The Wrong Man

Chapter 1

“Move your a*s, Seraphine!” My younger sister, Jen, abruptly hits my bedroom door on the way down the hallway to the staircase, where I can hear my other sister chime in. 

“Yeah! We don’t have all day!” 

I’m disappointingly already awake, barely hanging onto my awareness of what’s going on, and let a frustrated sigh escape my lips as I stand to my feet to walk out of this home that used to be mine as well; now it isn’t. My family, in the middle of dinner two nights ago, admitted that they made a deal with another family in Canada so I could marry their son because of a non-disclosure agreement.

I didn’t want to talk out of turn; it was against the rules they placed on me, so I gritted my teeth together in anger and stayed silent, only nodding my head as I thought of ways to run away without getting killed. 

But that’s not possible when my family is one of the top underworld families in the country.

Making me one of the most known faces in magazines and a target for enemies that has a grudge against my family. I never got kidnapped by any of them thanks to my family for training me for years from the age of ten to sixteen, and the harsh training only stopped two days ago after that devastating announcement. They, quote on-quote, wanted me to be flawless and ready for the son of the family, Joshua Michaels, a guy that I’ve never heard of since he strays away from cameras and business to rebel against his family. 

The only reason he agreed to this arrangement, said by my older sister after dinner two days ago, was to meet another girl around his age. 

It sucks that he had an alternative to prevent all of this, but thanks to him agreeing to marry me, I’m stuck with a stranger that I barely know. 

“He better be handsome at least.” I mumble, grabbing my suitcases filled with clothes and necessities, and stride out of my bedroom to head to the airport with my family. 

What am I kidding? Whether he’s handsome or unattractive, I’ll be miserable there without my friends. 

“There you are, fat ass.” My older sister, Ryan, shakes her head as her gaze silently judges my outfit to wear to the airport. “And here I thought you would be out of here early to not waste our time.” 

“I’m sorry.” I apologize, clenching the silicone handle of my suitcase, praying that I sound genuine enough to not get slapped, kneed, or pulled down by my hair.

“You’re not sorry, but our dad said to keep you neat looking, so think of this as a warning.” She turns on her wedged heel and clicks down the hall to the front door.  

I feel my knees go weak as I bite back a sob. I may seem sensitive to stuff like that, but after years of a***e, I’ve turned fragile like glass. On the outside, while I speak to others, I look composed and neutral, but once I enter my room, all of my strength leaves my body as I fall to the floor, crying in struggled sobs and whimpers to keep my family from yelling at me again for being weak. 

My determination to be free is my only boost of strength to keep me standing as I pull myself together before walking out of my home, permanently abandoning it to go to my new one to meet my husband. 

At sixteen, I expected to be a teenager, but I’m a coerced wife instead, with a gut feeling that my new life will be just as horrible. As if it couldn't get any worse than this. 

“Don’t talk.” My mother snarls before she slips into the passenger seat, closing the door with a forceful pull to create a loud bang as a second warning to deter me from talking during the hour-long drive to the airport. 

I bite my bottom lip and open the fourth door to get into the backseat, behind the bulletproof tint glass that separates me from the rest of my family. I hear my other sister giggle and whisper; 

“She’s like a little dog, huh?” 

I ball my hands into fists on my lap, grateful for the privacy as my bottom lip trembles, but nothing escapes my throat as tears stream down my face. If I was wearing makeup, I would’ve been forced to endure the discipline again, and I didn’t want to go through that knowing I wanted to look flawless for this mysterious boy. 

If he was my escape, then I shouldn't cry.

I want him to like me, to be better than my family. 

I want him to just give me what I've always wanted all of my life. 

Love.

The car drives away from the mansion and all of my worries come rushing back at once about the new environment I’m going to be living in from now on. 

Will they be the same? 

Will they be nice?

So many questions flood through my suffused mind that was already occupied by thoughts of this abandonment and how my family treated me all of my life. But even as I sit obediently in this backseat I know letting the overwhelming feelings invade my mind in this situation won’t change the outcome.

The one where my family heartlessly hand me over to the next family like a coin they can gamble for a better possession. They never took my life into account unless blood was involved or child services got called for my constant state of fragileness and weak form from negligence or punishments. If this family is anything remotely like this one, cruel and harsh, I better say goodbye to my last pint of equanimity since they’ll ruin that the moment I walk in thinking everything is okay.

“Mom,” Ryan whined as she took one of the wireless earbuds out of her ear. “Will Seraphine intervene with my plan to marry Nathan?” 

“That rich guy from the country we regularly vacation at?” Our mom asks, cautiously applying her lipgloss using the compact mirror in her hand. “She shouldn’t because she loves you.” Her gaze shifts to me in the compact mirror, glaring at me. “Right, Seraphine?”

With no choice but to respond, I reply with a deferential; “Right.” 

It was impossible for me to love my sisters. I couldn't do it. My chances of genuinely loving them were destroyed long ago because they treated me like an outcast. Like a sister that’s made of rubble and debris ― just like how our parents treat me every single day.

Initially, Ryan and Jen tried to emulate their parenting toward me for fun to see me cry, but as it progressed, they began mistreating me for their own egotistical reasons. I would be told I'm fat, untalented, not skilled, unsuitable for marriage, etc. 

They constantly criticized me while I remained impassive in front of them to ensure all of them could not read my emotions, thus keeping their antics to a minimum. I learned to appear emotionless and unmoved at a young age, but when punishment afflicts me beyond my capacity, I break down and plead for mercy like a prisoner inside his cell. The punishments are often like that half of the time.

My sisters punish me just as harshly. They would yank my hair hard while spatting profanities at me, threatening alopecia in the process. However, my parents never punish them. Not even for scratching the limo. It was always my fault that the limo needed to be repaired, but they would accuse me, while I fixed their problems, of being so useless and angry that I didn't do anything.  

And the p*****t would always come out of my wallet. Every. Single. Time.

They know I don’t have money to spend so they watch me do missions to earn money with an amused smile on their faces knowing the amount they want is large.

A mission, one singular mission containing one singular person, is paid a few hundred dollars, but that depends on what the person is doing on the mission. A simple document switch or wiretap is a low-pay job if you do it alone, but you get paid a bit more if it’s on a famous person or if it’s done outside of the country. Those are my favorite missions, not the ones where I have to kill innocent people to get the mission done. Those kinds of missions make my blood boil at my parents and the government for sending me in as a minor, but since my family is protected by the pentagon for complying with their contract and demands ― I have no choice but to complete the job if I want to stay alive. Especially if I want my family to lighten up on their punishments if I accidentally slip up on a mission.

“I should listen to music.” I think as I take out my wired earphones and plug them into my phone. I put one of the earbuds into my ear to keep alert for my family and played my music on low to prevent my sisters from hearing it. My family didn’t despise me listening to music but they ridicule my taste in it every time they hear it out of my earphones. I’m starting to think they a***e me just to boost their egos. 

It's not like the government opposes it. As long as I don't rat the underworld out, they don't care. 

They only care about themselves, like how the underworld families and the other gangs think for themselves for money and survival. 

The underworld is a place I was birthed into and it’s a place I have to live through to stay alive. It’s not fair but nothing’s fair in reality anyway.

“Turn left in two-hundred feet.” The GPS says, rousing me out of my nap that I managed to slip myself into. 

“Finally.” My father exasperates, turning left like the GPS said while my mom turns down the radio. “The airport.” He shifts the car into park once he gets into a parking space a bit far from the entrance. He motions for everyone to get out of the car and when his gaze meets mine, I try to walk past the car to the airport but he honks his horn at me and says sternly in a flat tone; “And Seraphine… don’t embarrass our family.”

I knew he meant the family excluding me.

He’s now disowning me as expected. Great.

“I won’t.” I promise before striding to the airport with my mom and my sisters. I have my luggage in hand with my passport and IDs. They did not. They are strictly escorting me to the gate to keep their image clean. 

As a g**g member, they are judged all the time so the public wants to see a kind family sending their daughter off to her arranged marriage, but as cruel as reality is, they rush me through security to the gate ― while acknowledging the fans and paparazzi ― where they plop me down in a chair by myself and wave me goodbye with fake smiles plastered on their lips ― maybe they’re real since I’m finally out of their hands, who knows? ― before leaving me to board my flight on my own. 

“Goodbye, old family.” I sigh, watching them click away in their designer heels while I gratefully watch everyone ignore me to look at them. I am a well-known face but people don’t want to see a daughter wearing average off-brand clothing with no interesting trait to capture for the internet. They want to see what Jen and Ryan have to offer. Beauty. I am told to be beautiful in the public eye but paparazzi are paid to be ‘picky’ with their shots to keep everyone interested in their articles. So for now, I’m not their interest and I can board my flight without cameras in my face. 

“Hello, new life.” I take out my earphones again to tune out the airport. The back of my hand inconspicuously touches my bag for my BB g*n before I slouch in my chair to wait out the hour I have left by texting my friend, Madison.

“I’m at the airport. They officially disowned me.” I send the message after re-reading it a few times, adding a nervous emoji.

It takes a few minutes for the message to be read and replied to.

“Think of it as a step forward to freedom. They’re no longer your nightmare, right?” Madison adds a smiling emoji with a firework emoji. Her way of trying to cheer me up.

I mutter my reply out loud; “Right.” And after I sent it, I feel a sense of unsureness knowing how my family operates in the world. They would pick the worst-case scenario for me to live with and make sure I know it was on purpose. In this case, they had probably picked the family that would t*****e me to keep me in my place regardless of where I am. 

So there’s no ‘freedom’ until I can get a divorce to be free. 

But since the contract allegedly says the decision is up to my husband, I have no choice but to deal with his choice.

“Yeah.” I reply to her message with a smiling emoji. My way of convincing her that I’m feeling alright on the other side of the screen.

No, Madison. My nightmare isn’t over.

It’s far from over. 

In fact, it’s at the tip of the iceberg and I’m standing at the edge of that iceberg where life is threatening to take my life if I don’t do as it says. 

If nightmares were my daily routine, I’d be the princess of hell. 

There’s no escape for me. 

I’m fated to be this way. 

To be confined in this world like a prisoner.