Candle in a Black Hole

Chapter 2

Maya’s Bedroom, Akkarabadi Manor

Her slender feet stepped over the threshold and into the room she had once called ‘her entire world’. The pale pink walls, the lace curtains, the dressing table adorned with a princess-themed music box—everything remained in its perfect, curated place. It was as if time here refused to budge.

Yet, something inside her... had already shattered.

Maya closed the door softly. The clinical click of the latch resonated with haunting clarity in the silence. She leaned her back against the timber frame, her arms hanging limp at her sides as if stripped of all vitality. Her gaze swept the room once more; the pink hues that once felt sweet and comforting now appeared drab, almost stifling.

This was no longer the room of a twenty-three-year-old woman. It was the sanctuary of a ‘good girl’—reared solely for the purpose of obedience.

She moved toward the glass display cabinet. Inside sat a chronological parade of birthday gifts from her family: a string of pearls from her father, a diamond tennis bracelet from her grandfather, and a large teddy bear from her mother. Maya retrieved a small card, the ink from Banharn’s handwriting still stark:

Her pale lips trembled. "Protect me...?" she whispered to her reflection in the vanity mirror, her eyes beginning to glaze with a raw, stinging red. "Is this your idea of protection, Father?"

The image of that formidable man flickered in her mind—the charcoal suit, those frigid emerald eyes, and the sordid scandals that graced the tabloids almost every week. It wasn't just the decade of age between them that terrified her; it was the sheer gravity of the power he wielded. She feared those eyes—the way they seemed to pierce through the world without a shred of remorse.

The filial piety that had once warmed her chest was curdling into a crushing weight. It felt as though invisible hands were shoving her forward—driving her toward a life she had never chosen.

Maya gripped the card tightly before placing it back with calculated precision. She would not cry. At least... not here.

"Enough," she breathed to the empty room.

If she stayed a moment longer, she would succumb to her fate like the well-bred child she had been taught to be. But tonight, she refused to play that part.

She snatched up her car keys and handbag with sudden urgency. At the very least, at her flat—where no one watched, where no one judged—she could finally collapse without having to maintain the polished facade of the Akkarabadi granddaughter.

The bedroom door swung open once more. And this time, she didn't cast a single glance back at that sickly-sweet shade of pink.

The Study at Akkarabadi Manor

The vast study was cloaked in a chilling silence, the ceiling lights glaring with a clinical brightness even as the world outside succumbed to the encroaching dark. Banharn sat motionless behind his heavy oak desk. Neat piles of documents were arranged before him, yet not a single page had been turned. His fingertips brushed against a specific leather-bound folder—the contract that would salvage the firm while simultaneously bartering his daughter into a life she had never sought.

He closed his eyes slowly. A memory of a young Maya, bolting into this very room to throw her arms around his neck, flickered in his mind. “Daddy is the cleverest man in the world.” Those innocent words from years ago now felt like a leaden mallet striking him square in the chest.

The door creaked open. Yaya stepped inside, her face glistening with tears, her delicate hands clutching the hem of her skirt as if to anchor herself.

"My dear..." her voice wavered. "Can we not simply let the company go? Take Maya elsewhere... start anew with something simple. A small farm, a quiet life—anything would be better than forcing her to..." The word marriage remained lodged, bitter, in her throat.

Banharn looked up at his wife. The decisive glint of an executive had vanished, replaced by a profound, hollow exhaustion. "Do you truly believe Maya could endure that?" his voice was a low rasp. "The girl was reared in this world; we raised her to believe that everything would always be laid out for her."

He let out a short, mirthless chuckle. "And now, to expect her to start from zero... have we ever taught her how to handle true hardship?" The question wasn't an indictment of his daughter—it was a confession of his own failure.

Yaya moved closer, her fingers gripping her husband’s sleeve like a lifeline. "But that man..." her voice dropped to a frantic whisper. "He never stays with anyone. You know the reputation he has; the papers are never without a new woman on his arm." She swallowed hard, the next words almost too painful to utter. "Are you truly going to force my daughter... to share a husband with the rest of the world?"

The question was as light as a falling feather, yet heavy enough to turn the room cold. Banharn averted his gaze. He had visualised the very same nightmare... and he loathed it with every fibre of his being.

"Yaya..." he began slowly. "Grandfather Frost is overseeing this personally." That sentence carried more weight than any threat. He rose to his full height, drawing a breath like a man preparing to walk toward the gallows. "I shall speak with Father one last time."

Though deep down he knew the odds were vanishingly slim, as a father, he still had to try—before he was forced to sign away his own daughter’s destiny.

Grandfather Pin’s Bedroom Akkarabadi Manor

Within the austerely decorated bedchamber, Grandfather Pin sat as motionless as a stone effigy. His clouded gaze drifted down to the front courtyard, watching as Maya’s car sped away until it vanished from sight.

He did not utter a word to stop her. Deep within the recesses of his heart, he almost wished she could flee this gilded cage forever. Yet, in a world teeming with silver-tongued foxes, how could a fledgling as innocent as she survive without being devoured or exploited unto ruin?

‘I ought to have taught her to see the world’s filth for what it is... to read the hearts of men with a sharper eye,’ he mused bitterly to himself.

Knock... knock.

The rap at the door splintered the silence. He drew a steadying breath, donning his mask of unyielding strength. "Enter."

Banharn and Yaya stepped into the room, their faces etched with profound misery. Pin glanced at the son and daughter-in-law he himself had handpicked, before letting out a long, weary sigh of exasperation.

"I take it neither of you has the stomach for this marriage," he stated flatly.

Yaya, her eyes still rimmed with a raw red, rushed forward in supplication. "Father, please... we could take Maya to another city. I could petition my own father for the use of one of his estates. We could flee, start anew... surely that is better than forcing her to—"

Pin drew another sharp breath. "Yaya... do you truly believe a girl like Maya can simply cast aside the grandeur of this city? Even now, she’s bolted off to god-knows-where. Besides... an alliance with Alex, at the very least, grants her the protection of old Frost. It is far better than leaving her to be preyed upon by vultures who would treat her like a fool."

"Father..." Banharn protested, his voice a low groan of disbelief that his sire could succumb so readily.

"Banharn... if our house were not crumbling, we would have the clout to shield your daughter and find her a suitable match," Pin closed his eyes to mask the burgeoning dread. "But today... what have we left to sustain her innocence?"

He fell silent, haunted by truths far more terrifying than any international mafia yarn. 'What those men truly are... it is leagues more monstrous than anything you can imagine.' That was the very reason he had never dared to beg for a favour. Yet, old Frost had seized the moment, casting a gossamer thread called ‘marriage’ to tether his granddaughter like a hostage.

"You know exactly what sort of man Alex is. Will you truly allow Maya to become nothing more than a plaything for a man of that ilk?" Yaya reproached him, her heart clearly shattered.

"Yaya..." Pin exhaled, as if wringing the last of his strength from his lungs. "Frost will be here in two days' time. Go and rest. I have no more to say on the matter."

He issued the command in a voice that was resolute yet brittle, leaving the room to be swallowed once more by silence and a mounting sense of despair.

Alex’s Study, Zandier Estate

Alex stood to his full height of nearly six-foot-six before the floor-to-ceiling window. His silhouette stretched across the dark marble floor like a predator surveying its domain. In one hand, he held a tumbler of honey-hued whisky; between the fingers of the other, a cigarette smouldered, casting lazy ribbons of grey smoke into the silent study. His piercing gaze swept down to the gardens below, now devoured by the encroaching dark, before shifting to the adjacent hillside—the private riding arena Grandfather Frost had extravagantly conjured. A muscle in his jaw twitched imperceptibly.

"Very well... if that is what Grandfather desires," he muttered through gritted teeth, his tone level yet frigid. "Marriage, is it?" He took a slow, deliberate sip of his whisky. "If the girl shatters at my touch... he has only himself to blame." A low, cynical chuckle escaped him, entirely unaware that his own heart was secretly exulting, leaping at the fact that this ray of light was rushing towards him without him having to lift a finger.

He turned and carelessly threw himself into his bespoke leather armchair, the entire world seeming nothing more than a plaything resting beneath his heel.

The smartphone on the desk vibrated, its screen flaring to life. This device was his sole conduit for managing the charming dolls that drifted through his life—women who understood their place and never demanded more than their allotted share. Normally, he would let it ring until it ceased of its own accord, but tonight... he felt inclined to kill some time. His long, elegant finger tapped to accept the call.

"Speak," his deep voice intoned, laced with a hint of irritation.

'Mr Zandier... my friends are inviting me for a drink at the club,' the voice on the other end cooed, with its customary affectation.

"Where?" The question was clipped, precise, and utterly devoid of emotion. His gaze flickered to the luxury timepiece on his wrist—its value alone was sufficient to resuscitate the Akkarabadi firm in an instant.

'At Club XXX, VIP Room 09. Do hurry, won't you?'

Alex ended the call without providing an answer. That club, too, was merely a fragment of the empire he and Grandfather Frost held sway over. Whether he graced them with his presence or not, no one would dare to ask a second time.

Private Apartment, 25th Floor

Maya steered her car back with a heart so splintered by turmoil it bordered on madness. The suffocating tension of the family estate had clawed at her until she was forced to retreat into a shopping centre, emerging with a full crate of beer in a desperate bid to douse the fire raging in her chest with something—anything—ice-cold.

Yet, reality had a cruel way of biting back. That heavy crate proved far too cumbersome for a woman of her slight stature to haul from the car park to the lift without losing her breath.

"Not a thought for the weight when you bought it, but a nightmare to carry now, eh, Maya?" she muttered to herself, rubbing her face to steady her nerves. With a sharp, determined intake of breath, she hoisted her drunken future and made a clumsy, struggling dash for the lift.

Ding!

The chime announced her arrival on the 25th floor. Summoning her remaining strength, she lugged the crate into her flat. Her trembling hands snatched a glass, filled it with ice, and cracked open a tin. The sharp hiss of the foam echoed through the oppressive silence of the room.

Maya poured the amber liquid and sank onto the floor, leaning her back against the plush sofa. Her gaze drifted through the floor-to-ceiling windows to the shimmering constellation of car lights jostling on the streets far below. The biting chill of the first draught washed away the heat for only a fleeting moment.

"Could P’Thee’s family truly save Father’s firm... if I fled from that old devil Alex and sought refuge with the Siraphop clan instead?" she mused, clutching at a shadow of hope. "What if I simply refuse? What if I vanish from this wretched scheme right now?"

She thumbed through her smartphone, hoping for a distraction, but the world seemed intent on mocking her. Gossip columns featuring ‘Alex Zandier’—parading a different woman on his arm every fortnight—flashed up to underscore her misfortune.

"What utter rubbish! Is this thing reading my bloody mind?" Maya swiped past the screen in a fit of pique. She wanted no part of that libertine’s life, not even the smallest fragment.

Vrrr... Vrrr...

The vibration of the phone nearly startled the glass from her hand.

"What is it, Jum...?" Maya tried to keep her voice level, patting her chest to settle her fraying nerves.

'Goodness... do I need a formal appointment to call my best friend?' the voice teased brightly from the other end. 'I saw you were active on the feed. You’re lucky I caught you before you chucked the phone out the window.'

"I was just scrolling, Jum. You’ve no idea how close I came to doing just that."

'So... I hear you’ve finally made it official with P’Thee? Since when! How dare you keep secrets from me, hmm?' The excitement in her friend's voice made Maya freeze.

She closed her eyes in sheer agony. Her blossoming romance had been caught in a gale and torn to shreds before it could even begin. "Jum... I... I..."

'I what! Come on, give us a proper introduction. I’m dying to meet the man!'

A sharp pang shot through her chest. Her throat felt parched, her voice barely a rasp. "I... I can’t do it, Jum."

'Maya... are you crying? What’s happened!' Her friend’s tone shifted instantly, sensing the tremor in her breath.

"I have to go, Jum. I just want to be alone." Maya ended the call abruptly.

She turned back to the screen, where old headlines of Alex’s exploits continued to haunt the margins. A man so much older than her... how could she ever hope to escape his clutches?

"If I beg him after the wedding... to let us live separate lives. To respect each other only in the eyes of the law... would he agree? He can parade his women, and I shall be nothing more than a ghost in his house. Would he be cold enough to accept that?"

Maya drained the glass in one go, the bitter sting of the ale coating her tongue. She let the hours slip away into the night, staring blankly out at the lonely world beyond the glass, while her phone vibrated again and again with calls she had no intention of ever answering.

Late Night at the 25th-Floor Flat

Click.

The subtle release of the door latch splintered the dead silence. The security system, reputed to be the finest in the district, was rendered utterly inconsequential when faced with the sheer clout of the visitor.

A towering figure of one hundred and ninety-seven centimetres crossed the threshold into a room faintly perfumed with the scent of alcohol. Alex's obsidian-black silhouette cast a predatory shadow over Maya’s slight form as she lay unconscious on the sofa. She remained blissfully unaware that the wolf had already breached the sanctuary of her den.

Barshow, his trusted right-hand man, followed close behind as Alex took a seat on the opposite sofa with a chillingly casual air of entitlement. His sharp gaze dissected the flat; it was a minimalist affair, all clean lines in muted greys and beiges. Every item was meticulously placed within the modest square footage, yet to an outsider, it possessed a peculiar, understated warmth.

"This should suffice. Commit these details to memory; see that there are no errors," Alex commanded in a level voice.

"Sir... shall I carry the 'Madam' to her bed? The air conditioning is rather biting..." Barshow suggested with profound deference. After all, the slumbering woman before them was the future mistress of the Zandier Manor.

"Hmph." Alex let out a dry, guttural chuckle, his eyes devoid of even a shred of mercy. "Let her freeze there for all I care. I am no nanny."

He rose to his full height once more, adjusting his tailored attire with cold precision. "Now that I’ve seen her in the flesh, we’re done. Have the decorators handle these trivialities; just ensure her room at the Manor is arranged as Grandfather Frost ordered."

Alex thrust his hands into his pockets, a bone-chilling smirk playing on his lips, and strode out of the room. He didn't spare so much as a backward glance at the fragile girl curled up in the cold behind him.