Shackled To The Enemy King

Roxana braced her hands against the edge of the washbasin, the cool marble grounding her as she leaned forward, her breath uneven.

She turned on the tap and splashed water onto her face, the chill shocking against her heated skin. Droplets slid down her cheeks, clinging to her lashes before falling into the sink below.

When she lifted her head, her reflection stared back at her. She looked perfect, composed, and unrecognizable.

For a long moment, she simply looked at herself, her fingers curling slightly against the marble as the weight of it all pressed down on her chest.

She was tired.

Not the kind of tired sleep could fix, but something deeper... something that had been building quietly for years, buried beneath expectations, beneath obedience, beneath the version of herself she had been forced to become.

She didn’t want to do this anymore. She didn’t want to smile when she felt nothing. She didn’t want to stand beside a man she did not love, promising a future she had never chosen. She didn’t want to deceive him or her. And more importantly, she didn’t want to live a life that no longer felt like hers.

Her hand lifted instinctively, reaching for a towel, when... A sharp force slammed into her shoulder.

Roxana stumbled, her balance breaking as she caught herself against the counter, the edge biting into her palm.

"How long are you going to keep acting on your own?"

The voice cut through the space, cold and unyielding.

Roxana stilled. She didn’t need to turn to know.

"Haven’t you humiliated your father enough?"

Hannah stood behind her, her posture rigid, her gaze sharp with restrained fury. Even here, in the privacy of the restroom, there was no softness in her expression, only the same unrelenting authority Roxana had known all her life.

Roxana straightened slowly, her grip on the counter tightening before she forced herself to release it.

"Jared is a good man," Hannah continued, her voice lowering, but losing none of its force. "Do you truly believe your father would ever choose someone to ruin your life?"

Roxana’s hands curled into fists at her sides.

She had stayed silent long enough, convincing herself that keeping the peace was worth the cost. She thought that if she stayed silent, they’d leave her be. But they never did.

Something inside her had shifted tonight. Something that refused to stay quiet any longer.

"I want to live my life my way," she said, her voice trembling despite her effort to steady it. "Is that too much to ask, Mom?"

For a moment, the words hung between them, fragile and dangerous all at once.

Hannah’s lips parted slightly, her composure faltering just enough for something raw to surface. "You..." Her voice shook—not with weakness, but with disbelief sharpened into offense. "You dare say that after everything we’ve done for you?"

The words struck like a blade wrapped in silk.

Roxana let out a breath that felt as though it had been trapped inside her chest for years, something long suppressed finally forcing its way out.

"You raised me?" she repeated, a faint, incredulous laugh breaking through the strain. "You took every cent I earned from my part-time jobs and returned it to me as a loan. You made me contribute to houses for my brothers when they got married, as if it were my duty." Her voice tightened, the restraint fraying with every word. "I didn’t choose that. I was forced into it."

Hannah’s expression hardened, but Roxana did not stop.

"You fed me? Clothed me?" she continued, her gaze unwavering now, steady in a way it had never been before. "You had to. That was your responsibility."

Silence stretched, thick and suffocating.

"I didn’t ask to be born."

The words came out sharper than she intended, cutting through the space with a finality that made even her own chest tighten.

But she did not take them back.

Her eyes held her mother’s, unflinching.

"Why did you give birth to me... if you were just going to decide everything for me anyway?"

The silence that followed did not merely linger—it crashed, heavy and irreversible.

Hannah’s eyes widened, shock flashing through them before it was swallowed whole by anger. Her jaw tightened, her entire frame going rigid, as though the words themselves had struck her across the face.

For the first time, Roxana had crossed a line that could not be undone.

And even then, even in this moment, Hannah’s gaze flickered, not to her daughter, not to the pain laid bare in front of her, but to the stalls, to the door, to the possibility of being overheard. To reputation. To appearances. To the fragile image of a perfect family that mattered more than anything Roxana had just said.

Roxana saw it, and something inside her went very, very still. She was not valued. Not as a daughter. Not as a person, but only as a piece that had to remain in place.

And yet she was the one expected to obey.

"I’m done with you all," Roxana said quietly, the exhaustion in her voice far more final than anger could have ever been.

She turned and walked away.

"Then don’t use our name!" Hannah’s voice cut after her, sharp and laced with fury. "You think you built everything on your own? It was that name that opened doors for you!"

Roxana stopped.

For a brief second, she stood there, her back to her mother, the weight of that name, of everything tied to it, settling one last time on her shoulders.

Then she turned. And she smiled with a calm that felt almost dangerous.

"Then I won’t use it anymore."

And with that, she walked away without looking back.

Hannah remained frozen for a moment too long, stunned into stillness by the sheer finality of it. By the realization that something she had always taken for granted had just slipped beyond her reach.

By the time she moved, Roxana was gone.

***

The ballroom swallowed her the moment she stepped back into it.

Music swelled, laughter rose, glasses clinked, life continued, untouched by the quiet fracture that had just taken place behind closed doors. Roxana moved through it all like a ghost, her expression composed, her steps steady, even as something inside her shifted irrevocably.

She wanted to leave.

Every instinct in her body urged her toward the exit, toward distance, toward anything that would put space between her and this place.

But she knew better. Not tonight. Not with her father here. Not with the weight of his position pressing down on every door, every guard, every choice she could make.

Still... Something inside her refused to settle.

She needed air.

Without allowing herself to think too much, Roxana turned toward the balcony and stepped out into the cool night.

The noise faded behind her. Her fingers were still trembling from the emotional confrontation.

The air was sharp, clean, real in a way the ballroom had not been.

And then... She saw him.

A silhouette in the dark, standing where the light could not quite reach. That familiar and unmistakable figure, with the kind of presence she would have recognized even if she had been blind, even if the world had taken everything else from her.

Alexander.

Her breath caught.

For a moment, her mind refused to process it, as though it were something conjured from longing rather than reality. It took a heartbeat—two—for it to settle, for the truth of it to sink in.

He came. He’s here... for me!

A rush of emotion surged through her all at once: shock, disbelief, something dangerously close to relief, and beneath it, something deeper, something that had never truly left.

But then... She noticed movement; shadows shifting behind him. Her gaze sharpened, her breath catching again, but this time for a very different reason.

Secret Service agents.

They were positioned, with their guns raised, and aimed at him.

Everything inside her snapped into clarity.

"Alexander!" she shouted, her voice breaking through the night, sharp and unrestrained.

His name tore from her before thought could catch up.

And in the very next moment... She moved, without hesitation and fear, without thinking twice.

Roxana climbed onto the railing...

And jumped, right between the guns and Alexander.

One shot rang.