Do or die agreement

Violet 

I stay quiet through the drive home, reeling in arrays of emotions. Sadness, anger, confusion, fear. I have the driver drop me a few blocks away from my house, and then I walk all the way home.

The neighborhood is buzzing softly on the cold night. 

I slope to my door, only to find out the landlord locked it. Like other times, I jump through the window straight into my bedroom, where there’s a lack of electricity. I’ve been surviving without electricity and water for a few weeks now, seeing as I can’t pay my bills and I’ve exceeded my credit limit.

Thinking my new job would alleviate my financial struggles, Ethan unapologetically ruined my chance.

I sag to the ground, raking my fingers through my hair while lowering my head in tears.

‘I’m so sorry, Peter,’ I cry.

‘Sorry for what? Letting your childhood lover ruin our relationship?’

‘It’s just three months, and I’ll come back to you.”

“Three months of that jerk eating my woman up and then I take you back like nothing happened? No, Violet, that’s not gonna happen. What we are, what we have ends tonight.’

Unending vibration consumes my phone. I hear it in the haze of my sleep, and with every vibration, my descension into reality quickens.

God, why can’t my problems let me die in my sleep? I lost my job. Peter called me to a bar last night just to break up with me after he came across the circulating rumors about Ethan and me. 

Peter’s last words seared into my memory, haunting my sleep. 

I reach for the nightstand, pawing for my phone. With squinted eyes, I locate the power button to turn it off, but my eyes fly open. It’s not just my creditors, it’s teammates saying I’m the secret behind the CEO’s obsession with blonde.

My mom has rung me fifty fucking times and is on it again.

Frustration hits me and I splay on the bed, feigning wails. Hastily, I bring my hand closer and answer the call before it ends.

“Mom,” I peep.

“Jesus, Violet, I’ve been knocking on your door,” she rants.

A crippling fear hits me and I jerk up in bed, my hand springing up to grab my hair. “Shit,” I cuss, confused. “Mom, you can’t be here.”

“What do you mean, I can’t be here? Let me in,” she argues.

“Mom…” I place a hand on my forehead. God, this is embarrassing to say. “You can’t use the door, er… I use the window. The landlord doesn’t know I’m here.” I bundle my fist and scrunch my face.

“What? I’m coming to the window.”

“God, I’m such a disappointment,” I mumble to myself as I hustle to the window to see my mother craning her head upward to see me. “Mom—”

She tosses her purse upward and I catch it in midair, and then she climbs in. With revulsion, she examines the condition of my room.

“I have water, juice, and my last bottle of wine. Which one do you prefer?” I leave her bag on the sofa.

“It seems you have everything but electricity.” She glances at me in disbelief.

Frustration has my shoulders drooping and I sigh. How do I tell her I am lacking water, too?

“And why are there countless crumpled tissue papers all over the floor?”

“Peter broke up with me.”

She hastily closes in and grabs both my hands. There’s awe dancing in her eyes, which evokes my curiosity. “Oh, Sweetheart. Is it because of the rumors on social media that you and Ethan are getting married in five days?”

Emotions overwhelm me. My eyes prick with tears, instantly pooling over, and the tears course down my face. My breath quivers with sobs.

I withdraw my hands from hers and grab my hair, pacing for a while before sitting on my bed. “Whatever you saw on social media can never happen, Mom.”

Worry etches on her face. She walks over and sits next to me, taking my hands in hers. “Tell me about it, dear.”

I tell her everything, including about my breakup with Peter, and she ends up in tears. She pulls me into her arms, patting and rubbing my back while I sob into her shoulder. “It’s okay, sweetheart,” she reassures. “You have to marry him.”

One sharp inhalation breaks my sobbing and shock kicks in, my breath hitching. I pull away from her arms, regarding her with confused eyes. Holy moly, she looks dead serious.

Unbelievable.

Annoyance has me asking, “Who are you?”

“I am your mother, Violet.” She reaches for my hand and I jerk my hand away. “Violet.” She briefly closes her eyes, and I know the words are too shameful for her to say.

“We don’t have a choice, sweetheart. Do you have any idea what Ethan plans to do to you when he says you’ll go down with your family? You go down and we’re dead. Besides…”

She looks away in what seems like shame, and I could tell her next barrage of words will drive me nuts.

“Ethan sent some people to our house earlier today.”

“For what?” Rage shoots into me and I jolt up to sit on one knee, inquisitively gaping at her.

“Calm down, Violet, you look like you’re about to breathe fire. He offered us a lifetime opportunity, provided you marry him. This is our chance, Sweetie.”

She grabs my hand and I swat her hand off. 

“He even offers to provide us with everything we’ll ever want, including money for your brother’s surgery.”

“And you believed him?” I snarl.

“Hell, yeah,” she snarls back. “You and Ethan separated on a bad note, and you hate each other. He’s vindictive and all, but Ethan never goes back on his words. He’s better than Peter.”

I sniffle. “Mom. Do you even care about my feelings?”

“Of course, I do. Remember where we come from, Darling. We’ve been suffering, and I just can’t let you marry poor Peter.”

She cradles my face in her hands. “You must agree to the contract marriage. Trust me, this could be a turning point for us. Besides, it’s just three months—how many years have we suffered?”

She wipes a tear from my cheek, but I don’t stop sniffling. “You’ve never broken and you can’t break now.”

My mom’s words aside, the world has taken from me until I have nothing left to live for. Well, save for my family, and if giving them the best life is the last thing I’ll do, then I’ll do it. Giving them the best life has been my dream. It has been the reason I work hard every moment of my life.

In the evening, Ethan sent a chauffeur to bring me to The Hotel Chelsea. First, he sent a courier to my house to deliver an outfit for the evening. Then, the chauffeur in a Bentley Mulsanne.

The whole of social media is bubbling with curiosity. Everyone wants to know who I am, and the paparazzi won’t get tired of snooping around in search of me. Talk shows keep calling me out. If there’s anything I hate, it’s being in the public’s eyes.

With fashion shades on, I sail through the hotel lobby, my heels clacking against the marble floor with every step. I check in at the reception. The receptionist assigns me an aide, who then takes me to the conference room.

Once in the conference room, the aide takes his leave while I stand there, staring at Ethan eye to eye.

He just sits there at the table, eyeing me at length, his gaze searing, like fire trying to burn me to a crisp. I barely even breathe, my muscles stiff. 

His acrimonious eyes leave mine, and that’s when I remember how to breathe.

“Do we have a deal? Or do you want it otherwise?”

Summoning the last piece of bravery in me, I walk to the table, pick up a pen, and lean over to sign the papers, but then I pause. I shut my eyes, beating back tears. Once I sign the papers, I’ve given my soul to misery.

“What’s with the hesitation? Swear you’re not carried away by the luxury you’re wearing. Which slut won’t be?”

I risk him a glare before turning my focus back on the paper. For the family. Just for the family. Sucking in a deep breath, I sigh, and at the last second of my exhalation, I sign the papers.

Heading for the exit in the following moment, his words stop me halfway. “What’s a queen without her crown?”

The slow, deliberate patter of his feet follows, and the awareness that he’s aiming my way shoots fear through me. Ethan never has good intentions. The heat of his body burns my back as he closes in on me. 

My body tingles, and goosebumps crawl onto my skin as he gently runs his fingers down my arm where the dress leaves a portion of skin exposed. I almost shiver at the sensation.

“What’s a fiancée without her ring?” he whispers in the shell of my ear.

I gasp as he grabs both my arms and turns me sharply so that I am facing him. He fishes a red ring box out of his pocket. That color relays a message, one he wanted me to be aware of. Danger.

He picks the ring from the box and takes my hand, roughly shoving the ring on my finger, which makes my face scrunch in discomfort and I hiss.

“Here’s the first briefing. We’ll hold a press conference where you finally get to address the public. A script will be couriered to you before the day of the conference. Go through it and nestle every word in your head. Because you’ll say everything you read to the letters. Most importantly, in the third month, the person who ends the marriage will be you.”