The gates opened slowly.
Amina stared out the window as the car rolled into a massive compound.
This… is his house? she whispered.
It wasn't a house.
It was a fortress.
Tall walls. Armed guards. Cameras everywhere.
No way in.
No way out.
The car finally stopped in front of a grand building that looked more like a palace than a home.
A man in a suit opened her door.
"We've arrived."
Amina didn't move.
"Get down," he added, his tone colder this time.
She stepped out slowly, her heart pounding.
The mafia boss was already there, standing at the top of the stairs, watching her like a king observing something he owned.
"I'm not your prisoner," Amina muttered under her breath.
But even she didn't believe that.
---
Inside.
Everything was spotless. Marble floors. Golden lights. Expensive furniture.
It felt suffocating.
A woman approached her.
Elegant. Calm. Sharp eyes.
"I am Madam Rosa," she said. "I manage this household."
Amina said nothing.
Madam Rosa studied her briefly.
"…Too young," she murmured.
Then she turned.
"Follow me."
---
Amina was led through long hallways until they reached a large room.
Her room.
The bed alone was bigger than her entire space back home.
Clothes—expensive ones—were already arranged neatly.
Shoes. Jewelry.
Everything prepared.
Like she had been expected.
Like she had been bought.
"I don't want any of this," Amina said quietly.
Madam Rosa paused at the door.
"You don't have to want it," she replied. "You only have to live in it."
Then she left.
---
Later that evening.
Amina stood by the window, staring at the tall gates in the distance.
Freedom… just beyond reach.
The door opened.
She turned.
Him.
The mafia boss stepped inside, closing the door behind him.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Then—
"Are you settling in?" he asked casually.
Amina laughed bitterly.
"You brought me here against my will. What do you think?"
He walked further into the room, unbothered.
"You'll get used to it."
"I won't."
He stopped in front of her.
His presence felt… overwhelming.
"Everyone does," he said calmly.
Amina lifted her chin.
"I'm not everyone."
A flicker of something crossed his eyes—interest.
"Good," he said. "I don't like boring things."
Her fists clenched.
"I have a name," she said. "Stop looking at me like I'm just something you own."
He looked at her for a moment.
"…Amina," he said.
Her breath caught slightly.
It was the first time he said her name.
"But that doesn't change anything," he added.
Her anger returned instantly.
"I'm not your wife," she snapped. "This isn't real."
"It is real," he replied. "Whether you accept it or not."
Silence.
Heavy. Suffocating.
Then Amina spoke again, her voice quieter—but stronger.
"Why me?"
That question lingered in the air.
For the first time…
He didn't answer immediately.
Instead, he turned away slightly.
"…Because you were chosen."
"That's not an answer," she said.
He glanced back at her.
"It's the only one you'll get for now."
---
He walked toward the door.
But before leaving, he stopped.
"One more thing."
Amina didn't respond.
"You're not to leave this mansion without permission."
Her chest tightened.
"And if I try?"
He opened the door.
"You won't get far."
Then he left.
---
Amina stood there, frozen.
Then suddenly—
She rushed to the door and pulled it open.
Two guards stood outside.
Watching.
Waiting.
Her heart sank.
---
That night…
Amina lay on the large bed, staring at the ceiling.
Tears slid silently into her ears.
"I won't stay here forever…" she whispered.
Her voice was small.
But her resolve wasn't.
"Even if I have to fight him… I will find a way out."
---
Unknown to her…
In another room—
The mafia boss stood by a window, holding a glass.
"Sir," one of his men said, "are you sure about this girl?"
He took a slow sip.
"She's trouble."
A pause.
Then a faint smirk.
I know.