The afternoon sun had softened into a warm gold, washing the Ashwell gardens in a gentle glow. Isabella stepped outside, needing air. Needing distance. Needing to remember she existed outside silk fittings and expectations whispered around her name.
The hedges were tall, perfectly trimmed. Roses climbed marble arches. A place meant to feel peaceful. It felt like a cage with petals.
She followed the path by instinct, her fingers grazing the petals of a white rose, when she paused—voices drifted from the other side of the hedge.
Elijah.Lucien.
Her breath caught. She didn't mean to listen, but her feet rooted to the ground anyway.
"…she tried to run," Lucien's voice was sharp, restrained. "And you just brought her back as if nothing happened."
Elijah's answer was calm. Too calm."What did you expect? That I would let her go?"
"She is frightened," Lucien pressed. "She doesn't understand what our families are bound by."
"She understands enough," Elijah said. "And she will understand the rest in time."
Lucien exhaled, the sound heavy."You are becoming attached."
Silence.
Then Elijah, a quiet truth:"Yes."
Isabella's chest tightened.
Lucien's tone shifted. Lower. Calculated."Attachment is dangerous. The arrangement was never meant to involve sentiment. You were to secure the heir and continue the line. Nothing more."
Isabella's blood iced.
So she was right.She wasn't just a bride.She was a future mother. A continuation of lineage.
A possession.
Elijah's voice cut through her spiraling thoughts."I am aware of the expectation."His voice was clipped. Controlled."But I am not treating her like a commodity."
Lucien laughed softly."You already are. You take her choices, her freedom, her future. She is yours before she even understands what that means."
Isabella felt her throat tighten.She took a step back.The gravel crushed under her foot.
The voices stopped.
She ran.