Chapter 4 Chapter 4
What just happened?
My heart was pounding as I was running-His dangerous, cold, and commanding eyes wouldn't leave my head. I didn't know who he was. But I was sure he was very powerful.
I had seen strong men before.
But this was different.
He didn’t need to raise his voice. He didn’t need to move. The air itself seemed to shift around him.
And when his eyes met mine in that hospital room- it felt like being seen and judged at the same time.
That frightened me more than his power did.
It was already eight at night, which meant punishment was waiting for me at home.
They were laughing when I entered, plates full and the sound of glasses clinking like they were having a feast. But the moment they saw me, the laughter died.
The smell of roasted meat filled the room. My stomach tightened painfully at the scent.
Miracle’s plate was full. Aunty Rebecca’s glass sparkled under the light.
For a second, I wondered what it felt like to sit at that table without fear. To eat without permission. To speak without calculating the consequences.
The thought disappeared as quickly as it came.
Did you finish the farm?
Uncle Michael asked without looking at me.
I stayed silent.
His fist slammed onto the table.
Yes or no?
Silence.
“Miracle” he said coldly “Lock her in her room"
“Please,” I pleaded. “I can finish it tomorrow—but there all turned deaf ears.
I didn't fight because it would only make things worse My room was beneath the staircase. If I stretched too far, my feet hit the wall. At night, when they were asleep, I sometimes crept into the kitchen and slept on the cold tiles just to feel space around me.
“Talk to your father for me,” I whispered. She smirked. Why would I? You didn’t clean my room properly.”
Okay, wait. I said one last thing before she left: Please bring me a piece of bread or some food. I know I'll be locked here for days.
She didn't say a word as she locked the door.
The first day, I counted the cracks on the wall. The second day, I stopped counting.
Hunger twisted inside me until my body became dull and heavy. My lips were dry. I was wandering in endless dreams.
My thoughts began to blur.
At one point, I thought I heard my mother’s voice calling my name. Soft. Gentle. The way she used to before everything changed.
I almost answered her.
But when I opened my eyes, there was nothing but darkness and the smell of dust.
Hunger does strange things to the mind. It makes memories feel real and reality feel distant.
I wrapped my arms around myself and waited for morning that never seemed to come.
Then suddenly the door opened. Miracle stood there holding a tray.
“I forgot about you,” she said lightly. She dropped the plate on the floor. Rotten rice.
“It smells like you.” She shut the door again. I stared at it for a long time before picking it up. Pride doesn’t survive hunger.
Then I drank the water and went back to sleep. I wasn't surprised-but I asked anyway. Maybe I was hoping for a miracle, from miracle.
Hours had passed. The lock turned again.
Uncle Michael stood there. He wasn’t angry.
He looked nervous.
“Get up,” he ordered quietly. "Follow me" he said.
“Miracle, get her your best dress,” he snapped. “Now.”
I had never seen him like this before—never once had he spoken to Miracle in this way. What could be happening?
Fear settled slowly in my chest.
I didn’t know which was worse — being invisible or suddenly being valuable.
They pulled a silk dress over my head. Soft. Expensive.
Aunty Rebecca brushed my hair and applied makeup carefully.
When they turned me toward the mirror, I barely recognized myself.
Before we entered the car, Uncle Michael warned me sternly, “Do not embarrass me.” The ride was silent.
“The council summoned you,” Uncle Michael finally said.
When we arrived, the building was massive. Guards stood at every entrance.
“Good luck, dead girl,” Aunty Rebecca muttered. “I’ll miss beating and flogging you.”
They entered back into their car and drove off as I stood before the giant door—the guards opened the door, and I stepped inside.
The hall was enormous and cold. Guards lined the walls. No one spoke.
The silence wasn’t empty.
It was heavy. Expectant.
Like everyone already knew something I didn’t.
My fingers curled slightly at my sides. I refused to let them see my hands tremble.
In the center stood a tall figure with his back to me.
Broad shoulders—dark presence. Then I saw the tattoos.
The man from the hospital.
He turned slowly. His expression was unreadable. Controlled. Cold.
Every eye in the room shifted to me.
Then he turned at me and said “Good day… bride”.
My blood ran cold
His gaze did not leave my face.
It wasn’t desire or kindness
It was certainty.
As if something had already been decided.
And my opinion had never been part of the equation.
I hadn’t been summoned.
I had been chosen.
