The Offer & The Decision
The room was quiet except for the ticking clock above the fireplace and the low hum of evening crickets slipping in through the open windows. Anacelia sat at the dining table, flipping absentmindedly through the pages of an old sketchpad, her violet eyes unfocused. Brielle stood near the wall mirror, adjusting a gold pin in her sleek dark hair.
"Girls," Marcus said from the kitchen archway. His voice was strained. "Can I talk to you both?"
Something in his tone made Anacelia sit up straight.
"Sure," Brielle answered first, still watching herself in the mirror. "Is it about the roof again? I told you I'm not climbing up there."
"It's not the roof," he muttered, stepping into the room. His shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, a faint tremble in his hands.
"Then what is it?" Anacelia asked, setting her sketchpad down.
Marcus ran a hand through his graying hair. "Do you remember when I told you there was a time... when I lost everything?"
"We've heard that story since we were five," Brielle said dryly.
"No. I mean really lost everything. There was a man who helped me. I never told you his name. I never wanted to. But he came today. And he wants something in return."
Brielle's brow lifted. "Money?"
"Marriage."
Silence.
"Excuse me?" Anacelia's voice dropped.
"His name is Darius Vale. He came to collect. He said the debt will be settled if one of my daughters agrees to marry him."
Brielle let out a sharp laugh. "You're joking. Tell me you're joking."
"I'm not."
She stepped away from the mirror, her heels clacking against the wooden floor. "And you—you didn't throw him out? You actually considered it?"
"He's powerful," Marcus said, voice quiet. "More than you know. If I refuse, he can bury us in ways I can't even begin to explain."
"So what?" she snapped. "You're selling us off to the highest bidder now?"
"He asked for one of you. I told him I'd speak to my daughters."
Brielle stared at him. Then her mouth twisted, a mix of fear and fury.
"Then let Anacelia do it," she spat. "You always liked her better anyway."
"Brielle—"
"No! I won't do it. I swear to God, if you try to force me, I will—I'll kill myself, do you hear me? I will walk into the lake and not come back."
"Brielle!" Anacelia gasped.
But Brielle was already storming out of the room, her eyes wild, her voice cracking.
The door slammed.
Silence settled in her wake.
Anacelia stood there, stunned, staring at her father. "You were going to let her choose?"
"I didn't want either of you to go through this," Marcus said, broken. "But he didn't leave me much choice."
"So now it's me."
He walked to her, took her hands in his. "Anacelia. Please. I've never asked you for anything. But I am asking you now. If you don't do this, everything falls apart."
"I don't even know this man," she whispered.
"I know. But he won't hurt you. He said he just wants a wife."
"That sounds exactly like something someone dangerous would say," she snapped, yanking her hands away.
She turned her back, her throat tightening, eyes burning. The walls felt like they were closing in.
She had never felt so small.
"Two days," Marcus said quietly. "That's what he gave us."
She didn't speak.
She didn't cry.
She just stood there, watching the shadows lengthen across the floor.
And slowly, her head gave a single, bitter nod.
The evening had grown cold. Anacelia stood on the porch, her arms wrapped tightly around herself. The sky above was darkening to ink, and the wind curled through the trees with a low hiss, like it knew something she didn't.
She hadn't spoken to anyone since the conversation. Not Brielle. Not Marcus.
But her mind wouldn't stop racing.
She could feel her pulse in her ears, her temples, her throat. The name "Darius Vale" kept circling like a vulture.
Marriage. To a stranger.
To pay a debt she never made.
The porch creaked behind her. She didn't turn.
"Anacelia," her father said softly.
"I'm not doing it," she replied, her voice raw. "There has to be another way. Sell the house. We can move. You can disappear."
"It's not that simple."
"Then make it simple!" she shouted, spinning on him. Her eyes were glassy, her voice trembling. "You had no right to involve us in your past mistakes. No right to ask this of me."
Marcus looked smaller now, older than she'd ever seen him.
"I know."
"Then stop asking."
He didn't move. "Do you think I don't hate myself for this?" he whispered. "Every second since he walked through that door, I've wanted to turn back time. But I can't. He's powerful in ways you don't understand. He could destroy everything—your life, Brielle's, mine. All it would take is a single word from him."
Her breath hitched. "There has to be someone else he can marry. Someone who wants to."
"He didn't ask for someone else. He asked for one of my daughters."
That broke her.
She looked away, jaw clenched, blinking fast. "Brielle won't do it."
"I know."
"Then you're saying it has to be me."
He didn't answer.
He dropped to his knees.
"Anacelia."
Her heart slammed in her chest. "No. Get up."
"Please."
"Get up."
"I am begging you," he said, voice thick. "You are strong. You're level-headed. If anyone could handle a man like him, it's you."
She swallowed hard, turning her back to him again. The night blurred with tears she refused to let fall.
She should've said no. She wanted to say no.
But this was her father. Her only parent. The man who'd raised her when her mother died, who worked two jobs just to keep food on the table.
"Fine," she whispered.
"What?"
"I said fine."
She turned around, her voice sharp through the tremble.
"Tell him I'll marry him."
Marcus exhaled, crumpling in relief.
"But don't expect me to smile about it," she added coldly. "Or forgive you anytime soon."
And with that, she walked past him, inside—shutting the door behind her without another word.