Chapter Six: The Unfolding Game

A'isha stewed on the lower bunk, their cabin's clinical whiteness chafing at her already frayed nerves. Every blink of the CreepCam's light hammered home their grim reality, pushing her deeper into the mattress, as if she could smother her frustration in its scratchy embrace. In that clothing store, after Marik had thwarted her millionth damn escape attempt, she'd nearly cried in front of him. That was a major no-go. She had to be a steel fortress, strong and impenetrable.

Amara, oblivious to her stewing, had dived into their shopping like a kid on Christmas morning, the rustling of high-end paper only deepening A'isha's regret. "Hey, what treasures did you find, Ish?" Amara asked, tiptoeing a minefield of discarded clothing to reach A'isha's forgotten haul. "Tell me it's not just men's shirts and baggy pants."

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

Amara's groan filled the room as she held up a pair of grey sweatpants. "Really, Ish? Trust you to turn a luxury boutique spree into a... gym clothes haul? And not even cute gym clothes." She scrunched her button nose. "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 an act of defiance against Marik—

A sudden gasp from Amara. "Forget what I just said. This dress is banging!"

A'isha's heart lurched. It was the midnight blue dress 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 his ultimatum. Yet, there it was, shimmering in Amara's grasp. Anger surged through her.

"Give me that!" She snatched the dress and buried it in the bag, where it'd stay until she could burn it to cinders.

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

Immediate regret hit A'isha. Her exhaustion had spilled over, unfairly, onto her cousin. It wasn't her fault Marik was playing mind games. "I'm sorry, Mar," she backpedalled, sinking back onto the lower bunk. "I didn't choose it. Marik did."

"Oh," Amara said, then with a hesitant smile added, "Not gonna lie, he's got good taste."

A'isha cracked a small smile. Away from Elissa's influence, Amara was so much easier to be around. An unexpected perk in this mess.

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

"Go ahead." A'isha nodded toward their tiny bathroom. "Just do it in there to avoid the CreepCam. And keep the squealing to a minimum. I'm gonna get some shut-eye." Three days of this emotional rollercoaster and two nights of no sleep had taken their toll. She needed a nap. And if her brain could take pity on her and steer clear of that god-awful nightmare, even better.

Juggling a clothing pile, Amara leapt to her feet. "I'll get the curtains for you!" she declared, and with a swish of fabric, the cabin transitioned from stark white to a soothing grey. "Oh, and I'll try not to scream while I try everything on, but FYI, there's this one bomb AF dress that might just make me cry."

With a small smile, A'isha pulled the thin blanket over herself, her back to the prying lens of the camera. Sleep felt like surrender, but without it, she was an emotional time bomb.

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 sat untouched on his glass desk, its steam fading along with his interest in the live feed on his laptop. A'isha, who'd impressed him more than once during their shopping excursion, now slept peacefully.

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 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. 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.

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. As he'd suspected, she'd grown up in a rather 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 Sunday night.

Undoubtedly, it was a gambit. A'isha was fixated on escaping him, and such a trip would provide her with endless opportunities to do so—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 grasped the Millennium Rod from his lap, 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 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. Late teens, maybe, with messy chestnut hair that looked like it'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 falling for a Rare Hunter.

As Amara wrapped up her story, mentioning 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 Sunday, 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!"

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

He shrugged. "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 the only 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. 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 trailed Jordan through the ship's labyrinth, each twist and turn making her question the sanity of its architect. Despite her best attempts to wring information from her taciturn guide, he clammed up, leaving her no wiser about potential exits.

Stopping by a door etched with elaborate designs, Jordan faced her, a sympathetic crease between his brow. Her throat tightened with a choked breath. Here she was again, about to tolerate Marik, clueless about why he'd called her. And she was caught between the devil and the deep blue sea. The Millennium Rod would squash any attempt to flee Marik, and if, by some miracle, she did manage to bolt, Marik's Rare Hunter-infested ship was hardly a safe haven. All she could do was brace herself for whatever was next. The quicker she faced it, the sooner she could return to Amara. Preferably in one piece.

At Marik's cold command from within, Jordan stepped aside, leaving her to face the music alone. Soon enough, she stepped inside, the door closing behind her with a thud.

This room, much like the ship's joint kitchen and dining area, absolutely screamed opulence. Rich incense thickened the air of what seemed to be an office, decked out in gold and purple, with Egyptian artefacts neatly arranged on floating shelves. 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— Nope, she didn't want to think about what else he did here. She was too close, far too close, to the jerk who'd suddenly taken over her life.

Marik's voice cut through her thoughts, "Welcome to my quarters, A'isha." He lounged on an amethyst sofa, an army of neck-ties neatly arranged across the coffee table before him.

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

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

Fair? His sense of it was twisted.

As she approached, he remained lounging. "You dragged me across your ship to pick a tie?" she asked, frustration clear in her voice, though at least she'd seen more of his ship, despite the maze that it was. "Fine. What colour's my dress?"

"Navy blue."

The devil on her shoulder whispered 'choose a clashing colour'. The colour opposite on the colour wheel! She was all for sabotaging Marik's ensemble. "Orange," she said, pointing to a vibrant tie. If she did end up stuck at dinner with him, she'd at least spare herself the horror of a coordinated look.

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 bizarre errand was all he wanted. In, out, and back to Amara.

"We're not done," he said with an unwelcome smirk. "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 some alone time will serve that purpose."

Her heart sank. Catania? Alone with Marik? For five 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, still smirking.

"Amara—"

"Will stay here."

"But—"

"That decision is final," Marik said, raising a condescending hand. "But I'll allow a video call with her daily. 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, this could be her chance to sneak away and lead the authorities back to Marik, or at the very least, to contact Ahad. "Those video calls need to be an hour each."

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 and headed for 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. When the lock clicked into place, she let out a sigh of relief to be rid of him. 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. 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.

Before their cabin's lock could even echo in A'isha's 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 hoped her smile 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."

Sexy bedroom eyes? Lord, the only thing A'isha saw in Marik's eyes was raw, unchecked arrogance. "Let's not give him ideas, Mar." She tried sounding bold to calm 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 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?" She sounded hopeful. Too hopeful.

"I'm working on it." A'isha lightly squeezed her cousin's shoulder. She kinda 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.

"Oh! Oh, I know! 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."

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!"

They both 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 trip 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 😉