Chapter 5 Ease

The airport screamed activities as I walked behind Mr. Markson. People darted in every direction, luggage wheels clattering against the tiled floors. The hum of announcements over the intercom mixed with the distant roar of departing planes. Everyone seemed to have a purpose, a place to be, except me, a sold out parcel.

Mr. Markson walked briskly, his polished shoes clicking rhythmically. He carried himself like a man used to being in control, weaving through the crowd with an air of arrogance. I trailed behind him, keeping just enough distance to avoid drawing attention from anyone.

He had formally introduced himself to me last night, though "introduced" felt like the wrong word. It was more of a demand disguised as courtesy. He'd smiled tightly, extending a hand I didn't shake. It was a waste of time extending his hand in the first place. So unreasonable after talking to me as if i was a no body.

Beast

"I'm Mr. Markson," he had said, his tone cold and detached. "You'll refer to me as such. From this point forward, we're a family. You'll play your role, and I'll play mine." He Commanded like a military personnel. it was annoying.

Another charade. Another layer to this nightmare. Pretending to be a family? Gross. My stomach churned at the thought.

I hated this. I hated him. I hated everything.

"Keep up," Mr. Markson barked over his shoulder, snapping me out of my thoughts. His voice was sharp, like a whip cracking in the air. Like a predator about to feast on his prey. Like the beast he was.

I quickened my pace, clutching the small handbag I'd been given. It contained nothing of importance-just a passport with my new identity, a wallet with a credit card I wasn't allowed to use without permission, a few clothes from my home and the ones they bought. A phone I suspected was monitored.

As we approached the check-in counter, a woman with a forced smile greeted us. "Good afternoon, sir. May I see your tickets and passports?"

Mr. Markson handed over the documents with a curt nod. "It's just the two of us," he said, his tone laced with impatience.

I stood silently beside him, resisting the urge to fidget under the woman's scrutinizing gaze. She glanced at me briefly, her eyes narrowing ever so slightly, as if she could sense something was off. But whatever suspicion she had, she kept it to herself, handing back our documents with a cheery, "Enjoy your flight." It was a fake gesture, it was written all over her demeanor.

Mr. Markson led the way again, this time toward security. The line was long, snaking through the terminal like a slow-moving river of irritated travelers.

As we waited, I noticed a young family a few feet ahead. The parents were laughing softly, their toddler perched on the father's shoulders, giggling at everything and nothing. For a moment, I felt an unfamiliar pang in my chest, it was the kind I felt whenever grandmother scolded me.

"Keep your focus," Mr. Markson hissed, pulling me back to reality.

I glared at him but said nothing.

What's your deal. Old man

When it was finally our turn, we went through the motions-shoes off, laptops out, arms raised as we stepped through the body scanner. It all felt surreal, like I was watching someone else go through the process.

By the time we reached the gate, I was exhausted. My legs ached from walking, and my head throbbed from the constant noise. Mr. Markson, however, seemed unfazed, sitting down in one of the waiting area chairs and pulling out his phone.

"We board in fifteen minutes," he said without looking at me. He was focused on on his phone like I didn't exist at all.

I sat a few seats away, staring out the massive windows at the planes lined up on the tarmac. Each one represented an escape, a chance to leave this nightmare behind. But I wasn't stupid. Running would only lead to worse consequences.

Bigger problems would give me a quick hug. You know.

When our flight was called, Mr. Markson stood and motioned for me to follow. As we walked down the jet bridge, my stomach tightened. The reality of what was happening hit me like a freight train.

Once on the plane, we were escorted to first class-an opulence I'd never experienced before. The seats were wide and plush, with enough legroom to stretch out completely. A flight attendant greeted us warmly, offering champagne and warm towels.

I declined both, sinking into my seat and staring straight ahead. I had never been in a plane all my life. This was my first time and again it was for a mission i would get handsomely paid for.

Mr. Markson accepted the champagne, sipping it leisurely as he scrolled through his phone.

"Remember your role," he muttered without looking at me.

I nodded stiffly, my throat too dry to respond.

As the plane taxied down the runway, I gripped the armrests, my knuckles turning white. The fact remains that I wasn't heading toward a vacation or a new adventure-I was being transported deeper into a life I didn't choose.

The roar of the engines grew louder, and within seconds, we were airborne. I stared out the window, watching as the ground below grew smaller and smaller until it disappeared into a blanket of clouds.

Phew

The flight itself was uneventful. Mr. Markson worked on his laptop for most of it, barely acknowledging my presence. I didn't care. The flight attendants were attentive, offering gourmet meals and snacks, but I had no appetite. My appetite disappeared into an unknown well.

Instead, I focused on the small screen in front of me, scrolling through the in-flight entertainment options. None of the movies or TV shows held my interest. My mind was too busy racing, thinking about what awaited me at our destination.

Finally, a voice came above us announcing our descents. the plane began to drop down slowly as my stomach churned. I gripped the armrests again, bracing myself for the landing.

"Straighten up," Mr. Markson ordered, his tone clipped. "We're almost there."

He closed his laptop, cracking his knuckles fiercely like he was gonna engage in a fist combat.

I forced myself to sit upright, swallowing the lump in my throat.

The landing was smooth, and soon we were off the plane, walking through another bustling airport. This one was unfamiliar, with signs in a language I didn't understand.

A black car was waiting for us outside, its driver standing by the passenger door with a placid expression.

Was he also threatened.

"Get in," Mr. Markson said, gesturing toward the car.

I slid into the backseat, the leather cold against my skin. Mr. Markson followed, and the driver closed the door behind him before taking his place behind the wheel.

The drive to the hotel was a silent one. I stared out the window, watching as the city blurred past. The buildings in view were tall and imposing, their glass facades reflecting the setting sun. The streets were crowded with pedestrians, all of them moving with purpose in freedom.

When we arrived at the hotel, I couldn't hide my surprise. It was a towering structure of marble and glass, it was adorned with grand chandeliers and a red carpet at the entrance.

"This way," Mr. Markson said, leading me inside.

The lobby was even more opulent, with polished floors, gilded accents, and a massive floral arrangement in the center. A concierge greeted us with a warm smile glued to her face and within minutes, we were being escorted to a private elevator.

Our suite was on the top floor. When the doors opened, I stepped out into a space that looked like it belonged in a magazine. The living area was expansive, with floor-to-ceiling windows offering a breathtaking view of the city. The furniture was sleek and modern, all muted tones and clean lines.

Mr. Markson walked over to the bar, pouring himself a drink. "You'll stay in the second bedroom before the wedding," he said, his tone dismissive. "Tomorrow is so gonna be busy!"

I nodded numbly, dragging my feet toward the room he'd indicated. It was just as luxurious as the rest of the suite, with a king-sized bed, a flat-screen TV, and an en-suite bathroom.

Closing the door behind me, I let out a shaky breath. The room was beautiful, but it felt like a prison, i was literally in bondage. This is not right. I sat on the edge of the bed, my head in my hands.

This was my life now-a charade I was forced to play.

But as much as I hated it, I knew I couldn't give up. I had to do it to gain my freedom no matter what it took.

For now, though, I had to survive. I just have to.