“Free?” A chilling laugh shakes her shoulders, thundering through my already shaky resolve.
That's all she says. That's all she leaves me with, an emptiness that echoes with that sinister laugh.
I hang my head in shame, in defeat.
It's not like I thought any of this would make amends for the past, but if there's one thing I'm sure of, it's that Sophie hates my guts.
And this is just the beginning of her retribution.
Chapter 6 - Sophie
Last night I got married.
The twenty-third of June.
It was a Tuesday night.
But two years ago, it was a bright, sunny Sunday morning, when the birds chirped freely, and the air felt like a kiss of warmth, until Damian Hans broke my heart without a valid explanation.
This year, it marks the night I signed away my freedom to the very same man. Still, there's no valid reason, and now, instead of my heart breaking, my gut is churning, my blood boiling, my head spinning from how quickly and unreasonably things are happening.
Things that are out of my control.
That's what I've lost now. Control. Every move I’d made for the past two years had been mechanical.
Wake up. Work. Home. Rinse. Repeat.
It's how I functioned. It's how I stayed in control of my emotions. But it had become so monotonous that I’d stopped checking the dates. Every day just bled into the next with a routine that had kept me sane after the heartbreak.
But today, with a moment to pause and without a routine to cling to for my sanity, I see the date in bold on the fridge calendar. There’s no missing it, but I still blink as if I can’t believe what I’m seeing.
Of course, in this sick twist of my fate, I'd get married to Damian—forcefully, might I add—on the anniversary of our breakup.
Sighing, I tear my gaze from the calendar, hugging my arms around my chest and willing myself back together.
Composure. That's what I need if I'm going to find a way out of here. I might have signed my name away, given up my autonomy by signing that marriage certificate last night, but there's just no way I'm going to be stuck here with him for the rest of my life.
To my relief, I woke up this morning to quiet. I tiptoed out of the bedroom to find the cabin empty, allowing me to explore the place. I hate that I found breakfast on the table, as if it could make up for being a prisoner here overnight, served food in the prison cell of that bedroom.
I felt only a flicker of hope yesterday when the bedroom door opened, and it wasn't Damian on the other side. Instead, I'd been visited by a woman with an uncanny resemblance to him, except her features were soft where his are hard.
Dianna.
She said she's his little sister, and I burst out laughing, because I never thought I'd meet her under these circumstances. He'd told me about her in the past, so it was almost as if I knew her when we met, but the woman who visited yesterday felt like as much of a stranger to me as Damian does now.
But she didn't come to help me. She came to plead with me to go through with the marriage, citing that her brother knew what he was doing. She was simply an assistant to his crimes, an accomplice, and didn't offer any real support. Not the kind that I needed. Not the escape I was hoping for. Now, I'm married to her brother and forced to be under his roof.
I shiver at the thought, but my body feels different as I grab a cereal bar from the cabinet and find a seat at the table. It feels strange, like embers are glowing just beneath the surface ofmy skin. Frowning, I look down at my free hand, turning it over to stare at my palm, as if the lines mapping my skin will lead me to the answer of why I'm feeling like this.
The only time I'd ever felt warm and tingly was after a passionate tryst with Damian in the past, so feeling like this right now is cruel, uninvited sensations flowing through me when the last thing I want is to remember how we used to be.
A gentle knock on the door jolts me, and the untouched cereal bar slips from my fingers and lands on the floor. Not caring who's outside, I reach for the bar, and when I pick it up and straighten, I'm met with a pair of eyes that are almost identical to Damian's, but softer.
“Dianna,” I nod, turning my face away when she walks inside, finally taking a bite of my cereal bar.
“Hi, Sophie, how are you doing this morning?” she asks, her voice oozing a sweetness that repulses me.
I flick my eyes toward her, watching her join me at the table as I chew. I take my sweet time chewing, then swallowing, seeing her notice the untouched breakfast plate and probably gathering that this is an act of rebellion.
