Chapter 2

The next morning, I walked straight into the study of the Davies family patriarch, Michael' s grandfather. Mr. Davies was the only one in this family who had shown me genuine kindness without an agenda. He was sitting behind his large mahogany desk, reading the newspaper. He looked up when I entered, his kind eyes crinkling at the corners.

"Sarah, my dear. You look troubled," he said, putting his paper down.

I didn' t waste time. I knelt on the floor in front of him, a gesture of complete desperation. It was a formal, old-fashioned sign of supplication, something I knew he would understand. "Grandfather, I have a request. A very serious one."

His gentle expression turned grave. He leaned forward, his eyes searching mine. "What is it, child? What could be so serious that you feel the need to kneel before an old man?"

"I want to leave," I said, my voice shaking but firm. "I want you to arrange a marriage for me. To anyone. As far away from this city as possible. It' s the only way."

Mr. Davies stared at me, his brow furrowed with confusion and worry. "A marriage? Sarah, you' re so young. You' re about to celebrate your birthday. What has brought this on so suddenly? Is it Michael? Did he do something to you?"

The mention of his name was like a physical pain, but I pushed it down. I couldn' t tell him the whole truth. He would never believe it. Michael was his golden grandson, the future of the Davies Corporation. And telling him about Emily would put him in an impossible position.

"No, it' s not him," I lied, the words tasting like ash in my mouth. "It' s me. I need a new life, Grandfather. I can' t stay here anymore. This house... it has too many memories. I need to get away to be happy." I strategically framed it as my own emotional need, a desperate plea for a fresh start, something he might sympathize with. "A marriage of convenience is the quickest, most secure way to start over, to be independent of the Davies name. It' s my only option."

He was silent for a long time, his gaze heavy with thought. "There is... one possibility," he said slowly, reluctance clear in his voice. "The Miller family in the South. A very powerful, old-money family. Their heir, Alex Miller, is in a coma. They are looking for a wife for him, someone to be his companion, to secure the family line in a symbolic way. But Sarah, to marry a man who may never wake up... it' s a life of solitude. It' s a sacrifice."

"I' ll do it," I said instantly, relief washing over me. A comatose husband in a faraway city was a paradise compared to what Michael had planned for me. "Please, Grandfather. Make the arrangements. Tell them I accept."

He sighed, a deep, sad sound. "If this is what you truly want, I will do it. But I fear you are running from something, and I don' t know if this is the right way to run."

Later that day, the news was on the television in the living room. My heart stopped. It was a live broadcast from the city center. Michael was there, standing on a stage in front of a crowd of reporters. And next to him, holding his arm, was Emily White. He was smiling, that charming, public smile that I used to think was just for me.

"Today, I want to reintroduce someone very special to all of you," Michael announced to the cameras. "Emily White, my one true love, has agreed to be my fiancée once again."

He looked at her with that same look of adoration I had seen him give her photograph. He lifted her hand and kissed it. The cameras flashed, capturing the moment for the entire world to see. I stood there, frozen, watching the man I loved propose to my parents' murderer on national television. It was another knife in my already bleeding heart, a final confirmation that I was, and always had been, nothing to him.

I turned away from the screen, my face a mask of stone. The pain was so immense it was almost purifying. There was nothing left to feel, no more hope to be crushed. He had taken everything.

I walked back to my room, the one he had decorated for me in shades of white and pale pink, like a doll' s room. I started to pack. Not clothes, not jewelry. I walked to the closet and pulled out a large box. Inside were all the gifts he had ever given me. A diamond necklace for my sixteenth birthday. A first edition copy of my favorite book. A small, hand-painted music box that played our song.

One by one, I took them out. I held each one for a moment, remembering the lie that came with it. Then, I dropped it into a black trash bag. The necklace, the book, the music box. Everything. I was erasing him. I was erasing the last six years. When the bag was full, I sealed it shut. It was heavy with the weight of my broken dreams.

I was dragging the bag to the door when my bedroom door opened. Michael stood there, a smile on his face, holding a beautiful, elaborate gown.

"I brought you your birthday dress," he said, his voice cheerful. He didn' t seem to notice the trash bag or the empty shelves. "I had it custom-made for you. You' re going to look beautiful tomorrow night."

He walked towards me, holding the dress up against me. The fabric was silk, the color of blood. It was beautiful and terrifying. He was so close I could smell his cologne, the scent that used to make me feel safe. Now it just made me feel sick.

"Thank you, Uncle Michael," I said, my voice carefully neutral. "It' s lovely."

He smiled, satisfied. "I knew you' d like it. Now, get some rest. Tomorrow is a big day."

He leaned in and kissed my forehead, a gesture that was now grotesque. I didn' t flinch. I just stood there, a statue of a girl, and let him do it. The moment he was gone, I let out a breath I didn' t realize I was holding. I looked at the red dress, then at the trash bag. He had no idea that I wouldn't be at his party. He had no idea that by tomorrow night, I would be gone.