A fearful agreement

Violet 

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

The neighborhood is buzzing softly in the cold night. 

I sneak the my door, only to find out the landlord locked it. Like other times, I take the window straight into my bedroom, in which 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.

Thinking my new job would ease my financial struggle, Ethan unapologetically cost me the opportunity.

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 be back to you.”

“Three months of that jerk eating my woman and then I take you back like nothing happened? No, Violet, that's not gonna happen. What we were, what we had 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 demons 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 rumors about Ethan and me. 

Peter's last words burned into my brain, 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 wail. Hastily, I take my hand closer and pick up the call before it ends.

“Mom,” I mumble.

“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 the room.

“I have water, juice, 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 eyes drooping and I sigh. How do I tell her I am lacking water too?

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

“Peter broke up with me.”

She hastily closes in and grabs both my hands. There's awe in 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 tingling with tears and instantly pool over and course down my face. My breath quivers with sobs.

I withdraw my hands from hers and grab my hair, pacing for a while before I sit 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 snoozes my sob and shock kicks in, my breath hitching. I pull away from her arms, regarding her with confused eyes. Heaven's sake, 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 spew.

“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 spew 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 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 golden opportunity for us. Besides, it's just three months—how many years have we suffered?”

She swipes a tears from my cheek but I don't stop sniffling. “You're my lion. 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, 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 my house to deliver an outfit for the evening. Then, the chauffeur in an a Bentley Mulsanne.

The whole of social media is bubbling with curiosity. Everyone wants to know who I really am and the paparazzi won't tire to snoop 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 return to 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 the pen, and bend 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 my misery.

“What’s with the hesitation? Swear you're not carried away by the luxury you're wearing already. 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 moment of my exhalation, I sign the papers.

Heading for the exit in the following second, 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 had good intentions. The heat of his body scalds 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 fiancee 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.”