Chapter Four: The Proposal
As dusk drew near, warm hues flooded through the expansive windows of Marik's quarters, painting the room in a soft, amber glow. He sank into a plush corner sofa, a mug of steaming black coffee cradled between his hands. Typically, he'd drain the contents before it had a chance to cool, but today, his thoughts were elsewhere, his coffee a mere afterthought.
A'isha. She was a puzzle that he couldn't help but want to solve; the embodiment of defiance, with an indomitable spirit that few possessed. After she'd brashly refused to hear out his proposition that morning, he'd returned to his quarters to keep an eye on her through the surveillance system - or the 'CreepCam', as she'd so eloquently put it to Amara. He'd grown suspicious when she'd quietly told Amara to keep an ear out (an instruction he'd heard not through the camera, but Amara's mind) while she secluded herself in the bathroom for half an hour. His suspicions had been confirmed when Odion returned to collect their breakfast dishes, only for A'isha to lunge at him with an improvised weapon while Amara bolted for the door. A'isha had fashioned a shiv using a comb, and the gag and duct tape previously used to silence her. Thanks to Marik's foresight, Odion had been prepared and the attempt was swiftly thwarted, but the encounter served as a stark reminder - A'isha was a force to be reckoned with.
This was more than a captor-captive dynamic. It was a game of chess, one in which he'd continue to make the right moves, keeping five steps ahead of her. With Amara under his thumb, A'isha was malleable to his demands, but her mere obedience wasn't enough. To keep his control intact, he needed her cooperation, not just compliance born from fear for her cousin's safety. Perhaps a calculated show of respect, a careful allowance of autonomy, could chip away at her defences and make her more pliable, paving the way to some semblance of trust between them.
A soft chuckle escaped him. The R.H., notorious leader of the Rare Hunters, contemplating respect and autonomy as if he were some suitor in a Shakespearean play. But the idea wasn't without its merits. A kitten was certainly easier to manage than a lioness, after all.
A new strategy began to take shape in his mind. He would show A'isha that he was not just her captor, but a man with a vision - a vision that had inadvertently ensnared her.
As the sun dipped beneath the horizon, he placed his empty mug on the coffee table, determination pulsing within him. He knew the road ahead would be fraught with challenges. He expected no immediate transformation in A'isha's attitude; she would be defiant, suspicious. But he was prepared for that, ready to keep his patience in check even in the face of her resistance. Gradually, he would reveal facets of his character that bespoke respect and understanding. Because to win the game, he required full control of the Queen.
A'isha frowned at the underside of the top bunk, the memory of that morning's failed escape attempt like a bitter pill lodged in her throat. She wasn't stupid; the plan had been far from foolproof, a hasty concoction birthed from desperation as the shoreline became a distant blur. But it hadn't been her worst plan either. Yet, it had fallen apart in an instant.
Odion had been ready, disarming her almost casually the moment he'd opened the door. Meanwhile, another Rare Hunter had hoisted Amara off the ground as though she was weightless, her limbs flailing in a way that might've been funny under different circumstances. Five bucks said Marik, the damn stalker, was to blame for their failure.
She glanced at Amara. Her cousin was parked by the window, having decided on disappointment with a view, and in the cabin's only chair, which somehow remained unscathed despite the abuse she'd subjected it to since they'd arrived yesterday morning. A pang of remorse wormed its way into her brain. It wasn't her fault they were in this mess, but their foiled escape attempt still left her feeling like she'd let Amara down.
A sharp rap on the door jolted A'isha from her thoughts. The three-beat rhythm was assertive, distinct; echoing the knock Marik had used earlier. Her heart pounded, mind suddenly buzzing with awful scenarios. Was he there to punish them? She wasn't sure what form his retribution might take, but it sure wouldn't be pretty. What if he took his ire out on Amara to keep her in line?
Her eyes fixated on the door, waiting for it to swing open. Instead, Marik's voice filtered through the wooden barrier, carrying an unfamiliar tone. "May I enter?"
As A'isha's eyes met Amara's, she was taken aback for the second time in seconds. Rather than the spaced out look that seemed typical of Marik's mind control, there was confusion - an expression that was Amara's alone. Her cousin was conscious, presumably because Marik had allowed it, and she was seeking A'isha's guidance, relying on her to steer them through this whole shitstorm. A reminder that, despite Marik's powers, they still had their agency, their ability to make choices.
Rising from the bed, she stood tall, refusing to let fear paralyse her. She'd stay strong for herself, and more importantly, for Amara. "Are you coming in?" she challenged.
With a click, the lock released and the door slid open, revealing Marik in the doorway. A'isha's eyes remained fixed on him as he entered the room, her mind churning with questions. His steps were measured, almost purposeful - like a zookeeper tiptoeing around a wild animal. She searched his expression, his body language, for any clues to his motives, but found precisely none. What was he playing at?
"I'm not here to punish you," Marik said, his voice calm, devoid of the arrogance he'd so unabashedly flaunted from the moment he'd revealed his identity. "Contrary to what you may think, I understand that a captive's primary goal is to escape. I won't discipline you for doing what's expected of you."
Confusion crumpled A'isha's face. She'd expected confrontation and punishment, not an acknowledgement of their instinct to break free. What was his angle? Was he trying to disarm her, to lull her into complacency before striking? She had to tread carefully. "So what, you're just going to let us keep trying to escape?" Skepticism seeped into her words, her gaze never leaving his. "Why should we believe you?"
"You can believe what you will," Marik said, holding her gaze, and briefly, she searched his eyes for any sign of deception. None. But his Namu guise had proven he was one hell of an actor. "Nonetheless, I have a proposition for you. One that may offer a better alternative to futile escape attempts."
Amara's voice cut through the air, a mix of curiosity and disbelief. "Um, sorry, can we just have, like, a group huddle? Minus you." She pointed to Marik. "So, like, a double huddle? With my cousin."
Waving a hand, he granted them a semblance of privacy and turned away, facing the wide open door rather than them. It was then that something caught A'isha's eye - the Millennium Rod, tucked under his belt. A flicker of hope ignited within her, sparking thoughts of grabbing it and sprinting for the door with Amara in tow. Or could she use it as a weapon? Maybe even a bargaining chip? It clearly mattered to him.
"I don't hear a discussion," Marik called over his shoulder, pulling her from her scheming.
Letting out a frustrated breath, A'isha decided against the idea. He was on high alert, and mind-control powers aside, a whole ship of Rare Hunters were at his disposal. Today's failed escape attempt had made it painfully clear that she needed to be smarter, more calculating. She turned to Amara, her voice low for an illusion of privacy. "So what's with the double huddle?"
Amara leaned closer, her voice a tactless whisper-shout. "Well, who is this guy and why does he look like my dream boyfriend?"
A'isha gaped at the girl. Seriously? Did her boy-obsessed ways know no bounds? He was a criminal, for crying out loud! He'd ruined countless lives, committed all sorts of atrocities, probably even murdered people.
"I'm The R.H.," Marik piped up matter-of-factly.
Amara's eyes widened as she swivelled to face him. "You? But you're—"
"Your dream boyfriend, I heard." Yeah, right. He was more like their worst nightmare. "I can't say the same about you," he jabbed at Amara, earning a salty look from the girl.
"Excuse me," she squawked, complete with an offended pout. "I've had way more boyfriends than you!"
"I should hope so."
Amara went to speak—
"Don't give him the satisfaction, Mar." A'isha stared him down, a hand on her hip. "Are you going to let us talk or not?"
"My apologies." The two words were delivered with all the sincerity of a used car salesman. "Continue."
Amara's hand rested on A'isha's shoulder as they resumed their huddle. "Dude has ears in the back of his head," she properly whispered, nodding in Marik's direction.
"Just so you know, Mar, I don't trust him one bit." A'isha glanced at Marik, wondering if he could hear her, and almost hoped he could as she continued, "He barged in while you were sleeping with all the arrogance of a peacock flaunting its feathers. The jerk thinks he's above everyone."
A huff of amusement from said jerk confirmed her suspicions. Of course, he was eavesdropping.
"Well, I'll follow your lead, Ish." No pressure.
Returning her attention to Marik, A'isha straightened her posture. "Okay, I'll bite. What's your proposition?"
He gestured to the wide open door, and something about the action added insult to injury after their failed escape attempt. "If you'll follow me to the kitchen, we can discuss it over a drink."
That gave A'isha pause. Leaving Amara alone, and being alone with her captor, were two scenarios at the bottom and back of her wish list right now. Especially with his sudden change in behaviour blaring warning bells in her head. "Can't we just talk here?" she pressed, already suspecting the answer.
"My strong preference is to keep our conversation private." His strong preference? She almost snorted at the word choice - like he was trying to sound diplomatic without really giving her a choice. "We should take no longer than half an hour. However, if we exceed that time frame, I'll see to it that Amara is informed."
A'isha clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms. The sting of failure had rattled her confidence, instilling an uninvited sense of self-doubt. She felt the weight of responsibility for Amara's safety on her shoulders, a fierce protectiveness aflame within her, but here was Marik, offering a proposition, a potential alternative. The unknown loomed ahead, tempting her with the possibility of something different, perhaps even better, and although mistrust and uncertainty gnawed at her, if she refused Marik's proposition outright, they might miss a chance for a breakthrough, for a plan that could truly set them free. Though if she accepted, she needed to keep her wits about her, to gather information that may lead to a successful escape, and to protect herself and Amara at all costs.
Taking a resolute step forward, A'isha made her choice. She would follow Marik, not blindly, but with her eyes open and her mind sharp. "I'll come."
A'isha's eyes drilled into Marik's back as he led her through a labyrinth of corridors, their footsteps resonating on the polished floor. With each disorientating turn they took, the bitter taste of failure intensified on her tongue. Even if they'd made it past their cabin door earlier, finding a lifeboat would've been nearly impossible in this maze. Yet, his royal highness moved with effortless familiarity, as if the layout of his domain was etched on the back of his eyelids.
They descended a staircase, the air cooling as the crashing of waves against the ship's hull grew louder. Marik opened a pair of double doors, revealing a striking sight. Panoramic windows framed the vast Mediterranean Sea, stretching toward the horizon, the soft glow of the rising moon highlighting the rhythmic dance of the waves. It was salt in the wound, a reminder of the world beyond their captivity.
In the kitchen, A'isha couldn't help but marvel at its modern design, with pendant lights illuminating sleek stainless steel appliances, and a state-of-the-art espresso machine filling the air with the rich aroma of coffee. An adjacent dining hall boasted two elegant tables, blanketed by deep purple tablecloths and adorned with china, glassware, and silverware.
Marik gestured toward a chair that sat to the left of the head of the first table - the seat he'd surely take. She considered stealing his chair as an act of defiance, but this wasn't the time to piss him off. That'd come later, when they successfully escaped. Reluctantly, she took the chair Marik had indicated and settled into its plush cushion, feeling like an imposter amid the opulence. All of it was a sobering reminder of who she was up against and the limitless resources at his disposal.
As he glided with infuriating grace toward the kitchen, every movement he made demanded attention, befitting The R.H.'s infamous title. God, how he sickened her. "I believe a relaxed atmosphere can foster more fruitful conversations," he said, his hands splayed upon the enormous slab of marble that served as the island bench.
Relaxed? A'isha suppressed a scoff. More like excessive. And frustrating as hell. He'd dumped them in a shoebox, while the rest of his ship looked like something out of a luxury cruise brochure.
"Now then," he continued, his voice smooth, "what would you like to drink?"
A'isha crossed her arms, fighting the distaste that threatened to scrunch her face. "I don't drink alcohol." To her dismay, her voice cracked, and it was clear from the outset that Marik had noticed. He squinted down his nose at her, his penetrating gaze making her tense. His thinking face. Quickly, she added, "What else do you have?" She was almost certain this was about to turn into an interrogation.
But he surprised her, breaking eye contact and plucking a mug from beside the espresso machine. "I meant coffee," he said, redirecting the conversation. What the— Was he toying with her? Theories simmered beneath the surface, threatening to boil over, and not a single one was good. A touch of amusement entered his tone as he added, "Or tea, though I will judge you." His attempt at humour only fuelled her frustration. Was he playing mind games? Trying to throw her off kilter with his yoyo behaviour?
Her frustration reached its boiling point, manifesting in the clatter of cutlery as she shot up from her seat. The room seemed to hold its breath as she fixed her eyes on Marik, who didn't look remotely fazed. "What's your deal?" she snapped, the words ricocheting off the high ceiling. "Are you trying to 'Namu' it up again? Because been there, done that, not falling for it again." Her words hung in the air, a direct challenge to his shift in attitude. She needed to assert herself, to make it clear that she wouldn't be a pawn in his game.
Setting down the mug, Marik walked over from the kitchen and, as if to defy her expectations, claimed the chair across from her rather than the one at the head of the table. And then he spoke, his every word deliberate. "Today has been a day of reflection for me," he began, his eyes seeking hers. "You're a by-product of a mistake made by one of my Rare Hunters, and while that mistake posed a threat to my ambitions, I know that was by no means your fault." She felt her glare falter, her features softening, but she quickly steadied herself, and hoped that by some miracle he hadn't noticed. "While I firmly believe that kidnapping you was necessary, I've also come to realise you are worthy of my respect, and so I'm extending it to you."
A'isha's eyes narrowed further. Excluding his belief that kidnapping them was totally acceptable (it damn well wasn't), this introspection - the self-awareness - didn't fit him one bit. He had a hidden agenda, no doubt about it, and sooner or later (hopefully sooner), she'd figure out what it was or escape before it mattered. "What about your proposition?"
Marik smirked, as if he'd been waiting for that very question. "Before we delve into that, you must decide on your beverage."
With an exasperated sigh, she dropped back into her seat. "A mochaccino."
"You can say tea," he tried to tease, but she wasn't having a bar of it. Did he really think he could kidnap her and her cousin one moment and throw banter around the next?
With a dismissive roll of her eyes, A'isha abandoned her chair and headed to the panoramic window. With it dark outside, the glass reflected the entire room, meaning she could watch Marik's every move without facing him and possibly encouraging further conversation. The coffee machine hummed, blending with the clinking of cups and the hiss of steam, as he navigated the kitchen with ease. She had to admit, it was weird watching him engage in mundane tasks, almost like observing an animal attempting something distinctly human. But unlike animals driven by the instinct to survive, Marik operated with calculated precision to thrive, and did it so well he'd claimed the number one spot on Ahad's most-wanted list.
Ahad. A wave of worry swarmed over her. She couldn't help but think of her uncle's sleepless nights, his tireless dedication to solving cases. Her throat closed up as she imagined the sorry state of him now, working relentlessly, leaving no stone unturned, power-napping at his desk only when exhaustion forced him to rest. He'd always been in her corner, trying his best to be a worthy successor to the father she'd never known. He was also as stubborn as a mule - a Dahar family trait - so if anyone could find her and Amara, it was him.
The sudden sound of Marik's voice shattered her reverie. "One mochaccino," he declared, having left the kitchen to set a steaming mug before her chair.
Forsaking her post by the window, she begrudgingly returned to the table, sinking back into the same plush cushion. The weight of Marik's gaze bore down on her as she settled, aware of the intensity in his eyes. Positioned across from her, he held his own mug, the steam rising and curling around his face, the overhead lights accentuating his features, casting delicate shadows that only further defined his sculpted cheekbones.
Which was completely and utterly irrelevant right now.
A'isha reached for her mug - a much more pleasant mug to look at than his face - and concentrated on its warmth as it seeped into her hands. Bringing it to her lips, she took a cautious sip, the familiar blend of chocolate and coffee dancing on her tongue, the texture creamy, and the froth abundant. Damn it. Why did something he made have to taste so damn good?
Just as the comforting flavours settled within her, Marik's words pulverised the peaceful moment. "My proposition concerns a business dinner on Saturday," he stated matter-of-factly, placing his mug down with deliberate precision. "I'd like you to accompany me, posing as my fiancée."
A'isha's reaction was immediate and explosive. She spat out her mocha, the liquid erupting in a chaotic spray, some even escaping through her nose. Coughing and spluttering, her face flushing with embarrassment, she threw propriety to the wind and hastily wiped her mouth on his fancy schmancy tablecloth - because, in that moment, she wanted to show Marik just how little she cared about him and his proposition. Glancing up, she found a glimmer of amusement dancing in his eyes, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips. The audacity! How dare he find this funny.
Her frustration surged, fuelling her outcry. "Are you out of your fucking mind?" she shrieked, voice brimming with disbelief. Then she quickly corrected herself, her tone laced with sarcasm. "Oh, of course, I forgot who I was talking to." She inhaled a calming breath, fat lotta good it did her. His fiancée, what the fuck? "Y'know, you must think I have absolutely zero self respect if you think I'd even entertain something so unbelievably stupid."
Without breaking eye contact, he fluidly rose from his chair, a silent predator circling the table until he reached her side. A'isha's heart pounded in her chest, her pulse racing as his proximity enveloped her, the heat radiating from his body seeming to electrify the air. With a mischievous smile, he did something completely unexpected. In a confident display of unspoken irony, he dropped to one knee beside her, as if proposing for real. The sheer bravado of the move stunned her into momentary silence, a cocktail of irritation, bewilderment and an inexplicable flutter stirring within her.
"Oh, A'isha," he began, his voice cool and composed. "I assure you, I'm well aware of your self respect. That's precisely why I'm making this proposition." A proposition that would undoubtedly be the funeral of her dignity. "You see, I need someone capable of convincing the world that we are an item - a power couple." The proximity between them intensified as he casually rested an elbow on the armrest of her chair, his bare arm lightly brushing against hers; a jolt of electricity shot through her body. It was a subtle intrusion, but she kept her arm in place, refusing to retreat from a space she'd occupied first. "And you, my dear, possess the perfect combination of intelligence, charm, and beauty to fulfil that role."
Beauty? Oh, brother! He was clearly trying to butter her up. "You're a rich, powerful crime boss, who seems to think he's hot shit. Shouldn't girls be tearing their hair out for a chance like this?" Because although it pained her to admit it, he did have a certain charm that was impossible to ignore. The Namu half of him did anyway. And she supposed there were worse things to look at when he wasn't smirking up a storm. But everything else left plenty to be desired.
"The answer is simple, A'isha." Marik's smile faded, replaced by a more serious expression as he leaned closer still. "You can act." Right. Her affinity for the performing arts. No doubt another tidbit he'd gotten from her poor cousin's head.
"What's in it for me and Amara?" It was probably wishful thinking to hope he'd promise to let them go, but she still hoped all the same.
"A taste of freedom. Four hours of supervised out-of-room time for you and Amara every day, starting once you agree."
Her heart skipped a beat at the word 'freedom'. The promise of those precious hours outside their confinement urged her to consider Marik's proposition more seriously. As much as she despised him, her rational side couldn't ignore the potential benefits. The chance to break away from the CreepCam's watchful gaze, to gather valuable intel, and to map out the ship's layout was too good to dismiss outright. But deep down, she couldn't shake the nagging feeling that accepting his offer could be an irreversible step into a carefully constructed trap.
Weighing the opportunity against the potential dangers, she knew that accepting meant walking a dangerous path, where she'd have to constantly question his motives and stay one step ahead of him; her track record for doing that wasn't exactly stellar. However, with limited chances for escape in their current circumstances, this offer presented a sliver of hope, widening the door to possibilities. At that thought, a light bulb flashed in her head. This was a negotiation, meaning she had a chance to widen that door even further - but she needed time to carefully consider her options, to weigh up the pros and cons, and Amara's feedback wouldn't hurt either.
"I'd like to think about it overnight." She watched his expression for any sign of disapproval.
Instead, his lips quirked up at the corners, a flicker of something unfamiliar in his eyes. It wasn't amusement, and it couldn't be admiration - could it? "A pragmatic approach," he mused. "I expected as much."
Huh. Maybe she'd given him too little credit for once. It almost seemed like he really was trying to respect her and her decisions a little more. But that didn't change anything. He was still an all round shitty person. And their captor, of course; something he continued to think was somehow justified.
"Very well," he conceded, rising from his knees. A quiet sigh passed her lips as he stepped away, reclaiming his own chair. "Once we finish our drinks, I'll escort you back to your room, and tomorrow morning, I expect an answer."
Relief washed over A'isha. She'd bought herself extra time to weigh the risks and rewards of his proposition, and Amara might also have new insights on how to make the most of it. Even so, an odd mix of hope and unease churned in her stomach. Tomorrow would be a make-or-break day, a turning point that could either lead to the complete demise of her dignity or a successful escape. A'isha could only hope for the latter.
"The R.H. wants you to be his WHAT?"
A'isha winced as Amara's shriek sliced through the cramped cabin, bouncing off the colourless walls. Honestly, if her cousin's high-pitched outburst couldn't shatter their cabin window, it was no wonder the chair hadn't accomplished it either.
With a steadying breath, A'isha repeated herself. "His fake fiancée, yes."
Amara's brows knitted together, her mind scrambling to make sense of Marik's crazy proposition. "But— But you just broke up with Dani!"
A'isha's throat went tight at the mention of Dani. Poor Dani, who'd called in the midst of their kidnapping. With his sunny disposition and infectious laughter, he'd been a balm for her soul whenever life became too much, as it did far too often with Elissa for an aunt. But as much as she cared about him, she'd come to realise a bitter-sweet truth: he wasn't her Mr Right, but rather, her Mr Right Then. Their relationship had been superficial, almost platonic; full of easy banter and inside jokes, but devoid of passion, a deep and profound understanding of one another, and the stimulating forever connection that they both deserved. Ending their three-year bond had been a tough call, but she knew, deep down, it was the right one.
"Like, for reals," Amara continued, oblivious to her thought processes. "Didn't you only break up, like, two days ago? I mean, rebounds are great and all, but isn't a week the minimum grace period?"
Seriously? Of all the things to focus on when their kidnapper was asking her to pose as his fiancée, Amara honed in on her recent breakup. Her recent breakup that was, to be precise, now a week and a half ago; still raw, of course, but something she really couldn't afford to think about right now. She had enough to confront in her life as is.
A'isha could only hope her deadpan expression conveyed what she couldn't bring herself to voice. One word. Three syllables. It started with 'kid', ended in 'er', and made her need a very long 'napp' each and every time she was forced to endure his presence.
Finally, Amara took the hint. "Aaand Marik's a teen-snatching criminal, of course. Totally the bigger issue here. I'm just pointing out the other one, 'kay?" Then she gasped, her introspective tone turning bubbly. "Do you at least get to wear a diamond-encrusted dress and have a glow-up montage before walking down a giant set of stairs in slow-mo?" Her cousin's attempt at lightening the situation, though executed poorly, didn't go amiss.
With a small smile and a shake of her head, A'isha guided Amara to the bottom bunk, where they sat side by side. Her eyes briefly flicked to the CreepCam, blinking away in one corner, a constant reminder of their lack of privacy. Lowering her voice, she said, "Of course not, Mar. Because we're going to escape long before his stupid dinner."
"But..." The word trailed off Amara's lips as she glanced at the moonlit sea beyond their window. No land in sight. "How?"
An unsettling realisation dawned on A'isha. Marik was in Amara's head. If she shared the ins and outs of a potential escape plan with Amara, Marik could pluck that plan from her brain and thwart it with ease. He may have already done just that, given their failed escape attempt this morning. It didn't sit well with A'isha, but she'd have to keep her cousin in the dark about any escape plans until it became absolutely necessary that she know them. Once they were free, she could only hope Amara would understand.
"I haven't figured out our escape plans yet, but I have figured out my term for accepting his silly charade." It was a wild card, but A'isha had a sneaking suspicion that Marik might just be cocky enough to agree to it. With him set to return in the morning, only time would tell.