CHAPTER THREE
985 Words
The storm did not descend from the heavens. It came from within.
Savannah fidgeted; each step that echoed against the polished wood of her room felt like a countdown. The Pennington estate's silence was no longer stately — it was surgical, the very walls trained to listen.
She had run a hundred replays of last night. The look in Cash's eyes. The lies in Slade's voice. The ease with which Boone slid forged documents across the desk the way a man had done it before.
She wasn't merely in a bad marriage.
She was inside a machine. A mechanism engineered to contain her body, her name, her story.
The robe clung to her skin like remembrance. Her limbs felt heavy. Her head, lighter than air. Disbelief, like champagne, had bubbles, which cushioned the pain — until they didn't.
A loud knock made her jump.
Then the door opened without invitation.
Boone walked in, sandwiched between two estate employees in matching charcoal uniforms. They carried a sleek white box between them.
"Your health is our concern," Boone said. "Routine testing."
"I haven't agreed to anything," Savannah said sharply.
Boone smiled as if he was explaining it to a toddler. "You agreed the second you said 'I do.' We're just completing our end."
She stepped back while they lowered the box. A chrome lid clicked open to reveal vials, swabs, and a slender scanner she didn't recognize.
"We just need a little sample," one said.
"Don't touch me," Savannah said, hissing.
"It's just going to take a minute," Boone responded. "The less resistance, the cleaner the data."
Her breath caught. She wanted to scream, but a scream was a whisper in this place. No one could hear her through the marble and mahogany."
No one would want to.
She sent the tray tumbling onto the table.
Glass shattered. The vials rolled on the hardwood. Boone didn't flinch. He just nodded at the staff.
"Reset. Try again later. She's still adjusting."
They picked up the box and walked away.
Boone held on for another second. "You don't need to make this more complicated than it is."
Savannah said nothing. Her breath tasted of fire in her throat.
As soon as the door clicked closed behind her, she tumbled onto the edge of the bed.
She was shaking.
She ran.
"The west hall, past the marble arch she'd never seen before. Her slippers slid on the tile. Every portrait on the wall glared from high above with aristocratic indifference. The entire estate had seemed like a stage — one she hadn't auditioned for.
She did not stop until she crashed into the greenhouse doors.
And there he was.
Cash.
Stoop by a row of orchids, pruning shears in hand. Like he belonged there. As if he hadn't broken her universe with a single smile.
"Help me," she whispered.
He didn't look up. "What do you really want?"
"I need the truth."
He clipped a blossom. "Truth doesn't grow here."
She stepped closer. "Why did you do it?"
Cash finally met her eyes. "Because Slade always gets what he wants. The empire. The name. The wife. This was mine."
"I'm not a possession."
"No," he said. "You're a mirror. And we all shatter when we look too long."
She gasped at him with disbelief.
He took a folded sheet of paper out from under his jacket and gave it to her.
A document.
An ultrasound.
Dated last week. Her name is at the top.
The figure at the center is unmistakable.
"They had implanted it weeks prior to the wedding," Cash said. "Before you signed anything. Before you ever met Slade."
Her knees buckled. She crashed against the potting bench, vision swirling.
Cash didn't reach for her.
He just said, "It was never about love. It was about blood."
"And you went along with it," she said, her voice cracking.
He nodded. "Because it was the only way to be important."
She backed away.
"You could have told me."
"You would never have believed me."
She turned and ran.
It was a eulogy to knowledge, the library. Cradle your fingers with leather-bound spines and shadows.
She rifled through the drawers of Slade's desk. Opened cabinets. Overlooked the stinging in her fingers from rough edges and splinters.
Then she found it.
A locked drawer.
She wedged a letter opener into the seam. Forced it open.
Inside, a black folder.
Slim. Only marked with her initials.
She opened it.
Clause 21C.
Reproductive Rights Transferred to Pennington Medicine Division.
Her name. Her forged signature.
Dated months ago.
Savannah's knees gave. She crumpled to the floor, folder laid out on the rug like an autopsy.
They hadn't married her.
They'd harvested her.
She tossed the contract into the fireplace.
The fire consumed it with silent joy.
She did not stop until the last corner was curled black.
She didn't blink.
Lorelei discovered her in the sitting room, hands soiled with ash.
"What have you done?" she asked softly.
Savannah turned. "What have you done?"
Lorelei didn't blink. "We gave you a kingdom. And a future for your child."
"You gave me chains."
Lorelei stepped forward. "You could still rule. All you've got to do is quit playing the prisoner."
Savannah slapped her.
Lorelei blinked. Then smiled.
"Good girl," she said.
Savannah didn't sleep that night.
She lay in the darkness, listening. To her own breath. To the creaks of the house. Until there is so much silence.
Just after midnight, the window creaked open.
She sat up.
On her pillow next to her: a feather.
And a note.
Cream envelope. Her name was in a script she didn't recognize.
She opened it.
"You'll never get out. But I will."
The feather shook in her grip.
Savannah gazed out into the dark.
And finally, she understood.
She hadn't been locked away inside the Pennington estate.
She was locked within the lie they constructed around her.
- Writer
