Lashirah_Hash

She thought she was free.

Until a billionaire and his daughter saw her — and decided she was theirs.

One wanted a wife.
The other wanted a mother.
Neither asked if she agreed.

They watched her for two years. Followed her every move.
Until one day, they flew across the world and bought her future — with smiles, paperwork, and charm that smelled like roses but felt like chains.

Now, she sleeps in silk sheets she didn’t choose.
Wears clothes she didn’t buy.
Answers to a name she didn’t earn.

Every touch is a test.
Every night is a transaction.
And every whispered “I love you” is a warning.

She hides pills beneath her tongue.
She dreams of running.
But there is no escape — only a cage made of wealth, obsession, and unbearable intimacy.

Because he doesn’t just want her body.
He wants her compliance.
Her mind.
Her loyalty.
Her womb.

And when the daughter discovers the truth —
she doesn’t cry.
She accuses.

Now the doors are locked.
The smiles are gone.
And the only thing more terrifying than being watched…
is being needed.

This isn’t love.
This is possession with a wedding ring.
This is family, twisted into obsession.
This is what happens when a girl becomes the answer to someone else's madness.

THE WIFE,THE MOTHER,THE PRISONER

That's what she told herself as her boots touched the sidewalk, as the morning wind tousled her scarf, as the tram rattled forward like nothing had changed.

The city still hummed, yes — cars moved, shop doors swung open, strangers laughed into their phones — but the noise felt... distant. Dull. Like she was moving through a world dipped in fog.

She whispered her schedule under her breath to stay steady.

> "Lecture. Café. Library. Back before dark."

A routine. A tether. Something to make her believe she still belonged here.

Students sprawled on grass. Professors rushed past. Laughter came in bursts from every corner.

But Serene moved through it all like a ghost.

The boy with the kind eyes. The gentle jokes. The steady hands that never tried to own her, only listen.

She scanned every table, every hall, even peered into the café where he once used to sit before class — his seat was empty.

Customers blurred into one another. She forgot orders. Dropped a cup.

The manager raised an eyebrow. "Rough morning?"

She nodded without answering. Didn't say:

> I haven't spoken to someone without a camera watching in weeks.

I was kissed by a child and her father before I left the house.

At the end of her shift, Serene sat in the alley behind the café, breathing in the scent of burnt grounds and metal bins. Her fingers trembled as she checked her phone again.

And with him, a part of her that remembered how to feel safe.

She pressed her forehead to her knees.

HE SHOULD HAVE BEEN THERE