Chapter Four: The Proposal
As dusk settled, warm hues flooded into Marik's quarters, painting the spacious room amber. 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.
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 her refusal this morning, he watched her on surveillance—or the 'CreepCam', as she'd so eloquently put it to Amara. He'd grown suspicious when she'd disappeared into the bathroom after a whispered 'keep an ear out, Mar' (an exchange he heard not through the camera, but Amara's mind). 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 and autonomy might chip away at her defences, fostering a 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. The road ahead would be challenging. 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. 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's eyes drilled into Marik's back as he led her through the twisting corridors, their footsteps echoing on the polished floor. With each dizzying turn, the bitter taste of defeat grew stronger; even if they'd managed to escape their cabin with the help of her makeshift shiv, navigating to a lifeboat in this rat maze would have been a fairy tale. And yet, his royal highness strutted along like he had the ship's blueprints tattooed on his retinas.
They descended a staircase, the air cooling as the crashing of waves against the ship's hull grew louder. When Marik swung open a set of double doors, A'isha almost laughed—panoramic windows framed the Mediterranean Sea, stretching into moonlit eternity. Fantastic, just the view she needed to hammer in the reality of her floating prison cell.
The kitchen could've been ripped from a glossy magazine, with pendant lights and shiny gadgets galore, including a backlit liquor cabinet that screamed pretentious. A massive espresso machine puffed away, filling the space with a scent that was irritatingly pleasant. Nearby, an overdone dining hall flaunted tables dressed in deep purple and fine china.
"Have a seat," Marik said, gesturing grandly to a chair beside nearest table's head, the latter of which he'd undoubtedly claim for himself. 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 sank into the plush seat, feeling every bit the imposter in this sea of opulence. All of it was a sobering reminder of who she was up against and the limitless resources at his disposal.
As he glided to the kitchen with infuriating grace, each step demanded attention, befitting The R.H.'s infamous title. Oh, how he sickened her. "A relaxed atmosphere fosters more fruitful conversations," he said, splaying his hands on the island counter.
Relaxed? More like excessive. Their broom closet aside, his floating palace was straight out of a luxury travel brochure.
"What would you like to drink?"
Her nose scrunched as she glanced back at the liquor cabinet. "I don't drink."
He squinted down at her, his thinking face on full display.
Hastily, she added, "What else do you have?" Please don't let him interrogate her about her distaste for alcohol.
But he surprised her, reaching for a mug beside the espresso machine. "I meant coffee," he corrected, redirecting the conversation.
What the— No interrogation from Mr No Boundaries? Was he screwing with her? Theories simmered beneath the surface, none of them good.
A touch of amusement entered his tone as he added, "Or tea, but I will judge you." His attempt at humour only fuelled her frustration. Was he trying to throw her off with yoyo behaviour?
"What's your deal?" she snapped, cutlery clattering on the table as she shot up from her seat. "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 attitude shift.
Setting down the mug, Marik approached from the kitchen and, as if to defy her expectations, chose the chair opposite hers instead of the head seat. "I've been reflecting," he began, meeting her eyes. "You're a by-product of a mistake made by a Rare Hunter, and while that mistake posed a threat to me, it wasn't your fault." She felt her glare soften, but she quickly corrected the slip and hoped he somehow hadn't noticed. "While I firmly believe kidnapping you was necessary, I've also come to realise you are worthy of my respect, 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 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?"
He smirked, as if he'd been waiting for that very question. "Before we get into that, you must decide on your beverage."
"A mochaccino."
"You can say tea," he tried to tease, but she wasn't having a bar of it. Casual banter after a kidnapping? As if.
With a roll of her eyes, she headed to the panoramic window. With it dark outside, the glass reflected the room, letting her watch Marik's every move without facing him and 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. It was weird watching him engage in mundane tasks, like an animal attempting something 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 imagining him now, working relentlessly, leaving no stone unturned, power-napping at his desk 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, setting a steaming mug before her chair.
She begrudgingly returned to her seat, Marik's intense gaze like a spotlight on her as she settled. He sat opposite, nursing his own mug, steam curling around his face like some low-budget horror movie effect, accentuating his chiselled features. Not that she cared about his cheekbones.
A'isha reached for her mug (a way better mug than his face) and let its warmth seep into her hands. She sipped cautiously, the coffee rich, chocolate sweet, and creamy froth abundant. Damn it. Why did anything he made have to taste so damn good?
Just as the soothing flavours settled within her, Marik's words pulverised the peaceful moment. "My proposition concerns a business dinner next Sunday," he said, his words all business. "I'd like you to accompany me, posing as my fiancée."
Her 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 amusement in his eyes and a smile on his lips. How dare he find this funny!
"Are you out of your fucking mind?" She caught herself, "Oh, duh, I forgot who I was talking to." She inhaled a calming breath, fat lotta good it did her. His fiancée, what the fuck? "You must think I have absolutely zero self-respect to even entertain something so ludicrous."
Marik stood and rounded the table, stopping close enough to share his body heat or, more accurately, his ego. Then, with a grin that spelt trouble, he sank to one knee—like he was popping the question for real. The gall of it all left her speechless for a hot second, her emotions a jumbled mess of irritation, surprise, and a weird, unwelcome flutter she'd deny if ever asked.
"Oh, A'isha," he began, his voice cool and composed. "I assure you, I'm fully aware of your self respect. That's exactly why I'm making this proposition."
Right. A proposition that promised to be the funeral of her dignity.
"You see," he carried on, "I need someone capable of convincing the world that we're an item." He leaned closer, resting an elbow on her chair's armrest, and a jolt shot up her arm as his skin dared to brush hers. It was a subtle intrusion, but she kept her arm in place, refusing to cede her space to him. "And you, my dear, possess the perfect combination of intelligence, charm, and beauty to fulfil that role."
Beauty? Oh, gag her. "You're a rich, powerful crime boss who probably thinks he's god's gift to women. Shouldn't there be a queue of them dying for this?" Although it pained her to admit it, even just to herself, 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." His tone shifted, gaining gravity as he leaned in. "You can act." Right, her theatre skills—another fact he must've pilfered from her poor cousin's brain.
"What's in it for me and Amara?" It was wishful thinking to hope he'd let them go, but she hoped all the same.
"A taste of freedom. Four hours of supervised out-of-room time for you both, starting when you agree."
The word 'freedom' caught her breath. As much as she despised him, her rational side couldn't ignore the potential benefits. If they weren't always stuck in The Box, she could map out his ship and gather valuable intel. But she sensed a trap, a game of chess where she was an unwilling pawn. She had to play smart, stay ahead. A light bulb flashed in her brain. This was a negotiation. If she played her cards right, she could tip the scales in her favour. All she needed was some time to think and Amara's two cents.
"I'll consider it overnight," she said, watching Marik's reaction carefully.
His smile tweaked at the corners, something like respect (or maybe cunning) flickering in his eyes. "A pragmatic approach. I expected no less." He conceded, returning to his chair. "We'll finish our drinks, and then I'll escort you back. I expect an answer tomorrow morning."
Relief washed over A'isha. Tomorrow could spell the end of her dignity or the start of a real shot at escape. She could only hope it wasn't the former.
"The R.H. wants you to be his WHAT?"
Amara's shriek sliced through the cramped cabin, bouncing off the colourless walls. A'isha winced. If that pitch didn't crack the window, the world was truly against them.
With a steadying breath, A'isha repeated herself. "His fake fiancée, yes."
Amara's brows knitted together, clearly scrambling to make sense of Marik's crazy proposition. "But— But you just dumped Dani!"
A'isha's throat tightened 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 realised 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 understanding of one another, or 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? Her kidnapper wanted her to play house and here was Amara, fixating on her recent breakup. Her recent breakup that was, in fact, a week and a half ago; still raw, of course, but she couldn't afford to think about it right now.
A'isha hoped her flat stare said it all. One word. Three syllables. It started with 'kid', ended in 'er', and made her need a very long 'napp' every time she endured his presence.
Finally, Amara caught on. "Right, teen-snatching criminal, got it. Just saying, though." She suddenly gasped. "Wait wait wait! 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 smile and a shake of her head, A'isha guided Amara to the bottom bunk, where they sat side by side. Glancing at the ever-watching CreepCam, she lowered her voice, "Nope, because we'll be out of here way before that stupid dinner."
"But..." The word trailed off Amara's lips as she glanced at the moonlit sea beyond their window. "How, Ish?"
An unsettling realisation dawned on A'isha. Marik was in Amara's head, which may have been how he'd thwarted their escape attempt that very morning. Though it didn't sit well with her, she'd have to keep her cousin in the dark about any escape plans unless absolutely necessary.
"I'm still working on it. But in the meantime, I have figured out my term for accepting his silly charade." It was a wild card, but A'isha had a sneaking suspicion Marik was cocky enough to agree. With him due back in the morning, only time would tell.
Hope you enjoyed this instalment! As always, reviews are welcomed and super duper appreciated :3