The walls were closing in. Not literally, but I could feel the trap tightening around me like a metal cage slowly heating up. A slow-burn torture device disguised as a luxury hotel suite.
I'd been pacing for hours, checking every window, every corner, every possible escape route. The windows were bulletproof glass, and even if I could break through, it was a three-story drop onto concrete. The door had at least four different locks clicking every time someone passed by.
These people didn't mess around.
My hands were shaking. Had been shaking since they dragged me out of Finn's throne room. The folder with Dad's photos was gone, but I still remembered every detail. Every surveillance photo. Every document with his name on it.
The death certificate said "homicide" instead of "accident."
My father had been murdered. Shot in the head. And these people knew exactly who pulled the trigger.
The door locks clicked, and I spun around. One of the guards stepped inside—tall, built like a brick wall, wearing that same dead-eyed look they all had.
"Time to go," he said in accented English.
"Go where?" My voice came out smaller than I wanted.
He didn't answer. Just gestured toward the hallway.
The walk through the estate felt different this time. Longer corridors, expensive paintings, artifacts in glass cases that made my skin crawl. Everything screamed old money and older secrets.
We stopped at double doors carved with symbols that looked wrong. Not just foreign—wrong. Like they shouldn't exist.
The guard pressed his palm to a scanner, and the doors opened.
The room was an office with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves filled with ancient books. A massive desk sat in the center, dark wood that gleamed like it had been polished with blood.
But it was the man behind the desk who made my stomach drop.
Not Finn. Someone older, with silver hair and sharp features. He looked predatory. Like a well-dressed shark.
"Miss Missiri," he said, standing up. "Please, sit."
I stayed standing.
He smiled. "I am Lloyd Barron. Finn's father."
Oh shit.
"I understand my son has made you an offer."
"Your son threatened to kill me and my family if I don't become his breeding mare."
Lloyd's smile widened. "Yes, well. Finn has always been direct."
He walked around the desk, moving closer. Every instinct screamed at me to run.
"Tell me, Miss Missiri, what do you know about contracts?"
"I know they're supposed to be entered into willingly by both parties."
"Some contracts transcend choice. Some contracts are about survival."
He gestured toward the desk, where a thick document sat next to an expensive fountain pen.
"This is your marriage contract."
My mouth went dry. "I haven't agreed to anything."
"Haven't you? You're here, aren't you? Still breathing? That suggests acceptance."
"That suggests you haven't murdered me yet."
"Yet. The key word being 'yet,' Miss Missiri."
He picked up the contract and flipped through endless pages.
"The terms are simple. You will marry my son. You will live in this estate as his wife. You will bear him an heir within three years. You will never speak of our family's business to anyone. You will submit to his authority in all matters."
Each term felt like a nail being driven into my coffin.
"In return, you will be provided with everything you need. Your mother in Cairo will continue to receive the financial support she has been receiving for the past thirteen years—"
"What? What financial support?"
Lloyd raised his eyebrows. "Did you think your father's death benefits lasted thirteen years? Did you think your mother's part-time job could support her lifestyle?"
The room started spinning. Mom's comfortable apartment. The money for my police academy training.
"We've been supporting your family since your father's death. Consider it insurance."
"You've been watching us. Controlling us."
"We've been caring for you. Your father was valuable to us. In death, his family became our responsibility."
Thirteen years. Thirteen years of accepting blood money without knowing it.
"Now, shall we discuss the specific terms?"
He began reading: "The wife shall not leave the estate without permission. The wife shall not communicate with anyone outside without supervision.
The wife shall submit to regular medical examinations. The wife shall share her husband's bed when required and shall not refuse his advances."
My hands clenched into fists. "You're talking about rape."
"I'm talking about marriage, Miss Missiri. And the duties that marriage entails."
"This isn't an arrangement. It's slavery."
"Slavery? Slaves don't live in mansions. They don't wear designer clothing or dine on fine cuisine." He leaned forward, eyes going cold. "Slaves also don't have the power to destroy everything their owners have built over centuries.
You possess exactly that power. Which makes this mutually assured destruction."
"What happens if I refuse to sign?"
"Then you die tonight. Your mother dies tomorrow morning—a tragic home invasion, perhaps. Your boyfriend dies pursuing leads about your disappearance. The Cairo police force loses three promising officers in one terrible week."
Three? "Three?"
"Your mother's new husband, Detective Kam, would naturally be devastated by her loss. People do reckless things when grieving."
Bashir. They'd kill Bashir too.
The weight crashed down on me. This wasn't just about me anymore. They'd been watching my family for thirteen years, positioning us, making sure we stayed exactly where they wanted us.
We were all their prisoners. We just hadn't known it.
"The pen, Miss Missiri."
Lloyd held out the fountain pen. Once I signed that contract, there would be no going back. No escape. No hope of the life I'd planned with Kamal.
"How do I know you'll keep your word?"
"Because dead people can't provide genetic material for future grandchildren. Your mother's bloodline is almost as important as yours. We have no interest in eliminating valuable breeding stock."
Breeding stock. That's all we were to them.
My hand reached for the pen before my brain could stop it.
"Excellent choice. Now, there are additional clauses."
Additional clauses?
"You will not attempt to leave the estate. You will not attempt to contact anyone outside. You will not attempt to harm yourself or your future children.
Most importantly, you will not attempt to touch your husband without his express permission."
I looked up. "What?"
"Physical contact with the heir is strictly regulated by ancient law. Until his emergence is complete, until the marriage has been fully consummated, you are forbidden from initiating any physical contact whatsoever."
"You mean I can't touch him?"
"Breaking this rule would be considered an assault on the bloodline itself. The consequences would be severe."
So I was marrying a man I couldn't touch, who could do whatever he wanted to me, while I had zero agency.
"Are we clear on all terms?"
I stared at the signature line. My father's name was written at the bottom in flowing script.
"What really happened to my father?"
Lloyd was quiet for a long moment. "Your father discovered something he shouldn't have. Something that put him in danger from forces far worse than us."
"What forces?"
"Forces that would use the knowledge he gained to destroy everything we've spent centuries protecting. We tried to save him. We offered him the same choice we're offering you. He refused."
"So you killed him."
"We tried to save him from the consequences of his own defiance."
The pen felt like it weighed a thousand pounds.
"Sign the contract, Miss Missiri. Save your family. Give your father's sacrifice meaning."
My hand was shaking, but I lowered it to the paper and wrote my name.
Noura Missiri.
The signature that would end my life and begin whatever horrible thing I was becoming.
Lloyd examined my signature with satisfaction. "Excellent. The ceremony will begin in one hour."
"One hour? Tonight?"
"Ancient law requires the marriage to be consummated within twenty-four hours of the agreement."
As I started to leave, Lloyd's voice stopped me.
"Oh, and Miss Missiri? Welcome to the family."
One hour. In one hour, I would marry the masked monster who held my family's lives in his hands. In one hour, I would become property. In one hour, Detective Noura Missiri would cease to exist.
But as the guard led me back through those corridors, one thought kept pounding through my head:
They might own my signature on that contract. They might own my body and my future children.
But they didn't own my mind.
And they sure as hell didn't own my father's daughter.
The game was just beginning.