THREADS OF REBELLION
1243 Words
Scarlett's hands shook as she shut the tab on her laptop. She had explored every conceivable social media search, every database available to her without attracting attention—but Damien remained unfound. No last name, no identifiable contact, nothing. The only thing she had was the name he shared with her that evening in Portland and a memory that relentlessly haunted her.
She hid the laptop under a cushion just as she heard footsteps coming closer.
"Ma'am," a servant spoke, appearing at the entrance with her eyes cast down. "Mr. Edward is back."
Scarlett’s breath was temporarily held in her throat. This means that the home would be chillier and regulated.
She stood up gradually. "Where is he?"
"In his study."
“Certainly, always in the study.” She said as she adjusted her dress, examined her reflection in the hallway mirror, and prepared herself before heading toward the core of her confinement.
The door was slightly open when she got there. Edward was perched behind the strong mahogany desk with a beverage in his hand. His gaze upon her sent shivers down her spine—serene and collected, yet something keen hid behind his eyes. He constantly assessed her.
"You've certainly had a lot on your mind lately, haven’t you?" he remarked, stirring the liquid in his glass.
Scarlett felt her mouth dry up. "I’ve been seeing my father since he has been in need of my help." She stated.
His brow flickered. "That's heartfelt." "However, I didn't ask about your father."
He placed the glass down and approached her. "I asked about you since you've felt... uneasy, inquiring about matters, sending my staff on errands to complete tasks, hiding your laptop under cushions like a teenager trying to be discreet.”
Her heartbeat faltered.
"I'm unsure about what you're referring to."
Edward's grin did not penetrate his eyes. "You have always been a bad liar."
He moved by her, allowing silence to intimidate her in ways that words could not. Scarlett tightened her hands into fists, striving to keep her body steady and composed.
"I ought to have realized you would feel stifled by marriage," he said. "However, let me remind you, Scarlett... this was your choice or more accurately, it was your parents who did, which shows that you are obligated, so do not confuse kindness with leniency."
Scarlett remained motionless. Edward waved her off, and she walked away, her heart racing as she left the room.
She hurried upstairs, secured her door after her, and pressed against it. He had some information and she needed to be more intelligent. Quicker.
Scarlett faced her closet, took a shoebox from the upper shelf, and opened it. Inside were ancient letters, receipts, a ripped envelope from her wedding week… and then, hidden behind a folded scarf, she discovered it: a version of the marriage contract.
Her throat became dried as she reviewed it once more but it was at a slower pace this time. Each information. Each hidden web.
Suddenly, her eyes noticed something unfamiliar.
A third signature.
Scarlett blinked, then narrowed her eyes for a better look.
Damien Lancaster.
The ink was thick, hurried. It hadn't been present earlier. Was it so?
She leafed through the attached pages, her fingers clumsy. His name did not appear on the witness list. Why would he agree to sign?
And why on her version?
An odd shiver ran through her back.
Was this the same Damien? The one she linked with from Portland? Was he in any way connected to Edward?
She gazed at the name once more—Damien Lancaster—and suddenly her thoughts ran through the events at Portland .The manner in which Edward frequently rejected the notion of family. The contempt in his tone when referring to "negligent bloodlines." The lack of pictures in the mansion.
Might Damien be…
Scarlett took her phone and searched the internet as she entered the name “Damien Lancaster.”
No results found.
She made another attempt, incorporating keywords: “Lancaster family,” “Edward Lancaster kin,” “Damien Lancaster Portland.”
Still nothing definite. The vast of Lancaster connections traced back to Edward's enterprise.
Next, she tried an image search.
A blurry thumbnail caught her attention—captured at a gala. Edward stood at the center, holding up his glass, and right next to him… a younger man. Taller, stronger, dark hair. His face was angled slightly away from the camera, yet her heart pounded strongly.
It appeared to resemble him.
Scarlett tapped, but the website was restricted by a paywall.
"Damn it."
She searched through her drawer, discovered an old flash drive that Seraphina had given her, and inserted it into her laptop. She duplicated the marriage contract and the event photo, just in case Edward ever discovered it.
Then her phone vibrated.
Unknown Caller: “Stop your search, Scarlett. "Certain secrets are best kept hidden."
Her veins ran icy.
She stepped back from the display.
Who was observing her? How were they aware?
She snatched the flash drive and hid it in her bra, her heart racing like a drum.
Then there was a knock at her door.
“Scarlett?” Edward’s vocal tone. Serene. Gentle.
She gulped nervously. "Is that so?"
"I'd like to invite you to dinner tomorrow." In a secluded place. "No excuse."
She took a moment to think. “Okay.”
"Put on something red."
She held off until his footsteps faded away before falling onto the bed. Her mind whirled.
Someone was aware.
Someone was observing.
And if Damien had ties to Edward, then perhaps, just perhaps, he wasn't merely a stranger from Portland.
Perhaps she had always been a pawn.
Scarlett turned over, drawing the blankets around her, her thoughts racing quicker than her pulse.
She wasn’t able to remain here any longer.
The mansion was encroaching upon her.
And she had to locate Damien—before Edward discovered the true reason for her search.
She rose and rechecked her window, ensuring it remained secured. Every squeak in the house now seemed like someone walking. Each shadow seemed like watchful eyes.
That night, she wore her clothes to sleep, keeping her hand on the flash drive concealed beneath her pillow.
By the morning, she had come to her decision. She would discover a method to flee from Edward's dinner. She had to track down the image—discover who posted it.
As she drank her tea in the kitchen, she caught two maids softly talking in the hallway.
“Did you catch the news?” one murmured. “Rumors of a scandal are circulating... the Montgomery heir could be returning to town.”
Scarlett quickly turned her head.
“He was meant to have vanished.” "Long ago."
"Perhaps he has finally returned to reclaim what belongs to him."
Scarlett's grip on the cup grew firmer.
She dashed up the stairs, retrieved the picture once more. Expanded it. On this occasion, she observed another detail—Damien had on the very cufflinks Edward had previously claimed were "a family heirloom."
Her heart sank.
Damien was more than a one-night-thoughts
He was the son of Edward.
Her husband.
Scarlett's secured email notified her once more.
An anonymous message has surfaced. This time, it was an image.
A photo of her and Damien… captured during their evening in Portland.
Underneath, there was a sentence: “He recalls it all. And he’s nearer than you realize.”
- Writer
