line went dead.
A lump formed in Abigail's throat. No one was coming to her aid. A knock came through the room, slow and measured. She turned just as the door opened. Luke stepped inside, his presence eluding authority. The firm lines of his suit and the controlled expression were all calculated. This wasn't a man who acted on impulse; he had already decided how this would end.
Abigail lifted her chin. I'm not signing.
Luke's brow arched. No?
There has to be another way.
He studied her, his gaze unreadable; to him, this was the only way. He placed the contract in front of her. You have a choice, Abigail sign and the debt is settled. You walk out here as my wife, not the brothel's property. He met her gaze. Refuse and your debt remains, but I won't be offering this deal again.
Abigail's nails bit into her palms; the air in the room felt thinner, pressing against her. Clara had left her to rot, the brothel wouldn't let her go, and Luke stood there patiently and certain she wasn't free—not really, but maybe with him she had a chance.
The pen felt very heavy in her hand than it should have. She wrapped her fingers around it holding it tightly, her pulse racing in her ears. Luke said nothing, he just watched while waiting. Her hand trembled as she pressed the tip to paper, a single stroke, then another one.
Her name bled onto the page, and that was the final binding. Luke picked the contract from the table, scanning through the inked line with a neutral expression, then, satisfied, he set it aside.
“Good”. He leaned back, his fingers pressed together. "You will move in tomorrow.
His eyes flashed with. Something—amusement.
Maybe belong? Abigail cut in.
She trembled as she let out a sigh, but it didn't bring relief. Luke rose, buttoning his suit jacket effortlessly.
There are rules. You will accompany me to events, play the role of my wife when required; in return, I will clear your father's debt, and you will walk away freely.
She pulled back, her fingers tightening into a fist, and if I break the rules?
Luke stepped closer, his presence swallowing the space between them.
Don't!
The single word carried a warning she didn't dare to challenge. He turned towards the door but stopped, looking back. Get some rest, your new life starts tomorrow. The door shut behind him. Abigail stared at the contract, ink still wet. She just signed her freedom away, and she had no idea what she had just agreed to.
Abigail sat still in the back of the black car, hands curled into fists on her lap. The city faded past the tinted windows. No light is flashing against the street. She should have felt relief. She was out of the brothel, the debt, even Clara. They were all behind her now, but the man beside her was worse. Luke hadn't spoken since that. He was sitting with one leg crossed over the other, his fingers tapping lazily against the leather armrest, not looking bothered and in control. She clenched her jaw.
Where are we going?
He didn't look at her. Home.
Home—the word felt foreign and empty. The car turned sharply, pulling up to a private airstrip. Abigail's pulse rose.
A jet was waiting, shiny and massive under the light. The driver stepped out first, opening the door. Cold air rushed in.
Luke came down without a word, expecting her to follow. She hesitated a little before stepping down, onto the tarmac. Shivers ran through her, it wasn't the cold inside the jet. The insides were all made of polished wood and soft leather, the kind of luxury she had only seen in magazines.
Luke took his seat, pointing to the other one across him for her to sit. She didn't move.
“This feels like kidnapping”.
His lips curved into a smile, but there was no sign of humor in it.
You signed, Abigail. That means you're mine until I say otherwise. The reminder sent a shiver through her. She sat glaring at him as the engine roared to life.
Luke reached into the pocket, pulling out a small velvet box. He flipped it open, a ring, simple but unmistakably expensive, the diamond catching the cabin's soft light.
A tight knot formed in Abigail's stomach.
Luke reached for her left hand, his touch gentle, strong and possessive. She tried to resist, but his grip became tight, just enough to remind her that pulling back was useless. He slided the ring onto her finger smoothly and final. Luke's gaze lifted to hers, dark and indifferent.
“This isn't just a business, Abigail”.
His thumb brushed over the ring, locking it in place.
“You were always meant to be mine” he thought to himself.
The jet lifted off the ground, sealing her fate.
- Writer
