Mariëlla's POV
The mansion was alive with the hum of activity, the smell of spices and sizzling food wafting through the air. The kitchen was a chaotic flurry of movement as I prepared the evening meal, an intricate dance of culinary demands and subtle power plays. Amar's family's drug empire ran deep, and the women were expected to cater to the men's needs while keeping the peace.
"Feline, chop those vegetables faster! We're on a tight schedule," I called out, trying to manage the chaos while avoiding Amar's intense gaze across the room. He leaned casually against the counter, arms crossed, a predatory glint in his eyes as he watched me work.
Emily stirred a pot on the stove, her eyes darting nervously between Amar and the food. "Do you need help with anything, Mariëlla?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
"Just keep an eye on the pasta," I replied, forcing a smile. I was grateful for her presence, but I couldn't shake the feeling that I was under a microscope. Amar pushed off the counter and sauntered over, the tension thickening in the air. "What's taking so long? I ordered the lasagna, not a five-course meal," he said, his tone both mocking and demanding.
I shot him a glare, my frustration boiling over. "If you wanted fast food, you should have ordered takeout." The words slipped out before I could stop them, and I immediately regretted it. He stepped closer, invading my space, his expression darkening. "Watch your tone. I don't take well to sass, especially from you." His voice dropped to a low growl, sending an involuntary shiver down my spine. There was something intoxicating about his proximity, even as anger coursed through me.
"You don't own me, Amar," I snapped back, clenching my jaw to keep my composure. He leaned in closer, his breath warm against my ear. "Maybe not, but you're mine in this kitchen, and I expect you to know your place." There was a hint of something primal in his voice, a mix of possessiveness and desire that both infuriated me. "I certainly am not-" I cut off my sentence, caught in his wicked gaze. I knew he was right. As long as they still had my pasport, I was never going to be my own. Thet owned me. He owned me.
I fought the urge to react to his closeness, focusing on the sauce simmering on the stove. "You can't just demand whatever you want. This isn't a restaurant." I folded my arms across my chest, trying to hold on to my remaining dignity.. "Is that so?" he challenged, stepping back just enough to look me in the eyes, the heat between us palpable. "What if I want something specific? Like that special dish you make, the one with the—" He wanted to say whipcream, but I stared him down. Daring him to go further. I wanted to slap him! The fucking idiot, for even hinting to the night we both had been drunk beyond limits. And limits we crossed. All limits we crossed that night.
The rememberance of his stone hard, naked body against mine, made me press my thigh together involuntarily.
The woman in this house all slept in the basement, except for me. It was Amar's idea of a sick joke that I had to spend every night in his bedroom. Amar had claimed me as his so called 'toy' for in his bedroom. To keep me safe, he had confessed that night. Safe? From him? I loathed him, and he did not hide just how much he loathed me. He never missed an oppertunity to just tell me that.
"Stop right there," I cut him off, heat flooding my cheeks. "I'm not your personal chef, Amar." Nayan, Amar's younger brother, entered the kitchen, catching the tail end of our exchange. "What's going on here?" he asked with a murderous face. Nayan was... What was he? A rapist? He hurt people- and especially woman- for the fun of it.
The women in the basement weren't truly safe from Nayan; they were caught in a nightmare that felt endless. I knew that whatever twisted dynamic existed between Amar and me was nothing compared to the danger they faced.
Amar shot daggers at me, warning me to stay out of trouble. Not all woman who entered this kitchen lived to see the outside. "Just a little discussion about dinner," Amar replied, his expression softening for a moment before turning back to me. "You'll make that dish for me." Amar ordered with false authority. I never really understood him when he tried to protect me from his family like this, while on the other hand he could be so cruel to me.
I could feel the weight of his words, the unspoken promise pf protection. It was infuriating how he could shift from anger to something dangerously seductive, or sweet in an instant.
"Fine," I relented, gritting my teeth. "I'll make it, but only because it's what we're serving tonight." I bit through my teeth. "Good girl," he said, nonchalantly. I hated how much I craved his approval, even as I loathed him for it.
As I returned to my task, I could feel his eyes on me, a constant reminder of the power he held over me. The kitchen was filled with the clattering of utensils and quiet conversations, but all I could focus on was the tension between us.
Feline approached, trying to diffuse the situation. She had dark curly hair, and was around my age. Being in your thirties in this house wasn't the custom. Most woman in here got trapped when the were in their early twenties. Young, dumb, naief. Unlike me and most woman, Feline had been here for more than ten years. She was everything we had to teach us how to survive. "Let's just get everything ready before they arrive," she suggested, casting a nervous glance between us.
"I'm heading out,' I amar said as he walked out the kitchen door. the preparation for this evening went on and I went into Amar's Bedroom. Unlike his pretend dark character, his room was light, neat and tidy. Sometimes he even felt a little autistic. Everything was sorted by colors and shape. Maniac. I noticed there was a dressbag on the bed.
As I unzipped the dress bag, the delicate fabric of the white lace gown spilled out, a stark contrast to the chaos of my thoughts. The sight made my stomach churn. Amar's control extended to every detail, even dictating how I should present myself. It was another layer of his manipulation, forcing me into a role I despised. I tossed the gown back onto the bed, my anger bubbling beneath the surface. I wouldn't let him dictate who I was or what I wore, and wore a red long satin dress.
Out of all days, Amar had chosen today to take his new arm-candy to our home. For months he had been flaunting her; taking her out to dinners and movies. Still, taking her here, was out of a whole other category. Was he that serious about her? She came from a wealthy Chinese family, and yes they were corrupt, but not in his family kind of corrupt way. Taking her here, meant he would be entrusting her his secrets. My stomach turned as I waslked out of the bedroom.
The sound of heels clicking against the marble floor caught my attention, and I turned to see Kayli gliding into the main room, adorned in a stunning gold dress that shimmered with every step. The dress had Amar written all over it. Her long black hair cascaded over her shoulders. But honestly, her confidence seemed staged. She kept on fidgeting with her dress as she took the massiveness of the house in.
Amar stood nearby, his gaze roaming over her body. He brushed a loose strand of hair behind Kayli's ear, an intimate gesture that sent a mix of emotions coursing through my whole body. Kayli was his new trophy, someone to be showcased, was clear he was treating her differently, not like the other women in the house. Bitterness seemed into my mouth.
"Do I fit in?" Kayli asked. "You look perfect," Amar replied, his voice low and sincere, but the protective edge in his demeanor hinted at his possessiveness. "Just remember—tonight's different." he told her. For some reason, him interacting with her like that stirred up every type of hatred I had inside of my body.
As if on cue, the doorbell rang, cutting through the tension. I froze, the reality of the evening crashing down on me. Amar's uncle, the head of the kartel, was here.
Nayan opened the door, revealing Nathanaël. A man who commanded fear and respect in equal measure. He stepped inside, flanked by his intimidating bodyguards, the atmosphere shifting instantly as he scanned the room with cold, calculating eyes.
"What a lovely gathering we have tonight," Nathanaël remarked, his voice smooth but laced with a menace that made me shiver.
Kayli took a step forward, attempting to project confidence despite the palpable tension. "Hi! I'm Kayli. It's great to meet you!"
Nathanaël's eyes narrowed as he assessed her, while combing his thick mustache. A slow, creepy smile creeping across his face. "Amar's new... I see," he said, swallowing the word. There was a hint of curiosity in his tone.
Nathanaël's eyes slid to mine. Amar had saved me numerous times, from the hands of this man. I shivered by the memory. Out of habit I took a step towards Amar, who usually caught these type of hazardly moments, shielding me. But his focus seemed completely directed on Kayli. I bit down the emotion I could not name.