Chapter Twelve: The Looming Wedding
448 Words
The invitations had gone out on gilded parchment.
The city was alive with gossip.
The Logan girl. Campbell’s heir. A political match.
But to Tasia, it felt like a prison sentence.
She sat in her family’s formal parlor, hands folded in her lap, her mother fussing over lace and jewels.
“Sit up, dear. Smile. You’ll be the most envied bride in the city.”
Bride.
Wife.
His wife.
She felt a tremor in her stomach.
Across the city, Chase Campbell was in his father’s study.
The older man was tapping the desk impatiently.
“She’s wealthy enough. Well-bred enough. But she’s soft. Timid.”
Chase flinched.
“That’s not her fault,” he muttered.
“Fault or not, she’ll need to carry your heir. That’s the point.”
Chase closed his eyes.
He didn’t want to talk about this. Not with his father.
But his father went on:
“Listen to me. I don’t care if you love her. I care that you make her yours. She needs to be claimed, understood? I’ll not have rumors she refused you.”
Chase felt something ugly coil in his chest.
“Father—”
His father’s voice dropped.
“I’m not asking. On your wedding night, you will do your duty. If you have to drink, then drink. If you have to be helped—”
Chase surged to his feet.
“Enough!”
His father’s gaze was hard.
“Enough? You think I’ll let you embarrass this family? This alliance will hold. And you will give me a grandchild.”
Chase’s jaw clenched so hard it ached.
Meanwhile, Alexia Jewes was receiving her own letter.
A thick, formal invitation.
She read it once.
Twice.
Her fingers crumpled the edges.
Mr. and Mrs. Campbell request the honor of your presence…
Her lips curled.
“Honor.”
She tossed the parchment into the fire.
Watched it blacken, curl, turn to ash.
You think you’ve won her, Chase?
She closed her eyes.
I’ll see her crawl before she ever stands at your side.
She rang for her maid.
“Fetch Joris Matthew,” she said sweetly.
“I have need of him.”
Across the city, Tasia lay awake that night.
Her wedding gown was ready.
Her mother had cried with happiness.
Her father had congratulated her on securing the family’s fortune.
She should have felt grateful.
Instead her stomach twisted.
She pressed a hand to her mouth.
He hates me.
He wants Alexia.
What am I doing?
She turned her face into the pillow, silent tears soaking the silk.
Outside, a storm gathered over the city, lightning flickering at the edges of the horizon.
The wind rattled windows, promising ruin.
- Writer
