Millers'!
The name is practically etched into the custom-made gate in heavy gold alphabets.
The wind blusters mildly, carrying specks of debris across the squeaky-clean gravel ground — a ground I'm sure takes more than ten housekeepers to maintain.
Oh, and it carries something more…humid.
Salt?
The question is answered when a body of glittering, flowing sea rolls in waves beneath the twilight sun.
The sight is mesmerizing—refreshing, even—in contrast to the dread that floats thick in the air.
Earlier, shock was an understatement of what I felt.
I knew it was coming, just...not that fast.
It hasn't even been up to twenty-four hours since my "twenty-four hours to make a choice" expired.
I can't blame Aunt Maya either. She's just as helpless as I am in this situation.
However, I loathed the look in her eyes when she glanced at me.
Pity.
I don't do sympathy—at least not when it concerns me.
I sigh. From the rolled-down window, the wind catches it and carries it away.
My attention snags on the fortress looming beautifully up front as the white Bentayga pulls into a canopied parking lot.
'Posh.'
Other vehicles trailing behind do the same, the revving of multiple engines dying in unison.
Clasping the door handle, I push it open and step out before one of the men can rush over to perform the simple action.
My feet meet the cobbled ground, and I feel the invisible weight pressing in—like a welcome to hell.
"This way, Miss."
The man's voice barely pierces the haze clouding my mind, but I follow nonetheless, in the direction of his outstretched hand.
Cream-painted walls catch the fading orange sun. A large porch stretches out front—extravagant, maybe even wasteful—but oh well.
Expensive-looking flower pots line either side of the entrance, delicate blooms rooted in rich soil.
It's beautiful…dauntingly so.
However, I can't bring myself to feel anything other than lifelessness.
Its shadows have marked a permanent presence in my life, leaving indelible scars only I can see—and feel.
Officially, my life is on a tragic pause.
Until God knows when.
Another man stands rooted near the entrance, a tailcoat draped around his tall figure, standing impossibly still with white-gloved hands clasped behind his back.
"Good evening, and welcome to the Miller home, Miss. The house is excited to have you."
His immovable form bends at the waist in a polite bow as he greets me with rehearsed precision.
I nod back, bowing slightly in return.
As I step inside, I feel it then—everything leaving me.
Stripped of my choices, stripped of everything that makes me me.
I belong to the master of this enormous mansion now.
I'm owned.
The butler follows behind, his head high and nose in the air.
"I'll show you to your room," he announces, taking the lead while I trail behind.
A long spiral staircase greets me as we exit the sophisticated living room filled with things even the sale of a kidney couldn't afford.
The stairs are so long I feel the threat of dizziness and a headache just looking at them.
I follow carefully, taking one pristinely white marble step at a time.
In no time, we reach the second floor—the hall glowing glamorously under golden lights and ornate chandeliers.
The tap, tap of our shoes echo off the creamy walls like a restrained chant.
He pauses in front of a polished door, grazing the handle before twisting it open.
"Your room, Miss," he informs.
Leaving him behind, I stroll in.
The space is huge—annoyingly huge. The walls washed in a natural shade of green. Simple.
White beddings, a wooden dresser leaning slightly to one side.
The queen-sized bed sits before a window, its sheets neatly tucked despite the frayed edges.
A myriad of lights decorate the high ceiling.
It's quiet up here. Like a room holding its breath.
A faint reek of floral things and crisp linen invades my nose.
My eyes dart everywhere—taking it all in.
"I'll leave you be." His words pull me back to earth.
"Your things will be brought later. Dinner will be ready in fifteen, and you're expected to attend. Enjoy your stay."
His footsteps fade away, leaving the spot empty.
A sigh whooshes out of me. It's not even hot here, but my clammy fingers rub against each other nervously.
My chest feels hollow—like there's an empty space where my heart should be.
I should feel sad.
My throat is tight, my heart burns…but my tear glands are dried up.
I've made peace with the fact that this is fate.
I try to settle in, but the nagging feeling that I don't belong keeps nibbling at me.
So, after one final glance around the room and a haunting conversation with myself, I do as instructed.
I go down for dinner.
However, I almost get lost among the many meaningless rooms that all look alike.
I first step into one with a billiard table in the center, then another filled with instruments like a grand piano, and yet another stocked with gym equipment.
Jeez. I'm sweaty and exhausted before I finally trace my way to the dining room—a long table, too much space for a family, and too much silence.
The disturbing part?
The entire house feels…empty.
No, it is empty.
And so is the supposed dinner I was told would be ready in fifteen minutes.
Is this a joke?
But then my attention catches on a file sitting neatly at the center of the dining table.
My fingers twitch at my sides. My eyes flicker around the room—still empty.
So I step forward, heartbeat thudding, as something inside me whispers that whatever lies there…concerns me.
AGREEMENT CONTRACT
The words are bold. Final.
And when I flip it open, my eyes nearly spill out of their sockets.