I sat.
The ancient chair beneath me sighed with dust, exhaling remnants of time long lost.
Across from me, he watched.
Mary positioned herself discreetly against the wall, a silent lifeline I dared not grasp.
Her sympathy was a small comfort, but it could not penetrate the thick layer of dread suffocating me.
Because this was real.
This was happening.
And the screams in my mind?—
They were deafening.
The clock struck, its pendulum swinging in time with my dwindling freedom.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
And all I could do was sit there?—
Trapped.
Caged.
Awaiting my fate in a house that had already begun to bury me alive.
The delicate clink of porcelain broke through the suffocating silence as the butler placed the tea service before us.
The cups were chipped.
The glaze was cracked.
A reflection of this house, the man who sat across from me, and the rot that festered beneath wealth and power.
Lord Winston poured with an exaggerated flourish, his fingers trembling slightly, betraying the illusion of control he desperately clung to.
I took the cup he offered; its once-vibrant pattern now faded to ghosts of its former glory.
And so I sat—nodding, feigning interest, listening to the droning hum of his hollow words, trying to drown in the monotony of civilized discourse.
Until his voice cut through the air like a rusted blade?—
And I wished I had never listened at all.
“It won’t be long, Lady Alexander.Soon my cock will fill you up and produce my heirs.”
The teacup trembled in my grip.
My mind refused to process the words for a moment—just a moment.
But then they settled.
