Claimed By My Father's Sin

Not Rotund, Not My Type

♠️WORTH'S POV🖤

L©ND©N

“Mother?!” I whisper-yelled, annoyed at how the corset was pulled tight around my waist. “Are you trying to suffocate me, Mamma?” The giggles of the other Mammas and my stepsisters in the large dressing room agitated my nerves, making me wonder why everyone was so excited that they were being sold off. Mother was over the moon, continuously whispering how beautiful I looked compared to my other stepsisters, who were also getting dressed up.

“Do you see how Evangeline looks in her dress? Her mother needs to get the fat ou—”

“Would you please stop,” I whispered softly, teetering on the verge of tears. In the room was nothing but jealousy, unnecessary competition. Mother was the most hated wife of Father. Father made them, and the other Mammas tended to want nothing to do with her. So she would find ways to break the depression chewing her bit by bit by creating her own happiness through me, and I hated it. I hated that she wanted to be seen again by pushing me out into the lion’s den.

“But that’s the truth. Look at how snatched you are compared to her and the others. You should be thankful to me.” We still had lots of time ahead, but hasty Mammas like Mother couldn’t wait any longer, trying on various dresses, and I felt I would be going to my maker, not a husband, soon. Oh yes, I will anyway, if Papa finds out about the letter, or if it reaches my interested suitor… oh yes, I will.

Later that evening, before the ball. I was dressed in a white linen, the ball gown sat somewhere in my room. New faces of women Mother had gotten to teach me more basics of marriage surrounded me, even when she knew I could write a full page on marriage lectures. In the room, one of the women staring at me right now was dressed way too revealingly, but she had this charisma about her.

“This is Fiona…” Mother introduced the lady to me. She let out weird, sticky-looking bubbles from her lips, and I forced a welcoming smile. Before she could even get closer, her long nails caught my chin slightly.

“She’s beautiful. Poor thing, you are getting married to a man!” She breathed out harshly, like I was doing the worst thing—and yes, it was.

“Do you know what s*x is? Do you know how to pleasure a m—”

I don’t have to check myself in the mirror to know I had a look of disgust plastered on my face.

“Aw, I would like you to give all the lessons she might need.” Mother gave one last smile before leaving me in the hands of a stranger who spoke disgusting things.

“I don’t want to continue with whatever lecture Mother asked you to give me. I know what s*x is…” I knew it was about a male and female doing the most disgusting things, and my married stepsisters had made my knowledge of it worse. My aunt had made it even sicker—some giggling about it, while the others married to older men told the truth about how disgusting it was.

Who sucks…? The urge to puke gnawed roughly at my throat. Who sucks the v****a and the p***s? Penelope and her husband do. Who loves bites and being choked on free will? Oh, Rosella does. Who compares their man to a beast, a horse, moos like a cow, grunts like a…? It’s so heartbreaking that some of my stepsisters love this animalistic behavior.

“You know what s*x is?” She tilted her head slightly, coming to lean more into my seat. “You know how to spread your legs and your chance of getting pleasure dwells on how your man uses his d**k…” I looked away. ‘d**k,’ ‘c**k,’ ‘p***y’—these were the new words for private areas outside my father’s walls. “…or how you take the lead, if he lets you…” I hated physical touch, and I wanted so much to push her away, with her hand traveling down the nape of my neck. “And if you refuse s*x,” she paused, “men, they love the slightest struggle and the next minute you are bruised all over, your p***y gets more pain—dry, swollen and red… pfft.” I stared back into her eyes, watching her scoff before pulling away.

“I see those eyes have got fire in them. The slightest disobedience, rebellion…”

“Makes him torture me?” No, I would never be like my mother and Father’s other wives who are forced to obey him. I am a lady with principles and I won’t let a human—just an opposite gender—decide for me.

“You are good, girl!” She raised her thumb before signaling the other ladies forward. “I won’t be talking much. You are sure wise to know what to do, darling Worth.” She placed about six books on my lap. The first had a cover of a man and a woman bare-chested, his strong hands covering her mounds, her cherry-red lips parted slightly. “They are beautiful novels. Your mother showed me your library and I needed to ask again if you were a girl.”

“I don’t read books like this. My younger sister Goldie w…” I do read novels—strictly not romance. Science fiction, dystopian, magical realism are my go-to.

“It’s yours, my little pre-wedding gift.”

“That’s if I get married.”

---

My heart drummed hard in my ribcage. I had pleaded with Mother to let Goldie be with me here but she refused—not even she could be here with me. “Alliances…” I barely heard what Father was saying on the raised dais as I clutched to my midnight-blue ball gown. This feeling reminded me of that night and I don’t know why I felt this way. I wasn’t doing anything wrong, no one was getting killed, and other than a few men in black—including Father—this seemed more colorful. But I did see the guns they tried to hide. “…future decided…” Father continued, as we, his lambs, sat waiting to be sacrificed to men with lustful gazes who cheered on in the hall.

I wondered if the letters were even shared out and read by these men, because the number of men in this place was more than what I had expected. “Deaf like her mother…” I heard the mocking chuckle beside me as I watched my stepsisters standing up. “Can’t you hear Father asking us to present ourselves to suitors?”

Lambs doing the most. “Uhh…” I got up, the corset biting into my skin as I followed, trying not to stumble on my gown. Then I noticed how little I felt in the room which reeked of power and my father’s show of wealth. It was grand. I clung to Gwen’s back to stay unnoticed for a while—maybe then I could escape and get air back into my lungs—but not for too long before my ill luck called out what I had always feared: gray hairs, rotund men. But he was not rotund. He was tall, but slender, but still gray and old. And if he gets older I might be changing his diapers… but I would be happy to change them if he chose to see me as his daughter, not his wife. “What’s your name, beautiful?” I pointed at myself, forgetting what proper etiquette was, watching him nod as he got closer. I tried not to take a step backwards, secretly praying for salvation.

“Worth Cassandra Ashcroft.”