Chapter 3
Ashleigh
Sunlight slants through the tall windows of my bedroom, painting shifting patterns across the carpet.
I sit cross-legged on my velvet chaise, blueprints and ledgers scattered in a chaotic sprawl across my bed.
The scent of musty books mingles with the perfume of fresh peonies in a vase on my nightstand. Quite the contrast.
My eyes dart between the sprawling lines of our family’s mansion, the daunting columns of numbers in the estate’s finances, and the ornate sketches of my upcoming wedding venue.
My pencil is tucked behind my ear, but I keep chewing my lower lip, completely absorbed in calculations and worries.
It’s quiet except for the distant echo of footsteps in the hallway and the occasional chirp of birds outside.
Still, the tension in my shoulders never eases.
A sharp knock shatters the quiet and my concentration.
My heart leaps into my throat as my eyes dart from the bedroom door back to the mess in front of me.
I scramble to gather the papers, shoving blueprints under my pillows, stuffing the ledgers into my bedside drawers, and snatching away the wedding sketches just as the door creaks open.
“Miss Ashleigh?” the maid calls softly, though her tone sounds urgent. “Your father wants you downstairs. Right away.”
I force a smile, though my hands tremble as I smooth my skirt and tuck a stray curl behind my ear. “Thank you, Miriam. I’ll be right there.”
As she retreats, I hesitate, my mind racked with worry. Every day, I dread seeing my father; the fear that he’ll see through me eats at me. Taking a shaky breath, I slip out of my bedroom and hurry down the grand stairs, each step heavier than the last.
“Ah, finally. There you are. Honestly, the amount of time you spend in that bedroom is just plain rude. Heavens only know what you’re doing in there. You should be preparing for your wedding.” Father stands from the dining table to face me with a stern expression.
“Linda called and thought you might be interested to know the final arrangements for the wedding.”
How really fucking lovely of Linda. Rub it in some more. Vile, incestuous swine that she is. Planning her son’s wedding as if she were the one getting married to him.
I didn’t respond, my mask still in place, but he anticipates my lack of enthusiasm.
“Do not even think of doing anything to embarrass me! You will marry the boy; the least you could do is pretend to be interested in the whole affair.”
I quite literally bit my tongue. Little did he know. I’ll die before I say my marriage vows. If he finds out I’m planning an escape, he’ll kill me.
If my plans succeed, he’ll hunt me down and kill me.
If my plans fail… Well, I’ll throw myself off the balcony in the library.
“I will arrange a meeting with her.”
“Don’t bother, she’ll be here within the hour.”
Fuck-shit-fuck. “Okay. I’ll be in the gardens until she arrives.”
To not cause suspicion, I make sure not to rush, to walk different routes, and not to appear too interested as I travel through the expanse of the northern gardens.
The blueprints for the house and the surrounding gardens' landscape were memorised long ago.
It was only a year ago that I started paying more attention to the walls that trap me.
I’ve helped the gardeners under the guise of wanting a hobby, taken every sport or physical education I could, and followed the maids to learn their routines. It’s been a process. I’m hopeful that it will pay off when I need it the most.
There it is. My tree in the north east corner is going to be my one-way ticket to freedom. Everything looks in order, but it doesn't stop me from coming back to check -even from a distance- every few days.
It allows me to breathe.
The day when I need an escape is getting closer and closer; I can feel it.
The wedding may be next week, but I feel as if someone is hiding in wait around every corner, waiting to tie me up and sweep me away. Trapped and holed away for the rest of my life.