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milayah.
What the fuck.
Seriously, what the fuck.
How did I manage to get stuck in an office with a psychopath who threatened to blow my puppy up into shreds, listening to him tell me that I was to marry him.
Me.
Marry that.
The man is mediocre at best.
Despite effortlessly drawing attention to himself, he is nothing special.
Sure, he is tall and imposing, his physique mirroring obvious dedication and hard work to get it to where it was and keep it there. Every step he takes does exude what many might describe as an ego but others confidence, the kind that comes with knowing that your presence alone can turn heads without a single word escaping your mouth.
Sure.
His broad shoulders, covered by nothing but a wife beater tapered down to a slim waist, his gentle muscles ripping beneath his tan skin. Each movement; purposeful, complimenting his straight posture.
However, it was his hair that made him slightly bearable to look at.
A crown of unruly curls that fell in a way no deliberate manhandling could achieve. His dark, tousled locks framed a face that was both rugged and striking.
His features, strong and angular were highlighted by a a square jawline and piercing grey eyes that seemed to shift in hue depending on the light. The sharp slope of his nose leads to his plump lips and down to his tatted neck, as if inviting your gaze to linger for longer.
But he was alright.
In conversation, his voice was deep, carrying a quiet authority which as much as I hate to admit it, drove my mind to other places and drew me in.
He spoke with purpose and clarity, each word measured and deliberate, with an underlying hostility in his tone, almost challenging a retort.
"Are you listening?" Said voice snaps me out of my thoughts, leaning back into the black office chair behind the black table on the black table in the black room.
I wonder what his favourite colour is.
"No." I blink at him, hoping that if he really was serious about blowing something up that it would be me.
His chiseled jaw locks, patience visibly wearing thin as he leans forward in his chair and rests his elbows on the, you wouldn't believe it, black desk. "Your dad has given you to me in order for you to marry me."
I laugh.
He doesn't.
That's ridiculous.
My dad would never do that.
A deep voice clearing its throat startles me and forced me to look back into the man's eyes, my amusement dying down as his irritation increases.
He wouldn't give me away to deranged Hulk over here.
"My dad wouldn't do that." I retort, my voice coming out in a mocking tone at his words.
With a sigh, the man opens his black cabinet and pulls out a piece of paper to place in front of me.
Hesitantly, I pick it up, not knowing that the words I was about to read were to completely erase all I had thought I'd known over the past 21 years of my life.
There, in front of me, on a piece of paper worth less than a dime, in my father's handwriting it stated that,
I, Giuliano Armani, sign over all legal rights of Milayah Ketsyah Armani over to Azrael Flores.
I give permission for him to do as he pleases with her.
I stare down at the letter in my trembling hands, my heart sinking with each word I read.
It was a legal document, signed by father, later going on to state that he had arranged for me to marry a man that I has just met in a horrible circumstance.
I refuse to believe it.
I had always believed my father to be my protector. Although we weren't close, he'd guided me through life's uncertainties. But now, as I read the words on this lifeless piece of paper, I feel utterly abandoned.
Is it real?
The room felt suffocating as I struggle to make sense of the situation. My father's behaviour suddenly all makes sense.
The hurried conversations, the vague replies, the apologies, the hushed phone calls. Had he been planning this behind my back, treating me like a commodity to be traded? But for what gain?
What reason could he possibly have to do this?
My mind races with questions my tongue cannot form.
Who is this man?
Why had my father made such an agreement?
Did he care so little about my wishes and dreams?
Anger began to replace the initial shock. Clutching the letter tightly, I stood up, my fists clenched at my sides.
I refuse.
I refuse to allow myself to be bartered away like livestock.
"I don't believe this." I voice, feigning indifference in my shaky voice as I stare the man in his eyes, a million thoughts rushing through my head. "Why would my dad just give me away to a nutcase?"
A light, humourless chuckle escaped his lips as he leans back into his chair, running a finger through his dark locks as he gazes up at me through half lidded eyes. "Your dad owed me... something. And there was only one thing he had that could possibly interest me. So I took it."
Rage bubbles inside my chest.
Knowing better than to engage in a conversation with a nutcase, I turn around and make my way towards the exit of this morbid office when his voice stops me in my tracks.
"You can try to run away," he drawls, his voice relaxed, laced with a hint of amusement, "But I own you, and I will find you." I freeze in my tracks. "And I can't promise you patience or mercy when I do."
My chest swells with determination, his words fuelling my need to leave as I storm out, heart pounding in a feeling I cannot describe.
Sadness? Not even in the slightest.
Words couldn't describe all of the feelings rushing through my mind.
