Candle in a Black Hole

Chapter 7

Alex Study Private, Zandier Estate

Barshow came to a halt before a set of colossal double doors.

"Mr. Zandier’s study," he announced, swinging them wide. "After you, Madam."

Maya peered into the room, which was steeped in an unnerving, bone-chilling silence. "Th-thank you," she whispered before holding her breath and stepping into the lion’s den.

The icy draught from the air conditioning lashed against her skin, causing her shoulders to hunch. The interior was a sanctuary of grim, obsidian tones—a reflection of the owner’s aggressive and frigid temperament. By the expansive window stood a towering figure, his back turned as he swirled a glass of expensive malt whisky, staring out into the absolute void of the night.

His silhouette stretched across the floor, an elongated shadow that completely eclipsed Maya’s slight frame. Alex turned... his eyes, as sharp and predatory as a tiger’s, surveyed the ‘merchandise’ he had just purchased with the marriage certificate lying cold upon his desk.

He stalked toward her, a movement thick with unspoken threat. Looking down at the trembling prey before him, he let out a low, guttural chuckle. "Hmph..."

"This is the Zandier Estate, not the Akkarabadi Manor," he rumbled, taking a slow sip of the amber liquid. "Rule one: do not prowl about this house, unless you’ve a desire to lose a limb." He bored his gaze into her brown eyes, an act of sheer intimidation. "Rule two: do not set a single foot outside these walls, if you wish to keep that pretty body of yours intact."

His gaze raked up and down her form, appraising her like a mere object. "Rule three: my word is absolute. If you dare defy me... I shall teach you the true meaning of agony." He turned to light a black-and-gold cigarette, the smoke curling around him like a shroud.

Maya bit her lip until the taste of iron filled her mouth. Gathering the shards of her courage, she looked up to meet his eyes. "M-Mr. Zandier... c-can we not simply live separate lives? We can respect each other’s titles. You may consort with whomever you wish; I shall not interfere. I will be like a ghost, I won’t trouble you, as for—"

"Hah! Hahaha!"

Alex erupted into a roar of laughter that shook the room, as if he had just heard the most pathetic jest of his life. He slammed his whisky glass onto the desk and reached out, his heavy hand clamping around Maya’s jaw with such force that her face contorted in pain. He leaned in, his broad shoulders blotting out the light until she was submerged in darkness. He exhaled a cloud of grey smoke directly into her face, leaving her coughing and gasping for air.

His sea-green eyes blazed with a merciless fire. "Who the bloody hell do you think you are?"

His gaze violated her, scanning for flaws in the product. "How dare you attempt to bargain with me? Do you truly believe Grandfather Frost’s name is enough to shield your head?" He let out a savage smirk before violently shoving her aside. Maya stumbled, crashing onto the sofa with a sharp cry.

He watched her fall with the same indifference one might show a piece of refuse. "Ugh!"

"Do not display your wretched weakness to me. Get up!" Alex barked, returning to his drink with chilling detachment.

Maya tried to steady herself, her hands shaking uncontrollably. ‘Is this the man Father and Grandfather claimed would care for me? On my very first day, I am nothing more than a punching bag for him to toss around,’ she lamented silently.

"Your quarters are directly opposite mine. Do not venture into my bedroom unless I specifically command it. As for this study... it is strictly forbidden to women like you." He took another sip of whisky. "Now, get out. Do not show your face again until old Frost summons you for dinner."

He pointed a commanding finger toward the door. Maya, trembling and nearly unhinged by the overwhelming terror, scrambled backward and fled the room, her sanity fraying at the edges.

The moment the massive, leaden doors clicked shut—severing her from those piercing eyes and the frigid air of the study—Maya allowed her entire frame to collapse onto the plush carpet. She was convulsing from head to toe, her heart hammering against her ribs with such violence it brought a physical ache to her chest. The sheer brutality she had just endured was far more than any ordinary woman could be expected to bear.

Barshow stood over her, his gaze as impassive as ever. There was not a flicker of pity, nor a trace of concern in his eyes; it was as if he had become utterly desensitised to the violence that permeated the walls of this manor.

"Madam... your quarters are on the upper floor. Let us proceed," he remarked, his voice remaining as flat and robotic as before.

Maya lacked even the strength to form a spoken reply. She could only haul herself up with great difficulty, nodding her head in a shattered, dazed manner. Her eyes, wide and trembling, were filled with a mounting paranoia. She yearned to flee, to hide herself from this suffocating tension—to lock herself away in the safest corner that her status as Zandier’s ‘merchandise’ would permit.

She followed Barshow along the grand yet bone-chilling corridors. With every step taken past the masterpieces and exorbitantly priced collections, the truth was driven home: she had not stepped into wealth. Instead, she was venturing deeper into a gilded cage from which there was no foreseeable escape.

Maya’s Bedroom, Zandier Estate

Barshow came to a halt before a set of grand double doors that stood in perfect, symmetrical opposition to another pair.

"That wing belongs to Mr. Zandier. And directly opposite... is yours, Madam." He reached out to swing the heavy timber door open for her.

As the massive slab of wood gave way, the dim lighting within revealed a sight that struck Maya like a physical blow. Her frame began to tremble so violently she could scarcely remain upright. She turned to Barshow, her eyes wide with a terror she could no longer mask.

"If you please," Barshow repeated, his voice as sharp and flat as a blade, pressing her to enter.

Maya stepped into the room on unsteady legs... and what met her gaze was not a new bedroom in a manor. It was her 25th-floor condominium bedroom, transported in its entirety and reconstructed within these walls!

Click.

The sound of the door closing was soft, yet it echoed like a thunderclap in the oppressive silence. Maya stood there, petrified. A thick, viscous lump rose in her throat, and she was forced to swallow it down amidst a wave of sheer, unadulterated dread.

She collapsed onto the sofa, staring at the oversized suitcase she had brought from the Akkarabadi Manor. "This... this is my flat. How on earth...?" she stammered, her voice barely a breath. Her slight frame moved to prove the impossible; she walked toward a familiar spot—the charcoal-grey curtains beside the sofa. Her trembling fingers gripped the fabric before she gathered a final spark of courage and wrenched them aside!

Her heart nearly stopped. Behind the colossal pane of glass lay the glittering, twinkling lights of a sprawling metropolis at night. It was the exact vantage point from the 25th floor of her condo—identical in every detail!

But it was impossible. She was supposed to be in a manor atop three mountains. These lights should not exist here. Yet the view behind the glass was eerily still, like a gargantuan LED screen projecting a simulation... a ghost of her former life.

Maya recoiled from the curtains as if they had burned her. Paranoia surged to its zenith; she felt as though the 'Predator’s' eyes were boring into her through these simulations at every moment. "This... this is beyond terrifying," she whimpered, pacing the room in a state of utter disarray.

Everything was in its precise location, though the space had been expanded and embellished with the opulent touch of the Zandier brand. The scent of the air freshener—the exact same fragrance from her flat—mingled with the faint, lingering trace of Alex’s cigarette smoke. It made her feel as though she were interred in a prison where the gaoler knew her far too well.

Maya slumped to the floor, her back against the sofa, her gaze drifting aimlessly. Confusion battered her senses until she could no longer discern where she truly was... between the flat that once held her freedom, or this new circle of hell named the Zandier Estate.

She forced herself into the dressing room. Closing her eyes tight, she reached out a shaking hand to pull open the wardrobe. When she looked... her breath hitched.

"No... it can't be. These clothes..."

They were a far cry from the minimalist style she adored. Every garment was a luxury designer piece, a high-fashion collection of exorbitant value. Yet what made the hair on her neck stand on end was that every single item had been tailored or selected to her exact measurements—down to the last millimetre. Maya slammed the wardrobe door shut as if she had seen something unholy. She lunged for the remaining wardrobe and let out a sigh of relief to find it empty, a small void where the belongings she brought from the Akkarabadi Manor might find a home.

But the relief was fleeting. As she opened the shoe cabinet, the air seemed to be sucked from the room. Every pair was a rare, premium edition—and every pair was her exact size. Her throat went parched, her body wracking with shivers.

With bated breath, she opened the final, mid-sized cabinet. She instantly clapped a hand over her mouth and scrambled backward in a frantic retreat. Luxury lingerie had been provided in abundance. Maya extended a hand, slick with cold sweat, to touch the tag of a jet-black lace set. Her heart plummeted; the numbers and letters on the label were her precise bust and waist measurements... accurate to a nauseating degree. It was as if the eyes of a demon had been surreptitiously surveying her body every second, even in her slumber.

Maya sank to the floor in a state of absolute terror, her flickering gaze scanning the room with mounting suspicion. "He... he is the most loathsome man on this earth."

She struggled to her feet, dragging herself into the bathroom to splash water on her face and regain her senses. But as she crossed the threshold, she froze as if cursed.

Everything... from the placement of the fixtures to the vanity cabinet beneath the mirror, was a near-perfect simulation of her condominium bathroom. Only here, it was grander, featuring a separate Jacuzzi and a rain shower. Her small hand reached for the mirrored cabinet above the basin; inside, every essential was lined up exactly as it had been in her flat. Even the scent was an exact match.

Maya stumbled out of the bathroom, her face as ashen as parchment. She perched on the sofa, clutching her knees to her chest. The chilling memory of his intrusion into her flat returned to assault her again and again.

"He's a monster... a literal satan."

She let out a soft, broken sob. The hideous truth was now starkly clear: Alex hadn't just been watching her. He had 'researched' her life to the point of knowing her most intimate measurements and personal tastes. She hadn't been brought here to be a wife. She had been brought to a "Simulated Cage" designed specifically to keep her captive.

Knock... Knock...

The sound of rapping at the door caused Maya to start violently, wrenching her from her grim reverie. She hurried toward the door to open it, but the moment her hand reached for the handle, she froze. She noticed with a jolt of alarm that the latch and locking system were the exact same model as those in her flat—identical to a heart-stopping degree.

"Yes...?"

She looked back and forth between Barshow and a middle-aged maid standing stoically before the room.

"Is it time for me to go down for dinner?" Maya attempted to steady her voice, desperate to mask the terror trembling deep within her chest.

Barshow checked his watch with an air of cold indifference. "In half an hour, Madam. I have brought the housekeeper to attend to you. From this moment forth, she shall be responsible for your care." He turned to the maid, his voice dropping to a frigid tone. "Follow the Master’s orders. See to the Madam’s needs... if there is the slightest blunder, you may carry your own head when you go to explain it to him."

With that grim command, Barshow turned on his heel and stroded away, leaving behind a suffocating silence. Maya surveyed the woman before her.

"Y-you... I mean, what is your name? How should I address you?"

"You may call me Auntie Na, Madam. Shall I assist you with your luggage?" the woman replied. her voice was flat and her expression vacant—devoid of a smile, yet showing neither friendship nor hostility. She was like a machine, programmed for a singular purpose.

Maya could only step back to grant her entry. "Yes... please."

Once inside, Auntie Na spoke a sentence that left Maya chilled to the bone. "Madam, the Master has strictly forbidden the garments you are currently wearing. They are never to be worn within this manor again. You are to wear only what the Master has provided for you."

The maid walked directly to the wardrobe Maya had so recently shut in disgust and pulled out a somber black dress. "Before you go down to dine, please change into this."

Maya felt as though her breath had been cut short. With trembling hands, she reluctantly took the fitted black dress with gold trim. She dared not utter a word of protest, heading into the bathroom with a bowed head.

But as she glanced at the designer label inside... a fresh wave of horror surged up, choking her. For on that label, beyond the meticulously detailed measurements of her body, was a name embroidered to solidify her shackles: ‘Mrs Maya Zandier’.

Alex didn't merely wish to possess her body; he was branding his ownership into every fibre of her life. Even the very things that pressed closest to her skin were not exempt from his mark.