Chapter 7 - Annika
One Hour Ago
When I decided not to stay in the tower, I meant it. I’ve spent the last hour, maybe, pacing the floor in this cabin, trying to figure out how to go forward.
I’m procrastinating, and I have no idea why.
It’s like there’s a chain around my chest, keeping my heart prisoner, and yet, I have no reason to feel this way.
Not even the marriage license I signed should hold any weight.
I’ve never cared for those things, anyway.
I know how destructive marriages can be—my mother went through hell that drained the life force out of her until it made her so sick that she was useless to my father, who walked out on her.
Even though the monster draining her energy had left, her health had already deteriorated enough for her to leave behind two girls to fend for themselves.
I’d taken on the role of mother to my younger sister at the ripe age of eighteen, because she needed to complete school and make something of her life that wouldn’t lead her down the same road as our mother.
I worked hard, making my way from back bars to a corporate environment, where I worked even harder for the most monstrous man I’ve ever met in my life. I was determined to put my little sister through school, and now I’m the one in my mother’s shoes.
Married to a bastard. Except, this is even worse, because I didn’t fall in love with him and get married to him and become a foreigner in a different country to chase our biggest dreams and ambitions.
Henry Ralph forced me into marrying him, and I can never forgive him for that.
It’s not something I would have considered.
Except, there was a time…
***
Four Years Ago
“You’re up next,” the woman behind the reception desk gives me a curt nod, her expression flat, bored, as if she’s been doing this for far too long.
The interviews, I mean. The job post for a personal assistant for one of the directors of Alpha Pharmaceuticals in Hamilton had popped up at least three times on my social media feed, as if it were a sign from the universe for me to apply.
Of course, I was reluctant, because I’ve never worked in the corporate world, and I don’t have that kind of experience. But waiting tables isn’t bringing enough in to get Lila into a good college, and perhaps the advertisement I’ve seen over the past month is trying to tell me something.
On the flip side, there’s the fact that it’s been a month, and they’ve yet to find a suitable candidate for the position. Perhaps the employer is too picky, but that just means I’m painfully under-qualified, and I’m wasting my time.
It’s like the receptionist knows I’m wasting my time, and hers, so she doesn’t even waste a smile on me.
I stand up from the chair, my butt aching from sitting for over two hours and waiting for my turn. Two women already walked out of here wearing disappointment on their pretty faces, so I school my facial expression into something unbothered, perhaps at the risk of coming across as overly confident.
But as I smooth down the pencil skirt over my thighs, I decide to run with this confidence, because I have nothing to lose.
Maybe my dignity, if I have to return to the diner on Monday and explain to my eager colleagues that I didn’t get the job.
They’ve been rooting for me, perhaps with more faith in my capability to “fake it until I make it.”
I take a deep breath before proceeding to the office door I’m pointed to, my heart in my throat, but nothing of that anxiety shows on my face. I catch a glimpse of my reflection in the glass door, proud of myself for how well I can hide what’s going on inside my head before I knock.
“Come in,” comes a husky male voice, a tone calm enough to soothe my nervousness, powerful enough to keep me grounded.
I turn the handle and step inside, looking up at the desk in the center of the air-conditioned room as the cool, crisp air kisses my cheeks and brings with it a sense of ease.
The eyes that meet mine behind the desk are even cooler, reminding me of the point where natural spring water meets a luscious field—greenish-blue and oozing a sense of charm even without him saying a word.
When he does, my eyes are drawn to the lips that speak in a diplomatic tone.
“Miss Singh…” he says my last name as if it’s the only name he’s ever spoken, like the chant of a prayer he says before he goes to bed at night. Maybe it’s an ambitious thought, a dangerous one, and so self-centered, but it’s the only thought that comes to mind.
Along with the incessant thought that I’d give anything to hear him say my first name in that same tone.
It’s a tone of authority, perhaps less “prayer”, and more “command.” It’s controlled, like he’s sure of himself and knows that God will give him anything he asks for.
My heart skips a beat, and returns to remind me to advance into the office, taking care not to trip over two feet that barely feel like my own anymore as I rake my gaze across the rest of his face.
A plump set of lips, glistening naturally in a blush shade of pink, sends my mind wandering, and all I can think about is strawberry kisses.
Strawberry because I imagine that’s what he’d taste like—a taste so subtle, sweet, and delicate that it betrays the sharpness of his dark brows, or his sharp, clean jawline that looks fit to cut through glass.
He’s seated behind his desk, but I can imagine that the rest of him is as tantalizing as his face and his broad shoulders when he does stand up.
It’s like he walked out of a magazine, or off a runway, and sat behind that desk, playing a part in a film as the most sought-after actor, with his gorgeous good looks and oozing charm.
I finally make it to the chair he’s pointing to, my heart ready to explode by the time I take a seat.
The man, whose name I’ve learned only now thanks to the name plate in platinum on his desk, turns his eyes to his computer screen, and whatever hold he had on me just now breaks in an instant.
I’m no longer hypnotized, and now, with the rose-tinted glasses gone, I can see him scrutinizing my resume with a fine-toothed comb of his cold eyes.
“You begin Monday,” he says without even looking at me, his brows furrowing as if he just read something he didn’t like. But he still doesn’t look at me, leaving me confused.
“I—I got the job, Mr. Ralph?”
“Yes, you did. You are excused. You’ll be back on Monday,” he says matter-of-factly, still not looking at me, appearing as if he isn’t even breathing, as if I smell bad.
That can’t be the case, since I just got the job, despite my rather mundane resume and lack of experience. All I can do is slowly get to my feet, watching him, as he remains incapable of looking at me a second time.
“Thank you, Mr. Ralph,” I say, to which I don’t receive a response. Just a cold, lingering silence that foreshadows what’s to follow.
I’m in for the toughest challenge of my life, I can tell. And if looks can deceive, it’s Mr. Henry Ralph who might turn out to be the ultimate deceiver.
***
There was a time when I thought he was the most beautiful man on the planet, but beauty cannot be measured just with good looks alone. Henry Ralph proved to be the vilest man of all, a kidnapper, a trickster, and I must escape him.
I must escape him while I still have the chance.
Ignoring the incessant pull in my chest, I finally pick up my resolve off the floor and spring into action, rushing around the room and grabbing a set of clothes, using a nightgown as a makeshift bag and tying it like a sack.
He hasn’t returned from wherever he’d rushed off to, so I steal to the kitchen, find a snack bar in the cupboard, and shove it into my makeshift sack.
Truth be told, I have no idea where I am, except that I’m somewhere between mountains. My closest guess is the valley near Hamilton, the Bitterroot Valley, unless Henry took me even further from the city, farther than the closest mountain range.
Shit!
If I thought this would be a quick escape, perhaps I was wrong. But I am still determined, and I clutch my sack under my arm before making my way to the back door.
It’s the first time the night air has touched my flesh in two days, and while it feels pleasant, I don’t have time to bask in its coolness.
I have to make haste so that Henry doesn’t catch me escaping.
I know that once I’m back home, I have unemployment to look forward to, as well as a marriage license that might cost me a fortune to get out of once I’ve found a legal channel for a divorce.
For now, all that matters is getting out of this place, away from my crazy boss, and back to my sister, who must be pulling her hair out with worry because she hasn’t heard from me.
I check my surroundings and make a calculated decision to enter the woods, the easiest place to disappear in, hidden by the old tree trunks and the secrets of the forest. As I place my foot onto the ground, my heart trembles as if it’s responding to the adrenaline pulsing through my veins.
I’m nervous and afraid, but still determined, and it’s my determination that propels me forward, through the faint whispers of tingling beneath my skin and past the sounds of the valley that call out to me.
I hear my name in every whistle, every hoot, every breath I take, as if my surroundings urge me forward.
I take that encouragement as if it’s from the lips of my sister, my careful jog soon turning into a sprint through the forest, trees becoming blurred in my vision.
All I can see is the freedom of returning, and I taste it on my tongue as I whisk past the ravine, following it like a compass. If my calculations are correct, and if I am in the Bitterroot Valley, the ravine forms part of the Bitterroot River, and it’ll lead me back to the city it passes through.