My mind raced, spanning back to that exact moment three years ago. How he had swung the weapon to claim Mr. Adebayo's head, how it had rolled to my legs, and how he had raised his eyes when he heard my scream, his dark gaze coated in blood finding me.
I moved immediately, rushing back to the bathroom where I had soaked the dress. I pulled it out, squeezing it gently so as not to mess up the design, walked over to my washing machine, opened the dryer, and clicked the button to start the machine.
Several minutes later, I stood before my full-length mirror, dressed in the dried gown again. My face was caked with simple makeup—eyeshadow, mascara, and shiny lip gloss. I styled my red-hair to a tight bun, accentuating the outline of my oval-shaped face. I wore the Tiffany & Co. necklace that had come with the package and checked myself out. I looked like a prized product, but with a mouth-watering price tag stamped on it.
I couldn't believe this. I was meeting that man again. But this time, as his bride-to-be. The universe is a fucking clown, playing with my feelings like this. A few weeks ago, I was celebrating finally getting that gory image of him out of my mind; today, I was meeting him in person as the woman who would be living with him for the rest of her life. Funny, right? Ah.
Exactly twenty minutes later, I received a message from Marcus that he was around, waiting at the parking lot. I got up and deliberately switched off my phone before making it to the parking lot, knowing full well that Faridat would blow my phone up.
Marcus leaned against the door of a Camry when I arrived at the parking lot, a cigarette pinched between his lips, the butt reddening as he took a slow drag. He was dressed in a tailored suit, his dirty blonde hair combed to the back neatly just like the other time.
When he saw me, he pushed off the car.
"You look amazing, sister," he complimented, pinning me with a smile and puffing out the smoke.
He opened the back door for me, ushering me in. I walked towards the car but halted by the door. "I want to know why."
I wasn't looking at him, but I could see the confused frown etched onto his face from the corner of my eye.
"Why what?"
"Why it was so easy for you to make this decision of selling me out."
"I'm not selling you. I'm just exchanging a possession of mine for something much better."
"And this exchange is not to my benefit, how's that?"
"Daphne, you really don't understand what you are getting into, do you?" He said with a smug grin. "This man has billionaires worshipping him. He has politicians kissing the ground he walks on. If you are thinking it'd be better with Omar, I really need you to stop deceiving yourself. Omar is relying on his parents' wealth. And his father would never let him use his money to take care of someone like you. Why do you think he is working so hard to build a career for himself?"
His hand grabbed my shoulder, spinning me to face him. I pinned him with a glare. "Getting married to Kavanagh is many women's wish. You should be grateful. This is more of a win for you than it is a win for me."
The ride went in a blur. The car swept past the vibrancy of Chicago City. People walking dogs, high school friends checking out a prom dress. An old couple celebrating their anniversary in a corner. I looked at the old couple a little longer. Wondering if life had finally robbed me of this luxury. My life could never remain the same without Omar in it.
Blackwell was a luxurious restaurant, a place for wealthy people and celebrities. I'd only heard of the place before; I'd never been there. Of course.
Marcus led me out, his hand grabbing my elbow as if fearing I would suddenly sprint and make a run for it.
"I promise you, brother, I've thought of an escape a million times but I'm still not attempting it because I love my life."
Marcus chuckled. "I know, sister, but it's still important to ensure this goes well as I've planned. You are really good at ruining my plans. It has happened before. Remember, six years ago?"
"Yeah, I remember clearly. I also remember you having a choice to just let the social workers take me if you were so incapable of raising me yourself."
We ventured into the restaurant. It was filled but not completely. Just high-profile people in twos and threes around tables, talking softly, laughing gently. The ambiance of the restaurant was soft and elegant.
"We will be visiting that topic another day. All I ask, sister, is for you to behave today," he said, smiling as he approached the Maître d'.
A woman with the tightest bun I had ever seen; she looked to be in her late fifties with no wrinkles in sight.
"Welcome to Blackwell, do you have a reservation with us?" she greeted, painting on a bright smile.
"Yes. With Kavanagh."
Her smile faltered a bit, but she kept it on. "Of course. This way sir," her gaze swept to me, "ma'am."
She started leading us away from the main room and up the stairs. We walked down a hall, totally secluded and separated from the main room. Down the hall stood a door with opaque sliding panels decorated with cherry blossoms. My heartbeat skyrocketed, my body going back to its usual trembling.
We stopped at the door and she turned to us. "Mr. Kavanagh is waiting to receive you."
My heart dropped to my stomach when I watched her turn and leave.
Marcus didn't even give me much time to think before he slid the door open and ushered me in.
I took a deep breath, pressed my sweaty, trembling palm, and thought about Omar, Faridat, and the other people I loved that that man might hurt if I just made a run for it.
Nothing helped.
Nothing helped because when I stepped into the room and was standing before him, everything around me turned to dust. I could feel my heart rate pause, I could feel my breath hold, I could feel my lungs stop working. My body went stiff.
He sat on a Zaisu mat dressed in a sleek, all-black ensemble featuring a long tailored overcoat layered over a fitted suit with a satin vest and open-collar shirt. His blonde hair was styled messily with a soft, side-swept fringe for a relaxed, edgy look.
The blonde hair made his aura even darker and more captivating. He had a wine glass in his grip, sipping softly as he lifted his gaze. When those dark eyes pinned on me again, my world stopped. Remembering his words to me three years ago, my legs went weak and I sank down, caught by Marcus.
Yeah, his words to me three years ago.
Three years ago (continuation)
My scream bounced off the walls of Adebayo's mansion, falling back into my own ears, my eyes widened in horror. Sinclair's lips twisted with a smirk. As he straightened and tossed the remainder of Mr Adebayo's body aside, the blood dripping down the side of his face slipped over his lips, and since his lips were slightly parted in amusement, gaze still fixed on me, the blood stained his teeth. He didn't bother to wipe it off.
This was my cue. I sprinted immediately, running faster than I had in the entirety of the eighteen years of my life. I dashed into Sarah's room and tried locking it, but my hands were shaking too much and I was unable to lock it before he got in. I could hear his heavy footsteps over the next music on the loudspeaker in the hallway.
I abandoned the door and ran into the bathroom, throwing myself under the large basin that was low to the ground. With not much space to contain my full body beneath, I forced myself in. The space was dark so it'd be harder for him to sight me. Except, it wouldn't.
My heart went to my throat when I saw his loafers stained with blood step in slowly. Burn It from the BTS playlist playing gingerly on the loudspeaker sounded muffled when he closed the bathroom door behind him.
I trembled, my tears staining the tiles, my lips parted but my breath held, saliva staining the tiles beneath me from my panic. I was shaking like a leaf in an angry storm.
He passed the basin, and I closed my eyes, trying to make the music distract me, my heart pounding so loudly that I feared he might hear it.
Breathe, Daphnesore. I opened my eyes, my heart jumping when I saw his loafers before me, his body dripping with blood that was not his.
I closed my eyes again, trying to make the music sink into my soul and buy time away.
However, after a while, when I opened my eyes, my heart stopped when I saw him crouched over, peeping into the hole where I hid, staring darkly at me, lips touched with a smirk. I thought it was over. I thought about what death felt like in that moment. It felt like I was staring right back at death.
But then, the police siren came on. And he looked in the direction, his face etching into a bit of amusement. Then, he turned back to me; with blood-stained teeth, he said, "I'll catch you, love. No matter how long the race takes." Then, he got up and strode away.