5. Elodie

Chapter 5

Elodie

I watched Annabelle and Stephanie as they flitted about the room, their voices like the irritating buzz of bees. They twirled in front of the mirror, adjusting their elaborate gowns for the masquerade. Marion sat nearby, her hair in curlers, a smug smile on her face as she observed them. The smell of hairspray and perfume mixed in the air, almost choking me.

My mind kept drifting back to my stepmother's words from earlier. She planned to sell me to some old man to settle her debts. The thought made my stomach churn. How could this be legal?

“How did you like William?” Marion asked suddenly, her eyes glinting with a darkness that matched her soul.

I clenched my teeth, struggling to keep my voice steady. “Not enough to marry him.”

“Cheeky,” my stepmother remarked from across the room, where she was sorting through a box of jewelry. “I do hope he gets that out of you. A young woman should be docile and submissive to their husbands.”

Stephanie snickered as she adjusted her mask, a glint of malice in her eyes. “Oh, you know how she is, Mom. Elodie, always thinking she’s better than us. You’re lucky anyone would want you at all.”

Annabelle added with a smirk, “Especially someone like William.”

I forced myself to stay calm, my fingers gripping the edge of the chair until my knuckles turned white. Their words were meant to hurt, but I couldn’t let them see how much they affected me.

Marion leaned back in her chair, a satisfied smile on her face as she watched me struggle to keep my composure. “Remember, Elodie,” she said sweetly, “your place is beneath us. Always has been, always will be.”

The words stung like a slap to the face, but I swallowed down my anger and nodded. "And yet, I'm the only one that can pay off your debt."

Despite my words, she looked pleased with herself and returned her attention to her daughters. The conversation shifted back to the masquerade and who would be attending.

As they chattered on about their grand plans for the evening, I couldn’t help but feel a flicker of hope deep within me. I had to find a way out of this nightmare before it was too late.

"Do you wish you could come?" Stephanie asked, her voice dripping with mock concern.

I furrowed my brow. "Why can't I come?" I asked, trying to keep my tone even. "The invitation is to everyone in town."

"Because you'll be working at the office, taking over our cleaning," Annabelle said, her eyes sparkling with cruel delight. "We can't all go. And since you already have a husband, we thought it was only fair that you take the shift."

"But that's not fair!" The words escaped before I could stop them, my frustration boiling over.

Marion stood up, her eyes narrowing into slits. "How dare you? You have someone willing to marry you. Do you know how grateful you should be? Look at yourself. Always covered in dirt. Your clothes are wrinkled. You smell. You might be pretty if you tried." Her voice dripped with disdain as she continued, "What could you bring to a marriage? My daughters still have a chance, and this masquerade is the perfect way for them to meet potential suitors who will take care of them, selfish girl."

"You mean like how you're taking care of me?" I didn't care about the consequences, not anymore. Not after everything.

The room went silent; the tension crackling like static electricity. Marion's hand flew faster than I could react, her palm connecting with my cheek in a stinging slap that echoed through the room.

"I shall tell William of your insolence," she hissed, her face contorted with rage. "And I hope he beats it out of you."

The pain in my cheek was nothing compared to the fire igniting in my chest. Without another word, I turned on my heel and marched out of the room. The sound of their laughter followed me down the hallway, each chuckle a knife twisting deeper into my resolve.

I wouldn't let them break me.

Not now.

Not ever.

I stormed down the hallway, the sting on my cheek still fresh. Tears threatened to spill, but I angrily wiped them away. I refused to cry. Not for them. Not anymore.

How I wished my father had never met Marion. My life had turned into a living hell since she and her daughters moved in. I pressed my palm against my burning cheek, trying to calm the storm of emotions inside me.

My heart ached at the thought of my father. What would he think if he saw me now? Would he stand up for me, protect me from this nightmare? Deep down, I doubted it. He was too wrapped up in his work, too blind to see the cruelty unfolding in his own home.

The thought of being sold off to William made my stomach churn. But one thing became clear: I wouldn't let them take my freedom without a fight. No one deserved that power over me.

I stopped at the window at the end of the hall, looking out at the darkening sky. The masquerade would be in full swing soon, with laughter and music echoing through The Ritz's grand halls. It wasn't fair that I had to miss out because of their twisted plans.

If tonight was truly my last night of freedom, I needed to make it count. I wouldn’t cower in some corner or spend it cleaning up after others. No, tonight I would live without fear of consequence.

With newfound determination, I marched back to my room and rifled through my modest wardrobe. There wasn’t much to choose from—plain dresses mostly—but there was one dress I'd been saving for a special occasion. One dress that had belonged to my mother. It was simple but elegant, with soft green fabric that brought out the warmth in my green eyes.

I waited until I heard them leave, their cackles like a beacon in the night.

I slipped into the dress, pulling my hair into a neat bun and smoothing down any stray strands. Looking in the mirror, I almost didn't recognize myself. For once, I looked like someone who belonged at Crestwood Academy—a young woman with dreams and ambitions, not just a scholarship kid bound by chains of duty.

I stood before the mirror, taking in my reflection. The soft green dress hugged my slender frame, accentuating curves that usually went unnoticed under my usual plain attire. My hair, pulled into a neat bun, revealed the delicate features of my face. For once, my green eyes seemed to sparkle with a light that had been missing for too long.

I actually looked pretty.

A small smile crept onto my lips as I reached for the mask. It was a simple black piece with intricate lace patterns that framed my eyes. As I tied it behind my head, I felt a rush of excitement and fear mingling together. With the mask on, no one would recognize me. I would be just another guest at the masquerade, free from the chains that bound me at home.

But then came the practical matter of getting there. I grabbed my phone and checked my Uber account. Relief washed over me as I saw that I had enough for a round trip ride as long as I used the pass before midnight. It was tight, but it could work.

I ordered the Uber, my fingers trembling slightly as I typed in the address of The Ritz. The screen confirmed that a car would arrive in ten minutes. Now, all I had to do was wait.

I glanced around my room, suddenly hyper-aware of how small and confining it felt compared to the world outside. My heart pounded with anticipation and anxiety. What if something went wrong? What if Marion found out?

But then I remembered her words and her slap. This night was mine, no matter what happened next.

As the minutes ticked by, I paced back and forth, unable to sit still. The sound of an engine pulling up outside finally broke through my thoughts. Peering out the window, I saw the black sedan waiting at the curb.

Taking a deep breath, I grabbed a small clutch bag and slipped on a pair of flats. No one would suspect me if I left now; they were all too busy preparing for their grand evening.

With one last glance in the mirror, I headed downstairs and out the door. The night air felt cool against my skin as I approached the waiting car.

This was it.

My escape had begun.

The Uber driver, a middle-aged man with kind eyes and a salt-and-pepper beard, glanced at me through the rearview mirror as we cruised through the city streets. "Headed to a fancy event?" he asked, his voice warm.

"Yes," I replied, offering a small smile. "A masquerade."

"Sounds exciting. Must be nice to get dressed up and have some fun."

I nodded, my fingers fiddling with the lace edge of my mask. "It is," I said softly, though the nerves bubbling in my stomach told a different story.

He chatted amiably as we drove, talking about his own experiences driving people to various events around the city. I listened politely, grateful for the distraction. As we neared The Ritz, I reached into my clutch and pulled out my last three dollars in cash.

When he parked at the entrance, I handed him the money. "I'm sorry it's not more," I said, feeling a pang of guilt.

He waved it off with a smile. "No worries, miss. You enjoy your evening."

I thanked him and stepped out of the car, immediately aware of the stares directed my way. The sight of an Uber pulling up to The Ritz must have been unusual for the other guests arriving in sleek limousines and luxury cars. But I straightened my shoulders and held my head high, determined not to let their judgment affect me.

The Ritz stood tall and imposing before me, its grand facade illuminated by soft golden lights that cast an elegant glow over the entire building. The entrance was adorned with lush greenery and vibrant flowers arranged in intricate patterns. A red carpet led up to the grand double doors, where doormen in crisp uniforms greeted guests with polite nods.

I took a deep breath and made my way up the steps, each one bringing me closer to a world that felt both thrilling and terrifyingly foreign. Inside, the lobby was even more breathtaking—a chandelier hung from the high ceiling, its crystals shimmering like stars against a velvet sky. Marble floors gleamed beneath my feet, and soft classical music floated through the air.

I could feel eyes on me as I moved through the crowd, but I kept my focus straight ahead. This was my night—no matter what happened next.

And with that thought firmly in mind, I stepped into the ballroom. The room glittered with opulence. Crystal chandeliers dangled from the high ceilings, casting a warm golden glow over everything. The walls were lined with mirrors and ornate gold moldings, reflecting the light and making the room appear endless.

The scent of fresh roses mingled with the rich aroma of expensive colognes and perfumes, creating a heady mix that made my head spin. Waiters moved through the crowd with silver trays, offering delicate hors d'oeuvres and flutes of champagne. The sound of laughter and conversation blended with the soft strains of a live string quartet playing in one corner.

I wasn't sure where to begin. Should I grab a drink? Sample the food? Dance? The possibilities swirled around me, each more enticing than the last.

As I stood there, trying to decide, I caught the tail end of a speech coming from a raised platform at the far end of the room. The speaker was an older man with graying hair and a distinguished air—Stephan Douglas, the host of tonight's event.

“... and so, let us all raise our glasses to new beginnings and cherished memories,” Stephan concluded, his voice carrying over the murmurs of the crowd. Polite applause followed as guests lifted their glasses in a toast.

My eyes drifted to a young man standing beside Stephan, wearing an eye-catching black-and-white striped suit that reminded me instantly of some ridiculous Halloween costume. His hair was slicked back, giving him a slightly wild look despite his formal attire. He had a smirk on his face as he scanned the room, exuding an air of arrogance and confidence that made him stand out even more, though there seemed to be an edge to it, almost like he was frustrated he was here in the first place.

And he was smoking.

But it was the woman next to him who truly captivated me. She was stunning—tall and statuesque with long, flowing black hair that framed her pale face perfectly. Her dress clung to her curves in all the right places, an elegant black gown that seemed almost alive as it moved with her every gesture. She exuded an aura of dark elegance that reminded me of some dark ballerina.

I couldn't tear my eyes away from them. They looked like they had stepped out of some gothic fairytale, both beautiful and slightly menacing in their own way.

This must be Stephan’s son and his fiancée.

The thought made my heart race even faster. Here I was, an outsider sneaking into this world of wealth and privilege—and yet, for this one night, I was determined to be part of it all.

My stomach growled, reminding me I hadn’t eaten since lunch. The long table near the wall caught my eye, laden with an array of delicacies. I moved towards it, hoping to blend in and keep my nerves at bay.

I picked up a small plate and began piling it with an assortment of hors d'oeuvres—tiny sandwiches, cheese, and fruit. As I reached for a delicate pastry, familiar voices floated through the air, freezing me in place.

Annabelle and Stephanie.

My heart skipped a beat as I turned to see them gliding closer to the buffet table. They were dressed to perfection, their gowns shimmering under the lights. Panic surged through me; I couldn't let them recognize me.

Gripping my plate tightly, I ducked away from the table and slipped through an open door into a smaller, dimly lit room. It appeared to be some sort of library or study, lined with bookshelves and furnished with plush chairs. The sound of the party dulled to a low hum behind me.

I sank into one of the chairs and took a deep breath, trying to calm my racing heart. As I started to eat, the flavors exploded on my tongue—rich and decadent in a way I’d never experienced before. A soft moan escaped my lips before I could stop it.

"What I wouldn't give to be the one making you make those noises, babes," a gravelly voice said behind me.

I stiffened instantly, every muscle in my body going rigid. Slowly, I turned around to see who had spoken.

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