Chapter 4 :

Ashley's POV:

At exactly 5 pm, Ms. Jane opened the door and popped her head inside, "It's 5 pm. Beauticians and stylists are here. Time to get ready, Ms. Ashley."

Have these people already forgotten that I just had the bloody car crash? I mean, I literally came out of the death pit.

Ms. Jane knocked loudly on the door and I mumbled, "Yes, yes. I'm listening. Please, let them in."

She threw me a smile and gestured them inside. They greeted me politely on their way to the dressing room adjacent to my room. Tossing the covers away, I got out of bed. I stretched my sore body and gulped down two painkillers with a glass of water.

I made my way into the bathroom and turned on the shower. Standing under the cold stream, I pondered the miserable life I was leading.

Freedom. All my life, I had only desired Freedom. What I always wanted and needed was freedom of life. But Alas! that was the last thing I was getting in this lifetime. Sadly, my life had never truly been mine.

I still remembered the High School phase of my life, the way my teacher used to praise me using the words like, "Ashley, you are so full of ambition, passion, and creativity. I am sure you'll go a long way." Little did she know that I was so full of everything she mentioned but what I lacked was Freedom.

Only if I had Freedom, I would have flown away a long time ago just like my sister, Emma, did. But instead, I was rooted under the showerhead with gazillion thoughts running in my head.

Feeling dejected, I turned off the shower and wrapped myself in a bathrobe. On my way out, I caught my reflection in the mirror and came to a sudden halt. I wanted to vanish in thin air but I knew that would result in yet another disaster. So, I sealed my lips and kept standing there like a corpse because I had to pay the price for being born as the heir.

I, Ashley Frostford, the daughter of the owner of Frostford Petroleum Corp, the largest and the most flourished Oil company with its branches sprawled all over the country. My father, Ambrose Frostford, started this company from the scratch and that's why it was his most prized asset. And I, Ashley Frostford, am his most precious possession, not because I was his only child left but because I was the only heir of his empire.

Right after I was born, I had been dictated about what to do and what to avoid. I was not allowed to go anywhere without security, boys were never in the picture, and following my heart was so out of question. My parents had always supervised my every move.

3 years into this world and I was trained in basic etiquette; how to eat, hold a glass, sit at the table, and even the correct way to walk. I was never allowed to have an opinion about what to wear, what hairstyle suits me best, what perfume to wear, and even the amount of makeup necessary for me was decided by Mother.

As for the educational stuff, that was under Father's supervision. According to him, I must be trained in things that looked better on my CV. And by CV, I didn't mean the one needed for college admission. CV as in the best candidate for a wife that one can show off to the world.

Thanks to Father's futuristic thinking, I knew all about horse riding, chess, fencing, swimming, and other various sports. He thought it was important for me to learn how to read and write three different languages. Again thanks to him, I was fluent in English, Italian, and Spanish.

I know it all sounds so suffocating but it was kind of endurable when Emma was around. My sister, Emma Frosford, was five years older than me. We had a strong bond since childhood. Having no freedom or zero parental affection brought us even closer.

Now, when she was no more here to hold me and pour sweet, courageous words into my ears, I felt more and more trapped with every passing day.

I clenched my fists tightly as I thought what mother could do this to her daughter? I found it hard to believe that I was getting ready so that my parents could present me as a reward for whoever would sign a business deal with my father. I found it surprising, but not unbelievable. Because Ambrose Frostford would do anything for his business and empire.

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A loud rap on the door followed by Ms. Jane's croak, "Ms. Ashley, you have been in there for 40 minutes."

I cooed, "Oh, I didn't know I was supposed to count the minute I spent in the shower." Tying the bath rob, I opened the door and rolled my eyes at Ms. Jane standing just outside the door, "Worried that I would run away through that tiny drainage hole in the bathroom?"

She aimed a sarcastic smile at me, "I don't think you would try something that foolish again."

At that moment, I wanted nothing more than to slap that freaking smile away from her face. But the truth was that Ms. Jane was as evil as Mother and that's why they always stuck together. Mother would never get rid of her no matter how many times I requested her to.

Giving her a blank face, I moved towards the dressing room. Upon entering, I saw that ton of make-up was splayed over the vanity table and my dress, shoes, and jewelry were kept on the other side of the room.

Half an hour later, I had my eyes closed and was completely zoned out. The sound of coughing made me open my eyes and I sat straighter in the chair. I peeked into the mirror and gasped at my reflection. I was looking absolutely beautiful, and I was not even exaggerating. Alice, my beautician, had made sure everything was on point. I nodded my head in approval and muttered, "Perfectos." I saw her whole face brighten up at the appreciation.

Once she was done styling my hair in low curls, she stepped back to take an overall look at me. When she was sure of her work, she nodded toward Ms. Jane who then escorted her out of the room. Not a minute later, the stylist was inside the dressing room. She picked up my dress and said, "If you would like to wear it, Ms. Ashley."

I muttered under my breath, "Not like I have any choice." Back into the closet, I wore the dress Mother deemed suitable for the occasion and reentered the dressing room. The stylist moved quickly and zipped up the dress. Jewelry and shoes were the next in line.

At 7 pm sharp, I was standing in front of the full-length mirror. I must admit, I was looking hella gorgeous in a long red maxi with net sleeves and a pearl neckline. A single diamond pendant around my neck enhanced the charm but, it was deep maroon lipstick that completed the look.

At about 7:30 pm, Ms. Jane entered the room and told me that all of the guests have arrived and it was time to go out.

As soon as I made an entrance, so many people rushed toward me at once. As a matter of fact, everyone knew why Father arranged this match-making party so no one wanted to miss a chance to impress me. I took a deep breath and braced myself to deal with all the nut heads.

There were men with drool dripping out of their mouths, and mothers with twinkling eyes like they had found some sort of treasure. Too much cliche wasn't good for my health.

In our circle, when a man reaches a suitable age, he must marry a decent, flawless, and elegant girl in order to inherit his father's business. Hence, it was a descriptive example of killing two birds with one stone. Father would get a nice business deal out of me and the other person would end up getting a graceful and charming wife to show off to the world.

For about 20 minutes, I focused my energy to mingle with people, throwing small smiles at some and making small talk with others. Some of the men tried to start a conversation with me but other than one or two sentences, I didn't stay any longer with anyone. What was the point after all? The decision would be made by Father and that would be final.

Mother, who was right beside me looked over my behavior with her two predatory eyes and made sure that every pair of eyes had witnessed my beauty. The more candidates, the better the offers, or more like the biddings. It seemed to be my parents' motto. Pathetic, right?

Once Mother was satisfied with her duty of introducing me to every bachelor present at the party and I was sick to my core at being a showpiece, she finally patted my arm, "You did good, honey. Now go and enjoy the party."

As soon as she was out of sight, I made a beeline toward the bar area. Grabbing the bottle of Bourbon from the table, I turned around in search of some quiet area in the midst of this chaos. I saw a man approaching me with careful strides and I immediately sauntered off toward the back lawn of the house. Only a few minutes of peace and quiet. Was it too much to ask for?

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