Gunshots echoed through the Vixens' estate. Sarima didn't flinch. She simply stared at the intricately carved wooden table beside her bed lazily, waiting for the noise to settle into the background of her morning. "For Christ sake find another fucking spot." She grumbled angrily into her pillow, her fingers going through her messy curls.
Another normal day in this very... normal... home, she drawled internally with a sigh. Twisting and sitting upright, the soft duvet slid down her chest. A loud yawn escaped her mouth and her eyes watered a bit. "So cold" she whispered rubbing her palms In a rush. Her eyes blinked continuously, trying to reboot as she wiped the drool on her left cheek.
Taking in a deep chilly breath, her fingers went back to her hair, weaving carefully with occasional winces from the tangled mess. "Urghh..." Her eyes shut momentarily at the realization of her hair bonnet coming off while she slept.
Glancing out the balcony, her drowsy eyes took in the burnt orange sky. Birds chirped loudly and she could see them fly in flocks. She inhaled deeply at the sudden quietness, rubbing her eyes more as she had slept through the afternoon out of tiredness.
Her eyes drifted across the room, taking in the expanse lazily. A hung large frame was turned backwards. The brown back, a chaotic mess of wild colors splashed around it. The corner of her lip twitched upwards.
Another gunshot broke the peaceful silence, replacing her smile with a scowl. She clenched her teeth, releasing a shaky exhale as she cracked her knuckles.The family was definitely squeezing every level of patience she had since she stepped in.
She used to think she had been adopted out of love, something soft and simple. Some eight year old kid who stepped into a family estate twelve years ago with high hopes of being treated like a princess, she was definitely surprised to see her adoptive parents already had three sons.
Growing up, she came to realize that her stepping into the family meant she was chosen for a different reason than she had so desperately daydreamed of. Her mother wanted a daughter without the burden of childbirth, and her father... he had accepted her as an investment for a future exchange.
Now, that exchange was due for the fourth time.
Her brows drew in slightly as she swallowed. The hours of sleeping beneath the relentless chill of the air conditioner with her mouth slightly open had left the back of her palate feeling like she had swallowed a mouthful of desert dust. Her tongue peeked out to wet her full pink lips.
She groaned slightly, stretching her fingers towards the glass jug on the bedside table. She could swear she heard a squeak from her joints. Wasn't even twenty yet, and somehow old age appeared determined to arrive early she thought.
Her doe eyes moved to see a thorn bangle beside it. Underneath was a sealed pristine white envelope.
Her fingers brushed against the sharp edges as she stretched to take it, irritation tightening in her chest. "Still insane," she muttered under her breath. What kind of a stalker drops crazy expensive jeweleries randomly? She glared, turning the plain envelope continuously to see no sender's information.
Two years, two years of gifts, letters, and messages that never made sense. And yet, he always got in. No matter how heavily guarded the estate was, no matter how impossible it should've been, he always found his way into her room.
She had never seen him,not once. Even after searching and making a plot board like some detective, he was off-grid. Yet sometimes she swore she could feel him right behind her, watching.
A chill crept down her spine. She dropped the bangle and letter back on the table, suddenly unwilling to touch them any longer. The spicy cologne still lingered in the air, indicating that her mental health wasn't deteriorating to such level of delusions in imagining a stalker breaking into her room most nights.
She rubbed her temples and let out a sigh. Standing straight, she downed a glass of water and dropped the empty cup gingerly.
Tonight was definitely not about him.
It was about the arrangement her parents had already made for her.
****
She stared at her reflection. The peach dinner gown clung to her figure, complemented by the rose gold jewelry adorning her skin. She had applied light makeup and coated her lips in a glossy sheen, giving her an understated elegance.
Her lips pressed together tightly as her fingers dug into her palm carving crescent shapes.
She should've been used to it by now. To the control and pretending everything was fine until she was sold off into another fucked up manipulative wealthy family.
She shook her body lightly in an awkward dance to push down the nagging feeling of dread that settled in the pit of her stomach like she had done on three similar occasions. At the fill of her dance, she cleared her throat, straightened her back and wore a confident look.
The mansion felt quieter than usual when she stepped out of her room. Like the walls themselves were holding their breath. The shootings had stopped halfway into her dressing, probably got tired of shooting innocent birds she scoffed.
Her fingers gripped tightly on her gown and she released a sharp exhale. Her heels descended down the stairs carefully, resisting the urge to strut. After all, the last time she'd felt invincible like Naomi Campbell on a runway, she'd ended up face-planting on a restaurant floor while on a dinner date. To crucify her further, everyone obviously stared at her, some in shock, others holding their laughter. It was as if time stopped when she finally looked up to a male waiter with a ripped trouser, an empty tray in his hand and a gobsmacked expression. She had grabbed him reflexively while falling unfortunately and she didn't know who to pity more, she or him. In her defense, she couldn't understand how trousers could rip so easily. She got home that day in a sour mood and her remembering it made her face twist into a grimace.
She walked past the hallway connected to her parents room. A burst of loud crashes and shouts drifted past her as she walked farther away, taking a few turns until she was standing in the portico. Her breath hitched at the captivating sight before her.
Buff men dressed in tuxedos stood close to the cars waiting for them to arrive. They stood like carved stone, each definitely over six feet tall. The tailored black suits couldn't quite disguise the broad, toned chests beneath, nor the powerful shoulders that stretched the expensive fabric. The more she stared, the more they looked less like hired security and more like hot models in tailored suits. Tall, strikingly handsome and built like they spent every freaking waking hour in the gym. In general, they looked like ripped men dipped in spicy sauce, hand picked by Summer Hayes, her best friend.
One of the bodyguards opened a car door, pulling her from her wild imaginations. She tucked her loose curls behind her ear, the wind playing with them as she walked into the car.
Grinning ear to ear, she picked up her phone from her purse. Her fingers typing hysterically on the screen, downloading every delicious detail to Summer.
Her eyes gleamed as she pressed send. Hearing the other side of the door open, her face dropped, so did the phone in her hand which she put back into her purse. The scent of their different perfumes enveloped the space as they sat across from her. Her mother right in front of her and her husband beside her, both looking out the windows on either side of the car.
Sarima sighed and rested her head on the window her mum was facing. She knew it wasn't the time to be insensitive but still, the appearance of the selfish couple pissed her off, nonstop.
The ride to the Houston estate passed in silence. Her parents sat across from her in the car, looking every bit like the picture-perfect couple the public adored. Anyone watching from the outside would think how perfect but oh... How wrong they would be. She scowled internally.
"Sarima."
Her father's voice murmured through the silence.
"Yes, Dad." Her eyes moved from her mother's slightly crook necklace.
"We are going to the Houstons' residence," he said evenly. "I expect you to behave… ladylike."
Not yourself. Never yourself of course.
Sarima gave a small nod. "I understand."
That was all he wanted to hear.
The Houston estate screamed clean freak. Blindingly white gates, white walls, white marble floors. What else? White people? She smiled at her dry joke, a part of her wondering if she could cackle freely as her friends had told her numerously that she laughs like a hyena. She shook her head lightly at the intrusive thought. Everything looked painfully pure.
"It's almost unsettling, like a psychiatric hospital." she murmured quietly and her mother glared at her.
They were led into the dining room, and the atmosphere shifted immediately. Sarima's eyes darted between the three people already standing at the table. Smiles that didn't quite reach their eyes graced their faces. It wasn't just dinner. It was business disguised as interrelationship.
Sarima stood next to her seat, already knowing exactly how the night would end. With her as usual.
"Mr. Vixen… welcome to our humble abode." A thin voice filled the room. She looked at the woman in her mid forties sitted after her husband at the head. Her short brunette hair curled into blowouts. Sarima's eyes trailed down, the woman's lips painted in bold red still in a smile and her red nails clicked on the table casually.
"The pleasure is ours." Her father calmly uttered with a fixed smile and shook the outstretched hand of Mr Houston.
Lies. All of it.
Everyone settled down. A wave of hand from Mr Houston and some trolleys filled with food were rolled out. The butler who led them in began introducing the five course meal prepared. His french impeccable as he pronounced the french cuisines that were being plated.
Sarima heaved another tired sigh quietly. Her fingers tapped lightly on her purse. She couldn't show any signs of discomfort as that would make her look unrefined. She sipped the white wine a servant poured, the sweet taste lingering on her tongue as she looked at the glass surprised.
"You like it?" Mr Houston asked, his eyes peering into her.
"Yes... it's unique." Sarima smiled, dropping the wine glass.
"It indeed is unique and rare. So rare that we got it from an auction. Do u know it?" He sipped on his wine.
Mrs Houston smiled, amusement flickered in her expression. "Dear...how could she possibly-"
"It's the Château d'Yquem wine. One of my favorites." Sarima stated.
Everyone looked at her with surprise.
"The girl knows luxury" Mr Houston laughed, followed by others.
The conversation began with profits, investments, and partnerships, it didn't take long before the attention drifted toward her again.
"Sarima," Mrs. Houston called smoothly, her sharp gaze settling on her. She snapped her attention to the woman's belittling gaze.
"I hear you'd be entering your final year in the university soon. Will you be able to manage your studies alongside duties in marriage?".
Duties? What flimsy duties?
Before she could reply, her mother interrupted effortlessly.
"She will. She's a Vixen. We don't struggle with responsibilities."
"Hmm... I hope so" Mrs Houston's thin voice curt as she sipped her wine wearing a calculating expression. "Doesn't this mean the Houston surname would be on her graduation documents?" A sly short laugh spilled from her mouth.
Sarima's fingers twitched as she felt her body go stiff. Not because she agreed, but because she was expected to. "In your dry dreams" she muttered under her nose and took a sip of the white wine.
Servants moved silently around the table, placing the main course in front of the guests with mechanical precision. Every single one of them wore masks.
Strange. But what isn't strange here? she questioned herself. Her eyes roamed around the dinning room, taking in the white carved structures and the ancient looking weapons hung on bull heads decorated boldly...still painted in white.
Her fingers tightened slightly against her lap. She felt her stomach twist into a knot which felt different than the uneasiness she felt since she woke up. Something definitely felt wrong this time. Not that a lot of things weren't feeling wrong, she just couldn't place what it was.
Her eyes landed on the third Houston. The man she was apparently supposed to marry. Silently staring at her.
He hadn't spoken once since she arrived, and yet his gaze had not left her for a second. Awkward...She thought, keeping her expression calm and taking a bite of the steak.
Her stomach twisted tighter, making her shift on her seat. She couldn't explain the nausea but it was familiar. Then it hit her. That particular scent she perceived in her room.
Sharp, spicy and unmistakable. Her breath hitched instantly.
Her breathing turned shallow as the dread she had pushed down began rising. That wasn't possible. She had perceived it before, so many times. In her room, in empty hallways, in places no one should've been. She knew he would come but not this soon.
Her pulse spiked violently and her hand reached for a glass of water while clearing her throat. The corner of her eyes widened as the dumb trembling hand betrayed her. The shattering of the glass waved through the room, silence crashing over the table as every head turned toward her.
Her hands trembled lightly, eyes searching for the scent. Lost in her world and clouded in her thoughts, the scent filled her lungs. It was stronger now and definitely closer, like right behind her.
Her entire body went rigid and she slowly turned. A servant squatted there motionless, surveying the broken glass.
Then he lifted his head and their eyes met.
Everything inside her dropped.
Recognition.
Not confusion nor curiosity but recognition.
A slow smirk spread across his lips.
The cold, certain and terrifying kind.
And in that moment, Sarima knew.
He was here and in a mask.