Void | 18+

7 | control

𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐠: 𝐝𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐲 𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐮𝐞𝐬 𝐛𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐧𝐞𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐝

𝐃𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐀'𝐒 𝐏𝐎𝐕

Miss Alami will attend all events, galas and fundraisers with Mister Falcone as his wife.

Miss Alami will move into Mister Falcone's apartment for the duration of the arrangement to maintain their public image.

Miss Alami may not have any romantic or sexual partners outside of the marriage for the duration of the arrangement.

Any assets in Miss Alami's name will be transferred to Mister Falcone.

Miss Alami will act like a doting wife in the eyes of the public.

Miss Alami will remain in this arrangement for eight months*, and then Mister Falcone will file for a divorce on the grounds of mutual agreements.

Miss Alami this, Miss Alami that; he has got to me fucking kidding me.

The entire contract is absolute bullshit. I had sworn not to read it when the devil shoved it in my face but now that I succumbed and actually looked through it? Absolute bullshit.

I am not signing this.

It's now hour 11 of the 12 hours Rowan promised me and I am perched at a bar, drinking a Coke while I watch the people around me dance like fucking idiots.

When I was leaving the apartment, I noticed the car that had been parked outside my place since yesterday following me to the bar.

I wouldn't be surprised if there was some creep here watching me for Rowan. Not that I cared. I already flushed the contract down the toilet earlier.

I'm not even really sure why I'm here. I never found comfort in these places; the smell of alcohol and the men who always came too close hit a little close to home.

But I didn't know where else to go. It was the only place open so late and I needed to be outside the apartment and away from my thoughts.

Everything has come spiralling down in a matter of days and I need to feel in control of my life. I had worked so hard to build myself up into who I am today and I plan to keep it this way.

I hadn't felt this way since I checked my mom into rehab or since I left my scum of the earth boyfriend and ran in the middle of the night.

And the root of all my problems, much like the root of every girl's problems: my deadbeat of a dad.

I never even really knew the guy. I remember bits and pieces of him holding my hand through a playground and getting me ice cream but all my memories of him disappear after age seven.

My mom spoke of him in high regard before she was a junkie, and she promised me that he was coming back for us, he was just busy making money. 

We lived in complete poverty so to me, a dad leaving his wife and kid to make money was acceptable.

She only told me his name in my late teens when she was wasted and once I looked him up, I knew then that I hated him.

That son of a bitch was sitting on an empire of money and power probably without any memory of the woman and child he left behind.

He abandoned me like I was dirt on the ground and probably contributed the foundation for every shitty interaction I had with a man since, starting with my abusive stepdad and ending with the singular romantic relationship that followed; the one that destroyed any semblance of livelihood and faith I had in the male population.