The Devil's Bride

The war had taken the lives of many soldiers. The Syrians were once again, losing the war. The men that were killed in the battlefield were crowned as heroes. Those that fled, were regarded as cowards.

Simon Nassif was one of those cowards.

There was nothing else he could do, it was a lost battle. If he had stayed, it would be suicidal. He had a family to take care of, three kids and a pregnant wife. He could not die, not here. Not on this day.

He and several other men were running through the thick forest, desperately looking for a way out. By now the word of their departure would spread. Their superiors would, without a doubt, find out. Going back to the camp would not be wise.

The men there admired strength, courage and pride. He had all that, but he wouldn't give it all up on this.

"There's a way out, I can see it!" a man spoke rapidly. The others, including Simon followed the man.

Big mistake.

The enemies came rushing over to them, aiming their guns and shooting. Simon quickly hid behind a tree, but he had already been shot.

He watched as the men he was with were shot, one by one. The thud of their lifeless bodies hitting the ground would forever haunt him. By then he knew what his destiny would be.

He took a hold of his bleeding leg and closed his eyes.

He waited for the soft breeze that would take his soul away peacefully, and death would take his last breath. He thought of his beautiful wife, imagined his arms around her waist, her hands in hair. He could almost feel her soft lips on his, her painted eyes daring him whenever they were alone in their bedroom. He waited for the excruciating pain of the bullet.

Only it never came.

He opened his eyes. All the men he was with had been exterminated. Like bugs crushed beneath a boot. The enemies were still on their feet, searching the area.

In a split second, he saw a man -a rather wild one- charge towards the enemy with all his might. He shot them all, making sure to shoot them again to prevent surprises. All the while Simon watched, aghast, his heart pounding in his chest. He couldn't believe his eyes. He watched him kill them with ease, having a hard time wrapping his head around the fact that he was alive. He was alive.

And that he would stay that way.

He had short spiky hair, and was rather short. He approached Simon with caution, aiming his weapon at him. "Code." he demanded.

"Nine one eight."

He exhaled and lowered his gun, "Good, I didn't want any of this to be in vain. You're wounded, yes?"

"Yes. My leg." he choked out.

"Good heavens. Here, I'll help you bandage it up." the man said, taking out some bandages from his backpack and wrapping it around Simon's wound. Simon winced at the stabbing pain, but the joy of being alive masked it, just a little.

"Thank you," Simon said gratefully, but the man waved his hand nonchalantly. He could nit believe he was alive.

"Anything for a brother."

"What is your name?" Simon asked the man.

"Lucas Hamid."

"How can I ever repay you?" Simon asked.

"No, no it was nothing. Just a favour."

"Please. I will not sleep unless I return your gesture. Please, anything."

He had to repay him. There was no other way. He had saved him from the grip of death. He would see his wife Zara again. He would place a kiss atop his daughter's heads. For that, he was grateful. He would not die today.

Lucas gazed at him thoughtfully. By now Simon knew that the man was thinking of something to ask. He would be eternally grateful to this man. He had saved him from a cruel death. Him, being the last Syrian standing, would be taken to their base and tortured. Just for fun, he supposed. He had heard hundreds of stories like that. The enemy was cruel.

And this man standing before him saved him from it. He imagined the happiness in his wife Zara's face. He was given another chance to be with his family, and there was nothing better than that. He would be eternally grateful to this man.

"Well," Lucas began, "The only thing I want is to have a strong bond between your family and mine."

Simon chuckled, "That is amazing."

"Do you have any daughters?"

Simon hesitated, suspicion lacing his tone. "Yes. Two, and a boy is on the way."

"Good. I have a son, he is five. Maybe he can marry one of your daughters in the future. That way, we will always be connected."

Simon saw no malicious intentions behind the man's request. After all, what harm would there be? Could this man know who he truly was? The Nassif family was one of the most powerful and wealthy families in New York. When he had informed his father that he would join to army to help protect his nation, his father was enraged. We do not bleed for those who are not of our blood, he always said. But he had joined, nonetheless. Zara and the girls were back home. They were safe, protected. When he first stepped foot in Syria, no man knew who he was, or how powerful he was either. This man was no different, he believed. Yes, it was simple, and a good request. Simon shook his hand, "Agreed. One of my daughters will marry your son."

That way, the deal was made.

‡¤‡¤‡¤‡

30 years later...

Kamila rushed past the doctors and nurses, despair etched on her face. When she had received the phone call, she thought she was having a nightmare. Her father had been sick for a long time now. But she hadn't been prepared for this.

She stopped at the front desk, "Please. I'm looking for a patient. A man. His name is Simon Nassif."

"Just a second," the woman behind the desk said, eyeing Kamila strangely. She scanned through her computer. "Room 307. Third floor."

"Thank you," Kamila said, and rushed towards the elevator. She pushed the button several times before the door closed with a ding.

She was nervously fidgeting with her fingers. She had to see him, because deep down she knew this would be the last time she'd see him. The thought alone brought tears to her eyes.

When the elevator doors opened, she rushed out and scanned through the numbers on the door, desperately looking for 307.

304...305...306...

She spotted 307, and ran towards it. She accidentally collided with someone on her way. She briefly glanced up at his face, "Sorry." she mumbled before storming into the room.

Everyone was there, gathered around her father laid on the hospital bed. The view before her crushed her heart. A sob escaped her lips, "Dad..."

He snapped his head in her direction, "Oh, Kamila." he began, "Don't cry. Come here, sugar."

She slowly dragged herself towards him. He looked so...tired. His entire head was covered in delicate white hair, the wrinkles on his face were prominent. He was only 63, but he already looked so old.

"Please, let us be for a while." he said in a low, scratchy voice.

"But papa..." Layla, the eldest, protested.

"Come girls," their stepmother Mandy began, "your father needs to have a conversation with your sister. Let's go."

She ushered them out, but before she left she placed a light kiss on Simon's forehead. A goodbye kiss.

Once they were alone, he said, "I don't have much time, so I'll go straight to the point. Okay, sweetheart?"

She nodded, endless tears pouring down her face.

"A long, long time ago, papa made a promise to a friend." he continued, "He saved me in the war, and therefore he asked a favour in return. You remember that story, right? I told it over the bonfire in our beach house in The Caribbean several times."

She nodded. He always told them the story about how The Wild Man had saved him for a horrible death and had asked a favour in return for his assistance. He never told them what the favour was, despite their pleas and whines. It was always something that sparked her curiosity, but now she deduced that it wouldn't be at all pleasant. Otherwise, why would he have summoned her? Why couldn't he have told her this before?

He coughed, and Kamila felt her heart ache at the vile sound. Her grip on his hand tightened, and she patted the top of it with her own.

"His favour was that..." he inhaled deeply, "He wanted our family to be united, bonded together. At first, didn't think it was such a bad idea. He saved me. I was overwhelmed with joy and I felt the need to repay him. I practically demanded that he asked for something in return. I didn't think it would be such a terrible thing. I was wrong. His favour was that one of you marry his son."

It took her a moment or two to react. Both her sisters were married. Layla was married, has been for the last five years. Zuleide was also married for a couple of years now. She wasn't married. She was engaged. Engaged. Everything made sense now. The way her father sometimes looked at her, the way he looked at Carlos. He looked almost sorrowful when their engagement was announced. This was the reason.

"No, papa." she begged, "please no."

A tear slid down his face. "Please, don't make it harder than it already is for me. Please, sugar."

Anger sparked a flame inside her, but she held it in and bit back a sob. It was too late for that now. He continued, "Papa made a big mistake. I didn't think, I just agreed to it not thinking of how it would affect you. Forgive me, Kamila. You don't deserve this. Carlos is a good man, he deserves you. I never once thought that this would affect you in this way. Not once. I was a fool."

"No, papa you weren't." she held his hand.

"I was, but there is no time to remedy it. I did everything I could to prevent this from happening. I realized that I made a mistake, but it was far too late. I kept him a secret, I never introduced him to our family. But I made a promise, and Nassif's never break a promise. I taught you that, right?"

She nodded. She knew that a promise meant everything for the Nassif family. It could not be broken. Not ever. She thought of Carlos then. Of his sparkling green eyes. His beautiful smile. She remembered the way he embraced her when she said yes. It would be forever engraved in her memory. She would never forget that. Ever.

"I hope," he coughed, "that you will find it in your heart to forgive me one day. Please, don't forget that regardless of everything, I love you. You're my heart, my entire universe. Are and always will be." he said.

She wrapped her arms around him, feeling the warmth of his skin and his heart beat against hers for the last time.

"I know you'll do what's right." he said in a shaky breath before closing his eyes. His heart stopped beating, she felt it stop beneath her palm. She gasped, and choked on her breath, "Papa?"

He didn't respond.

"Papa?" she sobbed, knowing that he was already gone. She called for the nurse, her voice loud and desperate. She held his hand for a little while longer and then she gave him one last kiss, and whispered in his ear, "I won't disappoint you."

She then slowly walked towards the door, sending one last glance at him before turning the knob. Her family was outside, and when they saw her they all gasped.

"Is he..." her brother Paul trailed off, and she nodded. They all pushed past her, rushing towards her father's bed. She heard her mother sob. She moved to the wall so she faced his room and then slid down it. Nurses and doctors flooded the room, trying their absolute best to resuscitate him, but deep down she knew it was too late. He was already gone.

She covered her face with both her hands and sobbed, her body quaking as she sobbed uncontrollably. Today, she had lost two of her most precious things: her beloved father and her happiness.

Kamila wrapped her arms around herself as the light breeze caressed her body. Mid-November was always chilly. She hated how cold it was. It was so warm in Italy, which was where she would be living if it hadn't been for that promise.

Her body leaned heavily on the steel bars of the balcony of the master bedroom. After an exhaustive day at work, a little time to herself was all she needed. To organize her thoughts and get all her ideas in order.

These quiet times will be what she will embrace when she gets older. When her skin wrinkles, when her hair greys. She will never forget this splendid view of the mountains and the trees. Of this beautiful sky, of the daffodils growing in the grass below her.

This is what she'll remember. What she'll want to remember.

Everyone keeps telling her that it will be okay. But that was the problem, it was never okay. Ever since she married Erron, her life was a mess. He was the pure embodiment of chaos and disaster. They were complete opposites in everything they did.

The thought made her eyes glaze over with unshed tears. They weren't tears of despair, but of irrefutable anger that made her blood boil and her brow furrow.

Her marriage to Erron Hamid hadn't been the happiest. They were both miserably bonded to a promise their fathers had made years ago. What else could she do? She couldn't break a promise. Promises were sacred to her family, and she wouldn't be the first one to be led astray.

She watched from the balcony as he parked his car in the driveway with dread. He was home. A familiar feeling settled in the pit of her stomach, one she got everytime he arrived from work.

Fear.

And hate.

She was afraid of him, yes. But that didn't stop her from talking to him, from sharing a bed with him. She glanced back at the bed. From sleeping with him. Despite his unwillingness to be her husband, he would never skip the sex part. And what could she do? She had to give in to him. She had to let him devour both her soul and body and spit it out later. He was killing her in the inside and he knew. He relished in her suffering and pain.

She watched him as he bitterly made his way to the front door. She knew he felt the same way she did. She knew it. They had barely known each other when they got married. Scratch that. They hadn't known each other at all. It was all so quickly. She hadn't had the chance to mourn her father's death. They wedded a week after the funeral. He wanted to get it done and over with, but she knew that was a lie. The real reason why they married so quickly was his father, Lucas Hamid.

He was rushing into everything. Her wedding was a complete disaster. At least...to her. His mother, Erica, had picked the dress. It bagged around her like a sack. She had never seen something so plain. They hadn't even bothered asking her opinion. They were like a family of tyrants, and she didn't know who was worse.

The shoes were tight, and yellow. The most horrendous thing she had ever laid her eyes on. Her bouquet consisted of only red roses. She'd always wanted white peonies.

She hadn't even had the chance to invite her close friends. If it weren't for Layla, they would never have known. She would be forever grateful for her sister, who had acted so quickly when she could barely breathe.

The theme of the wedding was yellow. Even the cake was yellow. The only thing that had cheered her up was the presence of her loved ones. They made her happy, gave her strength.

When she walked down the aisle, all eyes were on her. Most of them she didn't recognize. She guessed they were his guests. But a small part was her crowd. And that lightened up her mood. Just a little.

When her eyes were on him, she froze. It lasted for a split second, and then she felt her uncle Mounir tug her lightly. She had completely forgotten that he was by her side. She looked back up at her future husband. She will never forget that moment.

His dark eyes showed no compassion, no nothing. They were empty, soulless. From then she knew, that they had no chance whatsoever of caring for each other. Not an ounce of emotion was displayed from him.

She sighed painfully. They have only been married for three months and yet she already felt so suffocated. There was an entire haunted building living in her chest, filling up everything. She desperately needed to break free. But that didn't seem possible. She was stuck for a long time. Possibly for life.

She broke away from her trance and made her way downstairs. It was time to act like a good wife would. Offer him food, or a massage. Ask him how his day went. That was the only time they had a decent conversation.

As she walked down the wooden stairs, she breathed in deeply. He had such a strong presence. She heard him wandering around in his office. That's where he spent most of his time. Maybe it was to avoid her, but maybe he was just a busy person.

Her sisters' husbands were so kind to them. Layla had always been the rough one. Yet she's the one with the kindest husband. He's always there, by her side. Holding her hand. Assisting her in everything. Honest. Brave. Caring. Loving. Qualities she had always admired in a man.

Erron would never be that man.

She knocked on his door. She had made the mistake of barging in once, and she definitely paid the price. He howled at her, like a wolf would. He was ridiculous in his ways. He loved making her feel small and vulnerable.

"Come in." she heard him say. She turned the knob and swiftly walked in his office. She glanced around. Plain black and white with little decorum. Typical him.

"How was your day?" she asks him, picking up his jacket and suitcase, and placing it on the sofa in the corner of the room.

"Fine." he mutters dismissively.

She blinks at him. He didn't even glance up at her. She scoffed lightly. Somehow this always gives her a shock, although he's been like this since day one. She straightened up and tried again. She wanted to hurl something heavy at him, but that wouldn't end well.

"Okay. Are you hungry?" she asks softly, and surprisingly he looks up at her.

"No," he leans back on his chair, "I already ate with a friend of mine."

She nods, "Okay."

This is her cue to leave. She turns his back to him and lightly shuts the door on her way out. That's their daily routine. Her trying her hardest to cosy up to him, him simply brushing her off.

Incredulous.

She sighs and makes her way to the kitchen. She remembered skipping lunch due to unforseen circumstances, and her stomach growled loudly.

She found the head cook, Arden, chopping up greens and throwing them in a pan. She heard sizzling afterwards.

"Monica." Kamila softly said. The woman turned around, her eyes in a squint as her face stretched in a smile.

"Miss Nassif. How may I help you?"

Monica was a tiny Thai woman with much talent. She made the best duck Kamila had ever tasted, and was also a friend of hers. She had worked for the Hamids for years, and Erica made her cook for her son and wife. She was like a balm to a wound. She always cared her, and their conversations were always bright.

"I skipped lunch, I'm starving. Is there anything I can nibble on while dinner's not ready?"

"I'm afraid not." her face fell, "Today was clearing out day. There's no leftovers in the fridge."

"That's okay. What's for dinner?"

"Seared duck along with some vegetables. Oh and there's chocolate mousse for dessert."

"Oh, that's splendid!" Kamila says, "Thank you, Monica. I'll see you in a while then."

Kamila left the kitchen, and was in the dining room when she heard Monica call, "Miss Nassif!"

She turned, "Yes?"

"I'll call you when dinner's read-" Her face fell mid sentence and Kamila looked at her expectantly. Her face had turned a grayish color and Kamila already knew what the matter was.

Monica lowered her head, and when she turned, she had the urge to lower hers to. She had never seen him wander around the house. She had never seen him this furious. She had, but never in front of the staff.

"Erron, what's the matt-"

"Go up to the room, Kamila."

His command made her sick to her stomach. Who did he think he was, ordering her alrund? She gritted her teeth. "But, Erron-"

"I said go!" he yelled, making her flinch. She quietly walked up the stairs and when she got to the room she closed the door. She was confused. Why had he acted like that? What had she done wrong? Everything.

Moments later she heard the door open. She turned to face him. His face was ashen. She stepped back involuntarily. She hated the feelings he invoked within her. She wasn't this woman. Kamila Nassif had turned into a weakling. And that bothered her, more than words could explain. But she had no choice.

He moved towards her, hostility radiating off him. "Miss Nassif? Miss Nassif?" he began angrily, "Is that what the staff call you? Miss Nassif?"

"Erron, I can explain," she began, but to no avail. He wasn't going to listen to her. He gripped her arms, and she bit back a whimper. He gripped them with so much force she felt them bruising already. His aggression stunned her. For a moment, she didn't know what to do.

"I will not allow you to use that name in my house!" he snarled, his breath fanning her face. "You're a Hamid now, so start acting like one!"

"Don't act like it bothers you so much!" she exclaimed.

He narrowed his eyes. "I do not want to hear that name ever again. You will do well to remember that."

He shoved her towards the bed and she landed with a thump. He glared at her before storming out of the room.

She sat there and cried. Not because she was offended. Not because he was a brute. But because he was slowly ripping her apart. One piece at a time. And she didn't know how long she would endure it all without falling apart.

"He hurt you again, didn't he?"

That was the first thing her friend Celine asked the moment she stepped in the café. She scoffed. Was it that obvious? She applied a generous amount of makeup just to hide the black circles under her eyes, and curled her lashes to conceal the bags under them.

But then again, Celine knew everything about her. Knew her exceptionally well. She couldn't hide anything from her. Celine would know. She always did.

"Aparently."

"Oh come on, Mila. Why do you let that guy do that to you?"

"I don't let him, Lin."

"Apparently you do!" she grit her teeth, "This isn't you. This isn't the Kamila Nassif that I know, and that I love."

Kamila sighed. It's true. It really wasn't her. She would never have allowed a man to do that to her. She had always favoured self-determination and self-respect. Around him she seemed to forget all that. And she couldn't quite understand why.

Kamila removed her shades and shoved them in her bag, "It isn't easy, Lin. You know the story."

"Yes I do. And I also know that only a promise is tying you to that lowlife. Mila, you can ask for a divorce, he's not gonna say no."

"That's the thing." Kamila began, "I can't give up. At least not now. If I divorce him, I'll be breaking the promise. The promise I made to my father on his deathbed."

Celine eyed her sadly, "So now you live miserably because of that, huh?"

"If that's what it takes." she said without hesitation. Her entire being revoked that, but her heart was set on keeping the damned promise for as long as she could.

But the truth was something else. Something she could nit reveal to anyone. That wasn't all that was tying her to him. His father had also warned her about that. The man wasn't at all kind. He was crystal clear when he stated that the bond between their families could not be broken. In fact, he sounded so clear and determined that Kamila knew that he would do anything to stop her from divorcing his son.

A little promise had turned into a negotiation.

Celine swat her hand, making her snap back to reality. "What is it?"

"Look!" she said, pointing to the counter. Jamilah gasped when she saw what Celine was referring to. Carlos.

When their eyes met, he smiled, but it only lasted a second.

"Looks like he's still not over you." Celine pointed out, making her blush.

Carlos Giorgio, the man she loved and will always love.

Three months before her father's death, they threw an engagement party. She was going to marry the man before her. They had secretly loved each other in high school and began dating in college. She loved him very much. But the promise ruined all that, and she had to give him up. It crushed her looking at him. They were both clearly suffering, and she hadn't said a word to him after the night she revealed all to him.

"Of course he's not, Lin. I'm still not over him."

"Well you should, because if Mr. Badass finds out about him, it's going to end badly." Celine said, pointing a finger at her. "You know that."

She was referring to Lucas Hamid.

"He's not going to, nobody told him."

"He does know that you were engaged, and it's not going to be difficult for him to find out who the man was."

Kamila shook her head, "Why are you so scared? It's not like he's going to kill him."

"You never know." she said, taking a sip of her coffee, "He's dangerous enough. That much is obvious."

Kamila's heart dropped to her lap.

She turned her head back to the counter, but he wasn't there. Her eyes wandered around the café, but he wasn't seated on any of the tables. He was gone.

"Oh my God!" Celine exclaimed, "Look at the time! I'm late for work!"

She grabbed her bag and retrieved her wallet, but Kamila waved her off, "It's on me." It had been her fault she was late, and Celine had waited for her for a half hour. But Erron wanted things done around the house, and she had to overlook it. He was always ruining her plans.

"You sure?"

"Yes, now go!"

"I'd love to stay longer, but if I take any longer my boss is going to kill me!" she exclaimed. "Don't forget Mila. You're my sister and nothing will ever separate us. Call me if you need anything, alright?"

"Alright."

She rushed out of the café, leaving a troubled Kamila behind.

Seeing Carlos simply reminded her of how miserable she really was. She was a happy person. Was. Not anymore.

Marrying Erron was the worst thing that happened to her. She had her whole life planned out. After she graduated from college, she would marry Carlos. She knew she would be happy. He was what she always wanted. She ended up marrying Erron instead.

Breaking up with Carlos was the hardest thing she had ever done. It had torn her completely apart. To make matters worst it was her wedding the next day.

She sighed. She didn't want to remember. It would make her miserable all over again. And already her appetite was dwindling as the days flew by.

She paid the bill and walked out of the café. She needed to go back to her pharmacy. She had work to do.

She came face to face with Carlos on her way out.

"Kamila," he said breathlessly.

"Carlos."

There was a pause, and then he resumed, "I heard about the wedding. Celine told me all about it."

Of course she did.

"She..." Kamila trailed off, not knowing how to say it, "Told you?"

"Mila," he pulled her into a warm embrace. She held her breath to stop her from gasping. She missed him...so much. Words couldn't describe it. The warmth of his embrace was a part of her. She longed for it every night.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I wish I could take you out of this mess. If I knew what it was all about I would never have let you go."

"You wouldn't have succeeded, Carlos." she whispered, "I can't let my father down. A promise is sacred, you know that. We've talked about this before."

"All I know is that you're not happy."

"Don't start, Carlos," she warned, "I'm just doing what's right. It was my father's death wish."

He sighed in defeat, "If that's what makes you happy, then who am I to interfere. Right?"

He walked off, without saying another word. She was defeated. It was so good to see him, but it brought back so many emotions. Emotions she thought she had buried ages ago.

He would never understand. She knew that. His mindset differed from hers in various ways. They had different opinions, different point of views. But she still loved him. Unconditionally.

But now she had to forget all that and go back to her little hellhole.

***

The house had the same smell of wood when she walked through the giant door. A scent that took her back to her first day in this house. It was horrible. Traumatic. But she wasn't going to let that drag her down. She was stronger than that.

She realized that after an exhausting day at work, she was starving. She only had that mug of coffee in the morning.

She walked straight towards the kitchen, opposite the expansive dining room. She walked through the door separating the two rooms, and was shocked when she realized that Monica wasn't in. Instead, she found a petite blonde woman, visibly a few years older than her, chopping up onions.

"Oh!" she exclaimed, rushing towards her, "You must be Mrs. Hamid. It's a pleasure to meet you, I'm Trisha. The new cook."

"New cook? What do you mean? Where's Monica?" she demanded, making the woman flinch.

"I really do not know, madam. I'm new here-"

"Yes I know you're new here, " she waved the woman off, "Who hired you?"

"I did."

She snapped her head to the direction of the voice. Erron was leaning against the door frame, smirking devilishly at her.

She cautiously approached him, her eyes piercing through his. He watched her every move, his eyes only on her. By then she knew that their conversation would not be a pleasant one. But at the moment she didn't give a damn. She wanted to fling herself at him and throw a punch at him.

"Where's Monica?"