Sarima stared at her mother in disbelief, struggling to process how a decision like this could be made without her knowledge. Her gaze shifted sharply to her brothers, but they continued eating as though nothing had been said, as though she wasn't sitting there being quietly traded. Not one of them warned her. Not one of them even looked at her differently.
The sound of her utensils hitting the plate echoed sharply through the dining room.
Her father looked up immediately, his glare cutting through her.
"So… are the Houstons dead too?" Sarima blurted, anger slipping out before she could stop it.
Silence lingered for a second.
"It would be better if you shut that word hole of yours and finish your food," her father said calmly, already returning to his meal as if she hadn't spoken at all.
As if she didn't matter.
A bitter laugh almost left her.
"Well, I'm the bargaining commodity, right?" she shot back. "Why not at least let me know when I'll be sold off?"
No one answered.
"Business has become a fierce battle," her father continued instead, speaking to Mr. Ellison as though she didn't exist.
Her chest tightened.
"That's what happens when a special ops agent becomes a CEO," Mr. Ellison replied casually.
Sarima pushed her chair back, ready to leave, but a hand caught hers. She froze. Her brother.
She turned slowly to him, eyes narrowing. He knew. Of course he did. That betrayal cut deeper than anything else.
"Exactly what I've been saying," her father went on. "Aetos came in and started controlling the flow of business."
Sarima looked at her mother.
She didn't even lift her head.
Something inside Sarima cracked.
She yanked her hand free and walked out.
The cold air on the balcony did nothing to calm her. She leaned against the railing and stared up at the sky, her chest tight with anger and something heavier—something closer to helplessness.
How could they do this to her? Like she was nothing. Like her voice didn't exist.
Maybe it never did.
A shaky breath left her.
Then that feeling returned.
The one that never truly left her.
Being watched.
Footsteps approached behind her.
She turned sharply.
"Sarima."
Oliver Ellison stood there.
He stepped beside her, and she didn't respond.
"It's been a long time," he said softly.
But she wasn't interested in soft words.
"Just so you know, the Houstons were found dead in a river. Car accident," he added carefully. "It's not your fault."
"And the son?" she asked immediately.
He hesitated for just a second.
She caught it.
"He… he wasn't found like the others," Oliver said.
Her stomach dropped.
Something cold tightened inside her.
"How do you know that?" she asked quietly.
"I'm a detective," he replied.
She studied him for a moment, memories flashing briefly—childhood days, easier versions of everything. Silence followed.
"You're still short," he said suddenly with a smirk to break the silence.
She scoffed. "Because you grew what, two inches?"
"You have always been short, Sarima."
She punched his arm lightly. He winced.
"I know you noticed," he added.
"What?" she asked.
He cleared his throat "My voice."
She rolled her eyes, but a small laugh slipped out anyway.
For a moment, it almost felt normal again.
They both laughed.
And for a second, she almost forgot.
Then she remembered.
The letters. The watching. That presence that never truly left her alone.
"I don't want you to be tense about the marriage," Oliver said softly.
"I don't know how you're so calm," Sarima admitted. "They treat us like exchange tools. Look at Donovan… at Asher… and soon Tristan too. It's like my father is draining the life out of everyone."
Oliver turned fully toward her.
"Look at me, Sarima," he said gently. "Don't see it as a business deal. See it as two people who already know each other."
Her chest tightened.
"I promise I won't make you sad."
For a moment, she almost believed him.
And that was what scared her.
Her throat went dry.
"I don't want you dead, Oliver," she whispered.
He frowned. "You're not cursed, Sarima. You're just scared."
Am I?
Or was she being watched right now?
"Oliver… the truth is..."
Her phone buzzed.
The sound cut through everything.
She froze.
An unknown number.
Her fingers hesitated before she opened it.
Her breath stopped.
A video.
Black and white. Grainy.
Live.
Her and Oliver.
Right now.
Her heart slammed violently as her eyes darted around the balcony.
Nothing.
No one.
But she felt it.
That presence.
Watching.
Always watching.
Then she saw the message beneath the video.
DON'T DARE ME.
The words didn't feel like a threat.
They felt personal.
Like she had disappointed someone.
A chill ran down her spine.
"What's the truth?" Oliver asked, concern rising. "Are you looking for something?"
His hand touched her shoulder in concern as he watched her look around wearily.
She flinched.
Fear hit instantly, not for herself, but for him.
"Oliver," she said quickly, stepping back, "I don't want you dead."
His expression shifted to confusion, hurt.
"This marriage… it can't happen."
"Sarima..."
She turned and walked away before he could finish.
Inside, laughter echoed from the dining room.
Her parents. Mr. Ellison.
Like nothing was wrong.
"You should invite him for your birthday tomorrow," Mr. Ellison said.
"That won't be bad," her father agreed. "We can build the alliance there."
Her stomach twisted.
She glanced back at Oliver one last time.
He was still watching her.
She forced a small smile and waved.
He smiled back but she saw the hurt in his eyes.
She turned away quickly and went to her room.
The door closed behind her.
Silence.
She collapsed onto the bed as her phone buzzed again.
Another message.
"You shouldn't make me jealous Afràtos. I was patient with you. Don't make me stop being gentle."
Her breath caught and her toes curled in fear.
Then another message appeared.
"Tomorrow is your father's celebration. So many people will be there… it will be easier to get close to you."
Her heart stopped.
And for the first time, she wasn't only afraid of being watched.
She was afraid of finally seeing him.