I went numb. My world blurred. My legs shook and I stumbled back, missing a step and falling against the fridge. "W…what?" My lips quivered.
"He is rich, Daphne. He'll take good care of you. I know you have a boyfriend, but Omar is dependent on family wealth. Sinclair is filthy rich, and you'll have nothing to worry about financially."
"H…how? How did you…?" Tears spilled over, my throat too tight to form words.
He moved closer, grabbing onto my trembling hands. "Daphne, you have to trust me."
He placed his hands on my shoulders, squeezing gently as if I had simply stumbled by accident. "Please, don't be stubborn about this. Make this easy for both of us, okay? You are to meet with him this week. I'll send you a dress and—"
"Please, no. Please, don't do this, I beg you," I choked out, the tears falling faster. Yet, he ignored them; he was blind to my pain.
"I should be the one begging, Daphne. Don't make this more difficult than it already is. Just do as I say and stop being stubborn."
"No, you don't understand." I sobbed. "I can't… I… I… Please, Marcus. Don't make me marry him. I beg you."
He patted my shoulder one last time and took a step back. "I set a meeting with him this Friday. I'll send you something nice," he said, before turning and walking out of my apartment.
As soon as the door clicked shut, I slid down to the floor, hands shaking, lips trembling.
There is no way this is happening. No way I managed to coincidentally find my way back to that monster. After trying and finally succeeding to wipe his face from my memory, the universe threw my attempts back in my face, mocking me.
Three Years Ago.
It was a Sunday morning, and I was dressed in a matching sundress with Sarah, as usual. Sarah was once my home. She was once the only thing I had in this whole world after the death of my parents. Until she wasn't. Until she became a memory. I went to her mansion every last Sunday of the month, joining in the Adebayo family tradition they called "End of the Month Thanksgiving."
The Adebayos offered me something I had always craved: a family. I hadn't known what having a family felt like since the death of my mother. Not even my stepmother could revive that feeling, although she tried, and I appreciated her effort. She was a sweet woman, and I cried bitterly when she died. She did everything to make me feel the home I'd lost, and I pretended to feel it, but it just wasn't there. There was nothing like sitting with my birth mother and father at the dining table, or Mom following me to my room to read me a bedtime story. I'd lost that luxury forever the moment Mother breathed her last breath.
However, the Adebayo family made me begin to feel it again. It felt impossible, but I slowly realized I was seeing them as family, and I had planned to convince Marcus to let me live with them.
And just like every other last Sunday, I was the happiest human on earth, swaying my hips and screaming at the top of my lungs to the BTS playlist blasting from the speaker.
Mrs. Adebayo poked her head into Sarah's elegant room, apron clinging to her frame, dusted with flour. "Hey, girls, banana bread is best served hot!"
Mrs. Adebayo was a woman in her late fifties with a beautiful smile and an impressive, hovering height with broad shoulders. She had once mentioned that Mr. Adebayo almost peed his pants while asking her out in secondary school because of how intimidated he was.
Right on cue, Mr. Adebayo stuck his head in, his glasses reflecting the blue light coming from the Bluetooth speaker. "And turn down that speaker. Don't make us go deaf."
Mrs. Adebayo slapped his shoulder playfully. "Leave them alone. Let them have fun."
I laughed, enjoying the cute family banter as Sarah joined in, teasing Mr. Adebayo about how he was one to talk, considering he always listened to his favorite Juju singer at max volume back in the day.
"Don't let it get cold, girls," Mrs. Adebayo called over her shoulder as she walked away down the hall, Mr. Adebayo trailing behind and tickling her. Mrs. Adebayo swatted at his hands while laughing.
"Come on, let's go," Sarah said, her voice rising over the next track playing on the playlist.
I offered a gentle smile. "You go ahead. I have to use the restroom."
"Alright. Don't take long. Like Mom said, 'Banana bread is best served hot'," she yelled back as she threw herself out of the room and into the hallway, screaming the lyrics of the song.
I turned away, walking into the restroom. When I was done and began washing my hands in the basin, the song blasting from the speaker ended. In the short seconds of silence before the next track picked up, I heard a loud scream that was cut abruptly short. It was a terrified, painful scream. I froze, water dripping from my hands.
The next song, House of Cards, began to play. I took careful steps out of the room, the music muffling slightly as I shut the door behind me and made my way down the hallway. But the lyrics of the song were still clear and precise.
I sucked in a breath when I saw a trail of blood—thick and smeared, as if someone bleeding had been dragged down the hall.
My shaky legs moved on their own, my throat tight. The mansion was suddenly eerily silent. No sound of Grandpa scolding Sarah's naughty brothers. No sound of Mr. Adebayo teasing his wife. No sound of Mrs. Adebayo deliberating on another dish. Just the muffled song playing in the background and the foreboding chill crawling up my bones.
The blood trail led into the library; the door was left ajar. I stopped just by the corner, ensuring I was not a visible audience to whatever was happening inside. I peeked only slightly.
I saw a man dressed sharply in a black shirt and black pants, dragging Miss Grace's lifeless body over to a pile of bodies in the corner. My breath caught as my gaze studied the pile. Grandpa, the servants, the maids, Sarah's brothers, their cousin, and Mrs. Adebayo. Their heads were either bashed violently with a weapon or their throats slit. One thing was for sure: they were dead.
My eyes lifted to the man as he abandoned the body on the pile. His dark hair was parted in the center, blood splatters trickling down his face, easing gently onto his open chest.
He walked over to a trembling Mr. Adebayo, who was kneeling in the corner, staring at the corpses of his family.
The man grabbed Mr. Adebayo's hair, jerking his head back, and whispered something into his ear.
"Let's meet in hell, you dev—" Mr. Adebayo started to say, but his words were cut short. The man swung a sharp, machete-like weapon I hadn't seen before. One strike and his head was off, rolling across the floor and stopping right at my feet. Mr. Adebayo's lifeless eyes stared back at me.
A shriek tore from my throat, drowning out the music that was now concluding in the background.
The man's head moved, turning slowly toward my direction. His dark eyes, speckled with the fresh blood of Mr. Adebayo, stared back darkly.
I saw him on the news a few months later. They said he was an investor called Sinclair Kavanagh.