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I smirk, thinking of the monochrome maze inside.
However, I must confess that the house leaves much to be desired. The never-ending expanse of white—it's as if I've stepped into a dream where color has been banished. Or, more morbidly, a padded room. Is that your intention? To subtly drive me mad with the sterility of it all?
Your garden speaks of life and vibrancy. The house? It echoes of a void. One would think that with all the resources at your disposal, you’d have a bit more flair. Alas, it appears the art of home decor eludes you. Might I recommend employing a decorator? Someone with a keen eye for color and warmth. Heaven knows this place needs it.
I pause, momentarily taken aback by the playful tone of my words. Was I truly flirting? Shaking off the thought, I add a closing note.
In the meantime, I shall find my reprieve among the petals and leaves, letting them whisper tales of freedom and hope to my heart.
With a smirk, I add, Looking forward to your reply, and possibly a home makeover.
I remain surrounded by white,
Mariya
I press my lips to the paper, the same shade of red that left its mark on my last letter. It feels mischievous, daring him to respond with equal measure.
When I hand the folded paper to Oskar, I can't help but feel a rush of exhilaration. In this odd, unexpected contest of words, I find a semblance of agency, a way to reclaim a fragment of my identity.
But I swiftly ground myself, remembering the weight of my chains. My growing comfort with Damien is treacherous territory. As amusing as this little game might be, I mustn't forget that he is the man who keeps me bound. Even if, for now, he's playing along.
Chapter 6
Damien
The room is awash with the warm glow from the chandeliers, their golden light reflecting off silverware and wineglasses, filling the space with the type of richness that our family has grown accustomed to. The sound of laughter, stories, and the playful shrieks of children fills the air, a testament to a family tree that has branched out extensively over the years.
I sit a silent observer amidst the bustling tapestry of familial bonds, a lone island in an ocean of togetherness. Around me, every face seems to have its match, its complement. Andrei and Sandra sit side by side, exchanging whispers punctuated with chuckles. Leo holds Nikita's delicate hand beneath the table as they share loving glances, a secret language developed over the course of their shared life.
Roman, projected onto a screen due to the distance, still manages to hold Valentina close, their laughter harmonizing even through the static of technology. Samuil and Anastasia, ever the rough and tumble duo, engage in playful banter, their energy obvious even through the screen.
And then there's me.
I can't help but feel the emptiness of the chair beside me. It's as though it's mocking me, reminding me of my solitary existence. The children giggle as they pass, some peeking up at me with curious eyes as if pondering the mystery of Uncle Damien's solitude. The questions, always skirting around the edges of conversation, hang heavy in the air: "When will Damien find someone? When will he introduce us to her?"
A subtle vibration in my pocket pulls me from my introspection. Retrieving my phone, I see Ahmet's name flash across the screen. The message is a string of details and intricacies of the impending deal that demand immediate attention. I read through it quickly, letting responsibility pull me back to the reality of my life outside this room.
I rise, excusing myself from the table. "Business," I murmur, more to myself than anyone else, though several nods of understanding come from my brothers. After all, in our world, business never truly stops.
As I make my way toward the exit, the laughter and warmth of the room fade behind me, replaced by the cold, clinical nature of my solitary existence. Alone with my thoughts, I can't help but wonder if there will ever be a day when that empty chair is filled and when the warmth of companionship replaces the solitude. Only time will tell.
The sleek leather of the car seat beneath me feels cool, a sharp contrast to the whirlwind of emotions and thoughts racing through my mind. The city lights outside the windows blur into illuminated shadows.
Ahmet's text sits on the screen, its implication clear. It all seems straightforward enough—numbers, conditions, and terms. But beneath the veneer of business formalities, I sense an ominous undertone, a hint of something that isn't quite right. The proposal is generous—almost too generous—and in our world, a deal that sounds too good to be true is often a precursor to a trap.
I roll the name Ahmet around in my mind. Every interaction with him has been civil, dare I say even pleasant. But business isn't built on pleasantries. There's often a hunger in his eyes, an ambition that I recognize all too well because it mirrors my own. Yet this eagerness, this almost desperate push to solidify the deal, sets off warning bells in the back of my mind.
I've always prided myself on my intuition, that gut feeling that has guided many of my decisions, and it's seldom led me astray. It now tugs at me, urging caution, whispering that there are unseen threads in the tapestry Ahmet is weaving.
I tap a finger on the phone screen, the blue light illuminating the space. Perhaps it's time to dig a little deeper and find out what truly lies beneath Ahmet’s offer. There's a malicious game afoot, and I intend to be several steps ahead of it.
Reaching into the pocket of my jacket, I retrieve Mariya’s latest letter, its soft edges crinkled from multiple readings. For a fleeting moment, I find myself grateful for this unexpected diversion, a reminder that life isn't just shadowy deals and power plays. There’s wit, humor, and even a hint of romance in our back-and-forth banter.
As the car pulls into the driveway, I make a silent vow to myself that I'll handle Ahmet and whatever unscrupulous game he's playing.
My actual home, the one where I spend quiet nights to regroup and reset, stands tall and proud before me.
The soft glow of the porch light casts a halo around Oskar, who has come to deliver news, his familiar face etched with a mix of concern and amusement. There’s a slight stiffness in his posture; he's been waiting a while, most likely pondering how to deliver his update on Mariya; despite the lingering tension from the deal and Ahmet’s text, a small, involuntary smile forms on my lips. It's uncanny how this woman, with her letters and indomitable spirit, has become a highlight of my day.
