Chapter 4- Two Days
1702 Words
They came for me Thursday morning.
I was still in my pajamas, staring at cold coffee, when the knock came. Sharp. Authoritative. Not a request.
"Miss Winters?" A woman's voice, crisp and professional. "Mr. Blackwood sent us. We're here to begin preparations."
I opened the door to find five people standing in my hallway. A tall woman with a tablet, two assistants carrying garment bags, and a man with a leather portfolio tucked under his arm.
"Preparations for what?" I asked stupidly, even though I knew.
The woman smiled without warmth. "The wedding, of course. I'm Victoria, your coordinator. May we come in?"
I didn't move. "I didn't ask for a coordinator."
"Mr. Blackwood did. We have quite a lot to accomplish in forty-eight hours." She walked past me as if I'd invited her. The others followed, transforming my small apartment into a command center within minutes.
"Wait—" I started.
"Arms up, please," one assistant said, pulling out a measuring tape.
"I haven't agreed to—"
"Measurements first, then the fitting," Victoria said, typing rapidly on her tablet. "Mr. Blackwood had the dress made based on estimates. Vera Wang, custom piece. Now we need your exact measurements for final alterations. You're very fortunate he has excellent taste."
"I don't want his taste!" My voice rose. "I don't want any of this!"
Victoria finally looked at me, her expression pitying. "Nevertheless, Miss Winters. Saturday is in two days. Arms up."
I stood there, trembling with rage and helplessness, as they measured every inch of me. Bust. Waist. Hips. Inseam. Like I was livestock being sized for auction.
The man with the portfolio stepped forward. "I'm James Chen, Mr. Blackwood's attorney. We need to review the prenuptial agreement."
"Now?" I laughed bitterly. "While they're measuring me for my cage?"
"The timeline is aggressive, yes." He opened the portfolio, revealing documents thick enough to choke on. "The agreement is comprehensive. You'll retain no claim to Mr. Blackwood's assets. Except, should you have a child—"
"Stop." My stomach turned. "Child?"
"Standard clause," he said smoothly. "Shall we review section one?"
I couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. This was happening too fast, too completely.
"I need air," I gasped, pushing past them toward my bedroom.
"Miss Winters, we really must—"
I slammed the door, locking it. My hands shook as I grabbed my phone, dialing Maya.
Straight to voicemail.
I tried again. Again. Nothing.
I called the Bennett Gallery next. "Hi, this is Isla Winters. I need to speak with—"
"I'm sorry, Miss Winters." The receptionist's voice was strained. "Mr. Bennett is unavailable."
"It's about my exhibition tomorrow—"
"Yes. About that." A pause. "Mr. Bennett asked me to inform you the exhibition has been postponed."
The room tilted. "What?"
"Postponed indefinitely. A private buyer expressed interest in purchasing the entire collection. A very generous offer. Mr. Bennett felt—"
"Who?" I already knew. "What buyer?"
Silence confirmed everything.
"Tell Mr. Bennett he can go to hell," I whispered, hanging up.
I tried my bank app next. Error. Account locked. I tried my credit cards. All frozen.
He'd cut off everything. Every escape route, every resource, every connection.
A knock on my bedroom door. "Miss Winters? We need you for the fitting."
"Go away!"
"The dress is time-sensitive. The seamstress is waiting."
I opened the door, something wild rising in my chest. "You want me to try on a wedding dress? Fine. Let's see the beautiful cage."
Victoria gestured to the garment bag hanging on my closet door. "Whenever you're ready."
The assistants left. I stood alone with the dress, my reflection fractured in the mirror.
The zipper sounded obscenely loud in the quiet.
The dress spilled out like a ghost—ivory silk, delicate lace, cathedral train. It was exquisite. Breathtaking. The kind of gown every girl dreams of wearing on the happiest day of her life.
I wanted to set it on fire.
But I put it on anyway. Because what choice did I have?
The silk whispered against my skin, cold and perfect. The bodice fit like it was made for me—because it was, measurements stolen, choices removed. I looked like a bride. I felt like a corpse.
"Miss Winters?" Victoria knocked softly. "May we see?"
I opened the door.
Her professional mask slipped for just a moment. "Oh. You look—"
"Like someone's property?" I finished.
She recovered quickly. "The seamstress will pin the hem. Please step onto the platform."
I stood there like a doll while they circled me, pinning and tucking. Making me perfect for a man I hated, for a wedding that was a transaction, for a life that wasn't mine.
When they finally left—taking measurements, leaving instructions—I sat on my couch in my regular clothes and stared at nothing.
My phone rang. Dad.
I almost didn't answer. But maybe—maybe he'd found another way. Maybe he'd changed his mind.
"Isla." His voice was wrecked. "How are you holding up?"
"How do you think?"
"I know this is hard—"
"Hard?" I laughed, the sound jagged. "Dad, I can't access my bank accounts. My exhibition was canceled. My friends won't return my calls. I'm being fitted for a wedding dress like some medieval bride. This isn't hard. This is a nightmare."
"It's just two days, sweetheart. Then it's done."
"Done? It's just beginning!" Tears burned my eyes. "Tell me why. Why does Lucian Blackwood want to destroy us? What did we do to him?"
Silence stretched so long I thought he'd hung up.
"Dad?"
"Just do this." His voice broke. "He can save us, Isla. For the family's sake, please. Just do this. Save us."
"What about saving me?"
"You'll be taken care of. He's wealthy, powerful—"
"I don't care about his money! I care about my life, my freedom, my—" I stopped, hearing my voice crack. "What aren't you telling me?"
"Nothing. There's nothing."
"You're lying."
"Isla, please—"
I hung up.
The wedding dress hung in my room like a ghost. Like a shroud. Beautiful and terrible and inevitable.
I walked to it slowly, touched the delicate lace with trembling fingers.
In thirty-six hours, I'd wear it.
In thirty-six hours, I'd become Mrs. Lucian Blackwood.
In thirty-six hours, Isla Winters would cease to exist.
I sank to the floor beside it, and finally, finally let myself cry.
- Writer
