Chapter Six: The Unfolding Game

A'isha perched on the lower bunk in The Box, the clinical whiteness of the room chafing at her already frayed nerves. She'd thrown on a pair of navy sweatpants and a baggy men's shirt, a feeble shield against the sterile monotony of their cabin. The insistent blinking of the CreepCam was a ruthless reminder of their predicament, and she found herself grinding her knuckles into the sheets, as if she could bury her frustration within the rough fabric. The memory of her slip-up at the clothing store twisted her stomach. She'd shown Marik a crack in her carefully crafted shell of resistance. That couldn't happen again. She had to be a steel fortress, strong and impenetrable.

While she stewed, Amara rummaged through their shopping bags like a kid on Christmas morning, the rustling of high-end paper and the faint smell of the boutique triggering a bout of nauseous regret in A'isha. "Hey, what treasures did you find, Ish?" her cousin asked, tiptoeing a minefield of discarded clothing to reach A'isha's forgotten haul. "I hope it's not all men's shirts and baggy pants."

A'isha offered a weak smile. "Prepare for disappointment." She'd gotten a few pairs of jeans and some tops, along with some black tennis shoes, but most of her (very temporary) wardrobe was picked in the name of comfort and modesty.

As Amara peeked into the first bag, a groan slipped out. "Seriously, Ish? Trust you to turn a luxury boutique spree into a... gym clothes haul? And not even cute gym clothes." She held up a pair of pale grey sweatpants, scrunching her button nose. "I mean, they work with a cute crop top for your hip-hop routines, but girl, your big booty deserves better." What her 'big booty' deserved most was a way off of this stupid ship.

"They're comfortable," A'isha reasoned. They were also nondescript, a necessity on a ship full of seedy men. And in its own subtle way, comfort felt like rebellion, a small act of defiance against Marik—

A delighted gasp pierced the room. "Forget what I just said. This dress is absolutely banging!"

A'isha's heart stuttered. It was the dress - the midnight blue one she'd admired at the store. Marik had insisted she grab it in ten seconds or leave it behind, and she'd made a point of rejecting the ultimatum, yet there it was, shimmering in Amara's hands. Anger surged through her.

"Give me that!" She stormed over to Amara, ripping the dress from her grasp and shoving it back into the bag, where it'd stay until she could burn it or rip it to shreds.

"Ish, what the heck?" Amara stuttered, visibly taken aback.

Regret struck A'isha. She'd let her frustration (and frankly, her sleep-deprivation) bleed into her interaction with her cousin. It wasn't Amara's fault that Marik was playing mind games. "I'm sorry, Mar," she quickly amended, retreating back to her spot on the lower bunk. "I didn't choose it. Marik did."

"Oh," Amara murmured. A pause later, she surprised A'isha by adding, "Not gonna lie, though, he has really good taste."

A small smile tugged at the corners of A'isha's lips. With a little time away from Elissa's influence, Amara was already so much easier to be around. A weird and unexpected silver-lining amid the dark clouds of their circumstances.

"Hey, can I try these on?" Amara asked, pointing to a pile of clothes with hopeful eyes.

"Sure." A'isha nodded toward the tiny bathroom. "Just do it in there, away from the camera. And keep the squealing to a minimum. I really need a nap." Three days on a non-stop emotional rollercoaster and two nights of scant sleep had taken their toll. She needed a break from the shitstorm that was her life right now. And if her mind could take pity on her just this once and steer clear of that god-awful nightmare, even better.

"I'll get the curtains for you!" Amara offered, already darting to the window, where the late-afternoon sun danced on the gentle swell of the sea.

A'isha thanked her, trying to hide her surprise at her cousin's thoughtfulness.

With a swish of fabric, the room transitioned from stark white to a soothing grey, and Amara scooped up the clothing pile. "I'll try not to scream, but there's this one bomb AF dress that might make me cry."

With a sigh, A'isha slid under the thin blanket, turning her back to the invasive camera. Although sleep felt like a surrender, she knew it was necessary. She had to be observant and alert, not an emotional time bomb.

Closing her eyes, she shut out the world around her, seeking refuge in the quietude of her own mind. As she began to drift off, her mind spun a carousel of thoughts - of freedom, of home, of a life free from Marik's control. She clung to those thoughts, counting each reason to fight as if counting sheep. The soft click of the bathroom door was the last thing she heard before sleep enveloped her.

Marik's fourth coffee of the day remained untouched on his office's slick glass desk, its steam dissipating along with his interest for the live feed displayed on his laptop. A'isha, the fiery girl who had taken him by surprise more than once during their shopping excursion, had now succumbed to sleep.

In her slumber, she rolled away from the wall, her body turning to face the camera. His gaze was immediately drawn back to her face, her features now softened by sleep, the combative spark in her eyes - and the frustration at her composure slip in the clothing store - both temporarily extinguished. It was a peaceful expression, one she had never revealed in his presence - understandably so.

His gaze drifted to a piece of fabric peeking out from one of A'isha's shopping bags: the dress. He'd bought it, not simply because he could, but because in her defiant refusal to take it, he'd seen a challenge - one he'd accepted with quiet anticipation. And there was also that lingering look she'd given it as they'd left the store, a reluctant farewell.

As he closed his laptop, an unanticipated feeling stirred within him. It wasn't disappointment, but something akin to it. There was an unfamiliar twist in his gut, a churning mix of confusion and curiosity that he struggled to decode. He leaned back in his plush leather office chair, fingers steepled, a frown marking its presence on his lips, his interest reignited by this new, unseen side of A'isha.

An intrigue had kindled within him, stoked by A'isha's tenacity. Her recent escape attempts had rattled his usual composure, proving that he had ensnared more than a mere damsel in distress. Resourceful, astute, resilient - traits he respected, yet had underestimated. He couldn't help but replay the clothing store incident, a vivid reminder of how a mere moment of negligence had nearly led to a catastrophe. He didn't like underestimating his opponents, and she was swiftly becoming one.

Insights into her upbringing, sourced from Amara's mind, painted a clear image of the crucible that had forged A'isha's spirit. It had been a challenging environment, punctuated by torment from her aunt by marriage, Elissa. Such adversity often bred cunning, a knack for strategy; each instance of abuse had served as a chisel, shaping the resilient, defiant young woman who dared to challenge him. But the enigma that was A'isha was gradually revealing itself, and at this stage of their unfolding game, she remained an elusive piece on his chessboard.

Given Elissa's severe influence, and as if to defy expectations, A'isha's personality did not reflect the harsh duplicity she grew up with. Instead, in an environment doused with absenteeism and outright abuse, she had emerged from the fiery furnace of neglect as a blade, cutting through pretence and deceit with integrity. He almost wanted to congratulate the girl for her unyielding spirit, even though that same spirit had become more than the hiccup he had been expecting. In fact, she was more akin to an entire detour than a hiccup. His sense of control was being tested, a sensation that he found as intriguing as it was unsettling.

A'isha's baffling loyalty to Amara added another layer of complexity. Ah, Amara, the unwitting storyteller, telling him tales of A'isha through the Millennium Rod. The simple-minded girl who, with a certain innocent harshness, ladled more hardship into A'isha's overflowing chalice of familial turmoil. The irony didn't escape Marik that A'isha nurtured her relationship with Amara with the patience one would show a rose bush, despite reaping only thorns in return.

And then there were A'isha's interests. The trifecta of the arts - singing, dancing, acting - showcased a vibrant creative spirit. Add to that her athletic pursuits: hiking, rock climbing, jogging. He could almost see her conquer a peak with the same nonchalance as sipping a morning mocha, waving from the summit with a triumphant smile. Her physical strength mirrored her mental fortitude - both appeared to have been forged by Ptah, Egypt's divine blacksmith himself.

Moreover, her steadfast integrity was a beacon amidst the chaos - a knight's honour in a world often lacking in virtue. A realisation washed over him like a tide, embedding its message into the sands of his consciousness: A'isha Dahar was not merely a puzzle to solve, but a saga to savour, each chapter more revealing than the last. The notion quickened his pulse, both exciting and unnerving; it contested his preconceived assumptions, urging him to reconsider his established strategies. However, she was a challenge he was more than prepared to embrace.

As the Mediterranean darkened under the weight of dusk, Marik mapped out his forthcoming stratagem. The impending dinner ruse, an intricate dance of manipulation he was proficient at leading, required a setting befitting its intricacies, and Catania in Italy fit the bill. A jewel along the Sicilian coast, it would offer a change of scenery and an opportunity to cultivate a rapport with A'isha before their little act on Monday night.

Undoubtedly, it was a gambit. A'isha's single-minded drive for freedom was palpable, and such a trip would provide her with endless opportunities for escape - but where risks lurked, so did his quick wit, keen observation, and, if necessary, the Millennium Rod. Alone with her, under the pretence of building trust, he would have the chance to peel away the layers that made her A'isha. And in doing so, tighten his grip over her. The rewards far outweighed the risks.

Decision made, Marik drew the Millennium Rod, its power humming under his touch. Establishing a mental link, he relayed his commands to one of his Rare Hunters. When A'isha woke from her slumber, she was to be brought to him. In the meantime, travel plans for their Italian sojourn needed arranging. A smirk of anticipation touched his lips. The game was shifting gears, and he relished every moment of it.

A'isha floated through an ethereal expanse, suspended between the realms of sleep and wakefulness. It was tranquil, a respite she desperately craved. But alas, reality, like a stage-hand yanking her back with a hook, reminded her that tranquillity wasn't on tonight's agenda. The faint sound of clicking, followed by hushed whispers, dragged her back to the unrelenting nightmare that was Marik's cruise ship.

With all the grace of a disgruntled cat, she cracked open one eye, scanning the dimly lit room. Moonlight had taken over the sun's shift, but the hallway door was slightly ajar, allowing a slice of light to spill in, illuminating Amara - and a robed figure, his voice deep enough to make her bolt upright in bed, her heart pounding out a distress signal.

A Rare Hunter. In their cabin.

Mystery Voice turned to face her. "Oh, hey A'isha." Though his tone was warm and welcoming, he'd just waltzed right into their cabin, and Rare Hunters weren't known for their strong moral compasses.

A'isha scrutinised him. His messy chestnut hair looked like he'd had a close encounter with a leaf blower. He had a strong jaw - the kind that belonged in a shaving commercial - and honey brown eyes that seemed too warm for someone in a cloak of creeps.

"Oh, that's Jordan!" Amara chimed in. Fantastic, her cousin was on a first-name basis with him.

Amara, unable to contain her excitement, rambled on about how she spent her daily out-of-room time playing Mario Kart with this guy, who surprisingly seemed genuinely interested in her story. A'isha couldn't help but note how Amara's cheeks reddened slightly, her eyes lingering on Jordan's as she described them taking on Rainbow Road. The fact that her cousin found joy and companionship in one of Marik's minions raised a thousand red flags. The last thing she needed was Amara trying to romance a Rare Hunter.

As Amara wrapped up her story, confirming that she and Jordan had just returned from the entertainment room, Jordan cleared his throat, turning to A'isha. "Master Marik asked me to bring you to him once you woke up." His tone was softer, laced with an unspoken apology.

A'isha felt the creeping tide of anxiety rise. Their dinner ruse wasn't until Monday, and late at night was no time for a friendly chat with a criminal, especially Marik. What could he possibly want from her?

"Hold up," Amara piped in, all traces of joy evaporating from her face, "Marik wants to see Ish? At this hour? That's so shady! Especially with how he eyes her like a pair of designer shoes on sale."

A'isha wrinkled her nose. "He eyes me like cheap shoes?"

"He eyes you like you're the only shoe his foot could ever want!"

Eww. Just eww. "Why does Marik want to see me?" she asked Jordan, fixing him with a steely gaze.

He offered an apologetic shrug. "All he said was that you're to come alone."

Alone. The word echoed in her mind like a bad omen. Being alone with Marik was like being a lone fish in a tank with a shark. Though he'd never crossed into physical aggression with her, his sly innuendos and piercing gaze made her skin feel two sizes too small in his presence. She couldn't help but worry about the potential dangers of this meeting. But as much as she wanted to give him the cold shoulder, she couldn't pass up the chance to explore more of his ship. Escaping it was one of her top priorities, second only to protecting Amara.

With a deep breath, A'isha rose to her feet and stepped forward, each stride feeling heavy, as if she were wading through wet concrete. "Let's get this over with, then."

"But, Ish—"

A'isha rested a hand on Amara's shoulder, hoping her own concern wasn't clear on her face. "I'll be okay, Mar." Then she leaned closer and whispered, "Promise me you'll stay in this room. Don't trust anyone." Her eyes flicked to Jordan for added emphasis. Yes, even Mr Mario Kart.

Amara's signature pout appeared, but she nodded. "Promise me something too?"

"What?"

"If he's after a little you-know-what, you've gotta kick him so hard he sees stars."

"If he tries anything funny, I'll rip off his little you-know-what and throw it overboard for the sharks to have a disappointing late night snack."

Amara's grin returned at full force. "That's my Ishy Wishy!"

A'isha followed Jordan through the convoluted corridors of the ship, each bend and turn seeming to steer her toward impending doom. The confusing design would leave anyone questioning the sobriety of its architect. Despite her attempts at subtly probing her quiet guide, he remained tight-lipped, offering no clues for potential escape routes.

Stopping beside a door that bore intricate carvings, Jordan faced her, a sympathetic crease between his brow. A choking breath caught in her throat. Once again, she was on the brink of facing Marik, ignorant of the reason behind his summons. And she was stuck between the devil and the deep sea; the Millennium Rod would thwart any attempt to flee whatever lay beyond this door, and even if she miraculously did manage to flee, Marik's ship, crawling with Rare Hunters, offered no promise of safety. All she could do was brace herself for the unknown. The sooner she did, the sooner she'd hopefully return to Amara. Preferably in one piece.

At Marik's icy command from within, Jordan sidestepped, leaving her to face doom alone. As she entered the room, the door shut behind her, its sound echoing the irrevocable weight of her situation.

This room, much like the ship's joint kitchen and dining area, was an intimidating display of wealth and power. The aroma of rich incense filled the air, amplifying the opulence of what seemed to be an office lavishly adorned in gold and purple. Egyptian artefacts neatly arranged on floating shelves caught her attention. Duel monster cards, undoubtedly rare and valuable, were showcased in a pristine glass case above a sleek desk. And one glimpse of a massive bed through a nearby open door sent a wave of dread crashing over her. Oh God. This was Marik's private quarters; where he slept, where he bathed, where he— She cut off her thoughts, not wanting to consider what else he might do here. The fear of his intentions, the terror of his unpredictable nature; it made her breaths quicken. She was too close, far too close, to the jerk who had suddenly taken over her life.

Marik's voice, as smooth and chilling as a winter breeze, disrupted her thoughts. "Welcome to my quarters, A'isha." He lounged on an amethyst-hued sofa, an army of neck-ties neatly arranged across the coffee table before him. His gaze, as disconcerting as ever, held an unfamiliar softness – perhaps a hint that he was either at ease, tired, or both. Apparently, even crime bosses needed rest.

"How many women have you used that line on?" Her jab came out louder than her pounding heartbeat.

He chuckled, the dreadful sound resonating in the vast room. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you." Brushing aside her scoff of disgust, he gestured toward the ties. "I'd like you to choose one for our dinner. It's only fair since I selected your dress."

Fair? He had a warped understanding of fairness.

As she approached him, he didn't even bother to rise from the sofa. "You made me walk across your ship to pick a tie?" she asked, the frustration clear in her voice; though considering his meticulous grooming and distinctive fashion choices, she probably shouldn't have been so surprised. But at least she'd seen more of the ship, despite the maze that it was. "Fine. What colour's my dress?"

"Navy blue."

The devil on her shoulder whispered to choose a clashing colour. The colour opposite on the colour wheel! Although not one to usually give in to fashion faux pas, she was all for letting Marik look the fool. "Orange," she said, pointing to a bright orange tie at the end of the table. If misfortune dictated that she wouldn't escape before their dinner, at least she wouldn't suffer the embarrassment of him matching her dress.

With a curt nod, he picked up the tie, his expression as impassive as a sphinx. She'd hoped to get a reaction out of him, but alas, he remained as impenetrable as ever. For a guy whose fashion sense bordered on the ostentatious, he certainly didn't appreciate her helping him push those boundaries.

"Can I go now?" she asked, hoping this brief, bizarre interlude was the only reason he'd summoned her. Get in, pick a tie, get out, back to Amara, back to relative safety.

"We're not done," he interjected, his sudden smirk foreshadowing her disliking of what was to come. Oh boy. "Catania is the location of our dinner. You and I will fly there tomorrow, just the two of us. We need to find our spark if we're to make a convincing couple, and I believe time alone together would serve this purpose."

A'isha's heart lurched. Catania? Alone with Marik? For five whole days? Did he pluck that city straight from her brain? Why not Rome? Or Florence? Or even fair Verona, a romantic city? Anywhere - anywhere - but Catania! Its mention was a sucker-punch to the gut. Memories swarmed in - of laughter, gelato, and hikes up Mount Etna with Dani and his family - triggering a wave of painful nostalgia. The past, once treasured and pure, now felt violated. Not to mention Marik's idea of bonding probably involved a moonlit stroll through a den of snakes. "We couldn't create a spark if we were both made of flint."

"Perhaps," Marik conceded, his tone tinged with amusement.

She thought of her cousin. "Amara—"

"Will stay here."

"But—"

"That decision is final," Marik said, holding up a condescending hand. "But I'll allow you to video call her every day. Will that ease your worries?"

A'isha's mind spun into a whirlwind. Leaving Amara alone and vulnerable on Marik's ship. Being alone with a mind-controlling psychopath who fed off her discomfort. She didn't know which was worse. And if she went to Catania, both would be a reality. But under the watch of only one person, albeit Mr Observant himself, she couldn't deny that this was an opportunity, a lifeline. She wouldn't be able to escape with Amara, but maybe she could sneak away and lead the authorities back to Marik, or at the very least, she might manage to contact Ahad. "Those daily video calls with Amara - they need to be an hour long."

He shrugged, nonplussed. "Deal."

"Are we done now?" In light of this new and nauseating development, she wanted to enjoy the little Marik-free time she still had, before tomorrow rudely snatched it away.

With a fluidity that was almost irritating in its elegance, Marik rose from his seat. "Jordan is waiting outside."

"And that requires you to stand, why?"

Smiling sweetly, he gestured toward the exit, a gold ring on his pinky glinting beneath the stark lights of his quarters. "To see you out, of course. Contrary to what you may believe, I do have manners."

"You're right. I do believe otherwise." With that, A'isha turned on her heel, striding toward the door. She refused to wait for him, though that bit of defiance proved futile as he managed to catch up anyway, his quickened pace muffled by the plush carpet.

A few steps from the door, he leaned closer, his whispering voice sending an uninvited shiver down her neck, "Five days, A'isha. Five days to find out what kind of spark we might have."

With a collected breath, she looked him dead in his perfectly eyelined eyes. "For the record, my trust is harder to earn than a compliment from Gordon Ramsay."

His response was laughter. Genuine and resounding, it filled the room, grating against her nerves. "Duly noted."

The moment she crossed the threshold to the hallway, she could feel his gaze on her back, dissipating only when the door closed behind her. The subsequent silence was punctuated by a sigh escaping her lips, a shaky exhale in sync with the click of the door's lock. But in her head, she was planning.

Five days. She had five days to change her fate, find an ally, make her great escape. She may be in the lion's den, but she was far from becoming a meal. If anything, she would turn the tables. Catania wasn't a death sentence - it was an opportunity. A home-field advantage, if you will, because she'd been there before. And it was one she intended to seize with both hands, even if it meant wrestling it away from a smug, mind-controlling, supposedly well-mannered lion.

A'isha's entry back into The Box felt like a walk of shame into a doll-sized prison cell, which, unfortunately, was pretty accurate. Before the door's lock could even echo in her ears, a gust of youthful energy, complete with jet-black hair and a bunch of enthusiastic limbs, pulled her into a bear hug.

"Ish, are you okay?" Amara's voice trembled with worry as she scrutinised A'isha for any signs of Marik's unsolicited affection. "He didn't… y'know? Make you need to rip it off and feed it to the sharks."

A'isha conjured a smile, hoping it didn't look as strained as it felt. "Oh, Mar, he was practically a knight in shining armour." Her words dripped with enough sarcasm to flood a city; Marik was more befitting of the title 'Sir Jerk-A-Lot'. "Don't worry, he was hands-off. But he did want to talk about something."

Amara's eyebrows collided in confusion. "Did this talk involve that suitcase over there?" She pointed at the item in question, sitting beside the bunk bed - simple, black, with a glossy sheen. It was scarily reminiscent of Ahad's, which she'd borrowed for her trip to Catania last year. "A Rare Hunter dropped it off just after you left and I've been confused ever since."

Bracing herself for the inevitable explosion of concern, A'isha exhaled deeply. "Our gracious host is dragging me to Catania with him. Alone. There'll be a Beast. I'll be the Beauty. All we're missing is singing cutlery." She attempted to lighten the scary news with a sprinkle of humour.

"What?!" That word rocketed from Amara's throat like a pinball. "But what if he— I mean, he looks at you like he's trying to undress you with his… his… stupidly sexy bedroom eyes."

Bedroom eyes? Sexy? Lord, the only thing A'isha saw in Marik's eyes was raw, unchecked arrogance. "Let's not give him ideas, Mar." She strived to sound bold, trying to quell Amara's worries even as her own fears gnawed at her. In a weak attempt to lessen the horror of it all, she added, "He did promise a video chat with you for an hour daily."

Amara latched onto that tiny silver lining. "Well, that's something." But then her brows knitted together again, her fringe bouncing in sync. "But Catania… Catania… Why does it ring a bell?"

"You've probably seen it in a movie," A'isha bluffed, hoping to snuff out any potential sparks of revelation. She hated all this lying, but thanks to the Millennium Rod, Amara's mind was basically a live-stream with no privacy settings, and Marik would probably have a party if he learnt about her Catania trip with Dani.

Amara seemed to buy the explanation, her curiosity put on pause. "So, what's your grand escape plan for Catania, Ish?" Her voice was hopeful. Too hopeful.

"I'm working on it," A'isha assured her, lightly squeezing her cousin's shoulder. She had a plan, of course, but she dared not voice it aloud. Not when Marik could sift through Amara's thoughts and yoink it out.

"Maybe you could seduce him into letting us go. Well, not quite seduce him. Don't look at me like that. I mean, like, use your acting skills to make him fall for you, no touching required!" Amara beamed, pleased with her sudden (terrifying) brainwave.

A blush crept up A'isha's cheeks as she tried to evict the cringe-worthy image of Marik watching them right now through the CreepCam. "The only romance involving Marik would star his own reflection, and even then, I doubt there'd be any chemistry. I'd sooner sign up for Fear Factor than test my theory."

Suddenly, Amara morphed into a dramatic rendition of Ursula. "Well, as the sea witch said - you've got your looks, your pretty face, and don't underestimate the power of"—she began to shimmy, playing the part with gusto—"BODY LANGUAGE!"

Both girls burst into laughter, which, considering their circumstances, was nothing short of a miracle. Amidst Amara's antics, there was a tinge of sweetness; a nostalgic recall of simpler times before Amara's teen rebellion and Elissa's domineering presence over her cousin created a chasm between them.

For the remainder of their evening, A'isha packed while Amara filled the room with nostalgic tales and infectious laughter. They chatted and chuckled, revelling in long-forgotten memories of their childhood. Yet, despite the warmth, A'isha felt an icy dread creeping in as she thought of her impending journey and the idea of leaving Amara behind.

Quietness eventually cloaked the room as Amara fell asleep. Alone with her thoughts, A'isha's gaze was locked onto the underside of the upper bunk. Five long days stretched before her, each with an opportunity to outsmart the guy who always seemed to be one move ahead of her. It was her versus him. No distractions. Home advantage. Let the games begin.

I couldn't help myself with the Disney references. Also, HELL YEAH for Catania—this is where the magic really starts to happen 😉