Beneath His Vows

Walking Away

The mansion looked different that night.

It wasn’t the grand chandeliers or the endless hallways—it was her. Selene. The way her chest felt tight, her breath caught in her throat. Every corner of the house felt suffocating now, every step like walking on broken glass.

Lady Veylor’s words wouldn’t leave her head.

You are nothing. Replaceable. Forgettable. Stay in your place or regret it.

Selene hugged the small bag against her chest as she slipped quietly down the servants’ corridor. The bag was pitiful—two dresses, an old photograph of her family, and a worn notebook she had carried since she was fifteen. That was all her life amounted to in this house.

Her shoes barely made a sound on the marble as she moved. Rosa wasn’t there to stop her. Elise wasn’t awake. Clara was probably sleeping in Damien’s bed—or maybe not. Selene didn’t want to know.

Every instinct screamed at her to look back. But she didn’t.

Not when she pushed the heavy servant door open.

Not when the cool night air hit her face.

Not when the gates of the mansion disappeared behind her.

Her feet carried her blindly through the streets of Los Angeles. The city never slept, but tonight, Selene felt like a ghost moving through it. Neon signs flickered above her. Cars honked. People laughed outside bars. Yet none of it touched her.

By the time her legs gave out, she had walked until the bright lights faded into quieter roads. That’s when she saw it.

A cottage.

Old, small, and worn, tucked away at the edge of a neighborhood. It wasn’t much. In fact, it looked like it might collapse if the wind blew too hard. But Selene’s knees buckled with relief.

She pushed the creaky door open and stepped inside. The smell of dust and wood hit her nose. There was a single narrow bed, a cracked mirror, and a chair missing one leg. Still—it was hers.

Selene dropped her bag on the bed and sat down. For a long time, she just stared at the wall, letting the silence wrap around her.

Then, the tears came.

Not loud sobs, not wails—just silent tears slipping down her cheeks as she remembered Damien’s eyes. Cold one moment, burning the next. The way he kissed her, like she was something he couldn’t resist.

And Lady Veylor’s voice crushing it all.

Selene curled up on the bed, hugging her bag tightly. Her chest hurt, but somewhere deep down, she whispered to herself:

“At least here… no one can tell me I don’t belong.”

That night, in a fragile little cottage far away from Damien’s world, Selene cried herself to sleep.

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