Page 9 of Torn Souls

I’ve been able to get away with keeping myself busy with volunteer and charity work around the city while my father has been distracted more than normal lately.

My gut is telling me that my time has run out. Whatever he has been planning is about to be revealed. While I don’t know the details, I’m sure I’ll be a pawn in whatever game he’s playing.

When I’m standing in front of my father’s office door, I’m reminded of how imposing I’ve always found it to be. When I was younger, it felt like the door loomed over me. Now, at 25, it still feels like it dwarfs me, and it has nothing to do with my relatively diminutive 5’4” frame.

It’s because of what I know is on the other side of the door. My father’s gaze will hold no sympathy, empathy, or love. His expectations will be too high for me to be able to meet them. Exceed them? That’s a pipe dream; one I’ve never pinned any hope to.

My heart pounds in my chest as I force myself to knock on the door, the sound echoing around me and highlighting just how quiet the house is. It’s always quiet. There’s no life in this house, there never has been.

There is only oppression and disappointment.

They’re the worst fucking roommates, but they’re all I’ve ever known.

“Enter,” my father’s deep voice commands.

I enter the room silently because it is what he expects of me. I may not be a child anymore, but being seen is still the name of the game. Not heard. Never heard.

It took me a long time to even realize I still have a voice. There’s no doubt in my mind that my father thinks he broke me, molded me, and built me into exactly what he wanted. Little does he know it’s all an act. Just like the way he shows people what he wants them to see publicly, I’ve learned how to play the role in private.

I stand behind the chair in front of my father’s desk, my eyes averted even though I take him in out of the corner of my eye. He’s sitting behind his desk and has the appearance of being relaxed. But I know differently.

I’m pretty sure my father has never been relaxed a moment in his life. But he does pretend. When he’s golfing. Or sipping whiskey. Or flaunting his money.

It’s all for show.

“Sit, Oaklynn,” suspicion drips off my name even though I don’t believe I’ve done anything to cause such a reaction. “We have a lot to discuss.”

When I lower myself in the chair, I perch on the edge. It makes me feel like a bird just waiting to take to the air. If only I could.

My father leans forward, his elbows on the desk and his fingers steepled as he studies me. It feels like he’s looking at me through a microscope. Part of me wants to squirm, but I manage to hold still. If I were to move, he would interpret it as weakness which just won’t do.

“It’s time for you to fulfill your purpose finally.”

My head snaps up with his words and the way he glares at me should have me cowering in fear, but I can’t get past the threat he just laid at my feet with a simple sentence.

My voice is a whisper even though I want to scream the words at him, “What do you mean?”

“Don’t take that tone with me,” he snarls.

My hands are gripping each other so tightly that my knuckles turn white. I want to be able to look into my father’s eyes, but I force myself to only look at his chin for a beat before my eyes fall to the ground again.

“I have finally gotten a meeting I’ve been trying to get for a while.” His words float in the austere office built with intimidation in mind. “We will be having dinner with Kirill Volkov this evening. You will now be marrying him.”

I take a few deep breaths to fight against the feeling of the walls closing in on me. Now is not the time to lose focus.

“Marrying him? Is this the man you mentioned before?”

“Enough,” my father spits as if asking a question is tantamount to treasonous sass. “You do not have a say inthis, and you don’t need to know a damn thing about the arrangement.”

I nod slightly, barely moving my head but wanting him to know I’ve heard and understood. My face is a blank mask, but the last thing I feel is calm. I try to remember if I ever heard the man’s name over the years.

My gut is telling me that something has changed. Why now?

My father sighs and his tone is filled with annoyance even though he does try to sound magnanimous, “I suppose you can know that Volkov is not the man you were originally going to marry. Things have changed.”

I nod again and keep my eyes averted. I’m not sure I could keep the loathing I feel for the man in front of me out of my gaze if I were to look up at this point.

Even though he hasn’t said it, my father is selling me. I’m not naïve enough to believe it’s anything different than that.

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