Chapter 2 Two

" Maybe, pain is only meant to shape us into a better, more fulfilled version of ourselves. "

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After my mother's announcement that my so-called groom had arrived, my friends quietly took their leave. Cordelia, usually the most composed, held me in a brief embrace. There was sympathy in her eyes, though she tried to mask it. She's always been sensitive, feeling deeply even when she doesn't want to show it.

A knock on my door pulled me back to reality. I hadn't realized how tense I was until the sound startled me. It wasn't just the meeting that unsettled me, but the fact that he had chosen my room for it. Who does that? But I suppose I couldn't expect much less from a man like our mayor.

" Come in, " I called, struggling to keep my voice even. The door creaked open, and in walked the mayor, his presence thick and suffocating.

" Good day, Mayor, " I managed, bowing slightly. I wasn't sure how to address him, the awkwardness of the situation making my movements stiff.

He didn't respond immediately, and I forced myself to meet his gaze. His face was lined with deep wrinkles, his skin dull and uneven. His eyes were sunken, almost lifeless, and his lips looked dry and worn. He looked every bit his age, perhaps even older. The only thing missing was a beard, but his bald head more than made up for it. It reminded me of my father, though not in any comforting way.

"What are you staring at?" His voice snapped me back to the moment. I quickly straightened up.

"Please, come in," I said, regaining my voice. I gestured toward the couch, relieved there was something to offer him other than my bed.

"Sit with me," he ordered, patting the space beside him. I hesitated, then reluctantly crossed the room and sat down, making sure to leave a gap between us.

Before he could say anything more, my mother entered, carrying a tray with a forced smile plastered across her face. "I brought your lunch, sir," she said, her voice a little too high-pitched, a little too shaky.

"Put it there," he said, pointing to my study table without looking at her. She did as he asked and quickly retreated, but not before shooting me a look of pity. I was used to that by now.

"What's on your mind?" The mayor's voice cut through the silence, calm but with a sharp edge that made my skin crawl. His words sounded concerned, but there was nothing warm about the way he spoke.

"Nothing," I replied, my voice barely above a whisper.

His eyes narrowed slightly. "Tell me."

I froze as his hand grabbed my chin, his fingers digging into my skin. My breath hitched, but I forced myself to stay still, afraid of what might happen if I showed too much resistance.

"It's nothing," I repeated, my voice trembling.

He held my gaze for a moment longer before releasing me. "Good. In two weeks, you'll be my wife. You should start learning now that submission will get you far in this marriage."

I nodded, not trusting myself to say anything more. His breath, tainted with the stench of tobacco, lingered in the air, and I fought the urge to gag. My cheeks burned where his hand had been, but I dared not touch them.

He pulled out a handkerchief and wiped his hands with exaggerated care, as if the mere act of touching me had dirtied him. Then, without a second thought, he tossed the cloth into the waste bin, an action that made me swallow hard.

"Your mother tells me you're quite the cook," he said, changing the subject abruptly. "You'll take over the kitchen after the wedding."

I stiffened at his words. "Yes, sir," I responded, forcing a smile that felt all wrong. The idea of becoming his servant, in more ways than one, made my stomach churn, but I swallowed the bitterness rising within me.

"Good. You seem obedient. Let's hope that's the case in every aspect of our marriage," he said with a grin that made my skin crawl once more. His eyes lingered on me a little too long, and I suddenly felt exposed, despite the long-sleeved dress I wore.

"Yes," I whispered, unable to say anything else.

"Your mother brought me lunch, and I'm going to eat it," he continued, his eyes never leaving me as I moved to serve him. The silence was suffocating as he watched my every move, like a predator sizing up its prey.

Once the meal was laid out, he began to eat, but we didn't exchange another word. I kept my eyes averted, counting the seconds until he would leave.

When he finally stood, I could barely suppress the sigh of relief. Without so much as a goodbye, he walked out, leaving me alone in the quiet, stifling room.

---

Later, at dinner, my father's voice was firm as always. "I trust you didn't offend Mr. Ronald."

"No, Father," I replied, my voice even, though inside I was still reeling from the encounter.

"Good," he said, nodding in approval. He turned to my mother. "Have you made all the necessary preparations for the wedding?"

"Yes, my lord," my mother responded, her voice quiet but steady.

"Good," he repeated, this time directing his gaze at me. "You'll stay in your room until the wedding day. Is that clear?"

"Yes, sir," I answered, bowing my head. I knew there was no use arguing. The decision had been made long before I had any say in it.

"You're being unusually quiet. You aren't planning anything, are you?" my father asked, narrowing his eyes.

"No, sir," I responded, keeping my tone as respectful as possible.

"She wouldn't dare," my mother added quickly. "She knows what's at stake."

"Good," my father said. "Let's eat."

The table was laid with pancakes and fries, as always. The food was delicious, but I could barely taste it. My mind was too full of questions, doubts, and a creeping sense of doom. My friends had called me lucky. They said I was fortunate to have caught the eye of someone as wealthy and influential as the mayor. But now, I couldn't help but wonder what they would think if they knew what he was really like.

As I picked at my food, I thought of other girls in similar positions-girls who had been married off to men far older, far crueler than them. Some had escaped, though many had not. Isabella came to mind, the beautiful girl who had been forced to marry a poor farmer. She had died in childbirth, her body weakened by lack of care. Some said it was her fate; others whispered that she deserved it. I couldn't help but wonder what fate awaited me.

A verse from my favorite book suddenly surfaced in my mind: "For I know the plans I have for you... plans to give you hope and a future." The words felt distant, but I clung to them, desperate for some kind of reassurance.

"Malisa," my father's voice broke into my thoughts.

"Yes, sir?"

"There's been a change."

My heart sank. "What kind of change?"

"The wedding has been moved. It will take place next week."

"Next week?" The word slipped from my lips before I could stop it. My pulse quickened, and the world seemed to tilt around me. Everything was moving too fast.

"Yes, tomorrow," my father confirmed, his tone final. There was no room for argument. No time for escape.

In that moment, it felt like the ground beneath me was crumbling, taking every last shred of hope with it.

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A/N: What do you think, guys?