My Little Bride

Chapter 7: The Shadow Of Past

The morning sun streamed through the sheer, ivory silk curtains of the master suite, painting warm bands of gold across the room. Vivienne slowly opened her eyes, letting out a soft, deep breath. She blinked, staring up at the massive coffered ceiling. For the first time in her entire life, her body didn't ache. Her mind felt completely light, and a profound, unfamiliar sense of relaxation washed over her. It felt like she had truly slept for the first time in twenty years—no screaming, no fear, and no suffocating dread.

She shifted slightly against the impossibly soft, high-thread-count sheets, realizing she was still swathed in the heavy, expensive black tuxedo jacket from the night before. The rich scent of cedarwood and faint cigar smoke still lingered on the fabric, wrapped around her like a protective shield.

Smiling faintly, she turned her head toward the sleek, minimalist bedside table to find her bearings. Her gaze landed on a premium digital clock.

10:00 AM.

Vivienne’s heart stopped. The faint smile instantly vanished from her lips, replaced by a sudden, violent wave of pure panic.

Ten? Ten in the morning?!

In a fraction of a second, the luxury master suite dissolved from her vision, and her mind dragged her violently backward into a freezing winter's morning in her seventeenth year. She could clearly see her father’s raging, bloodshot eyes as he slammed her bedroom door open because she had slept past 6:00 AM due to a high fever. She remembered the terrifying grip of his fingers wrapping into her dark hair, dragging her violently out of bed onto the cold concrete floor before she could even rub the sleep from her eyes.

“You useless, lazy parasite!” her father had roared, his heavy leather belt whistling through the air before striking her back with an agonizing, sharp crack. “The bakery stoves have been cold for an hour because of you! You sleep like a high-society princess while I am drowning in debt! Get up and scrub the floors before I break your legs!”

The burning phantom pain of that leather belt felt so incredibly real that Vivienne gasped for air, the survival instincts wired into her brain completely short-circuiting. She didn't register that she was inside a billionaire's heavily guarded fortress. She only registered one terrifying reality: I am late. He is coming. I am going to get punished.

"No, no, please, no," Vivienne whispered frantically, her voice trembling.

In her abusive father's house, sleeping past 6:00 AM meant being dragged out of bed by her hair, followed by hours of relentless screaming and heavy kitchen chores. Survival meant being alert, waking up before the sun, and walking on eggshells. Her brain, still wired for survival, didn't register that she was inside a billionaire's heavily guarded fortress. She only registered one terrifying thought: I am late. I am going to get punished.

"Oh my god, no, no, no," Vivienne gasped under her breath.

Forgetting every single thing that had happened the previous night. Driven by pure, unadulterated terror, she threw the heavy silk duvet off her lap and swung her legs over the edge of the mattress. Her mind racing too fast to think, she attempted to spring directly to her feet to rush out of the room and find a kitchen to clean before the shouting could begin.

The moment her left foot slammed against the floorboards, a white-hot, agonizing flash of pain shot straight up her leg.

"Ahhh!"

Vivienne let out a sharp, painful scream as her severely sprained ankle gave out instantly under her body weight. She lost her balance completely, tumbling sideways off the elevated king-size bed and crashing heavily onto the thick, plush area rug below. She curled into a ball on the floor, clutching her bandaged ankle as tears of absolute agony and sudden shock instantly flooded her deep blue eyes.

Bam!

The heavy double doors of the master suite burst open within a fraction of a second.

Aunt May, the head maid, rushed into the room, her face completely pale with concern. She had been standing guard in the hallway with a tray of fresh clothes, waiting for the new mistress to wake up. Hearing the crash and the loud cry, she had dropped everything.

"Oh! Madam! Are you okay?" Aunt May cried out anxiously, immediately dropping to her knees on the rug beside Vivienne, her hands hovering over her trembling shoulders.

Vivienne sat on the floor, her breathing shallow and ragged as she pressed her forehead against her knees. She was shaking—partly from the throbbing pain in her crepe-bandaged ankle, and partly from the fear of being hit.

"Don't hit me... please, don't hit me..."

The words spilled from Vivienne’s lips in a frantic, broken whisper. She repeated them like a terrifying chant, her voice trembling as she huddled on the floor.

Aunt May froze, completely confused by her erratic behaviour. The sheer terror radiating from the young girl didn't make any sense in the quiet luxury of the master suite. Compassion taking over, the head maid stepped closer, reaching out a gentle hand to help her out to gently grasp her shoulders to lift her off the floor and get up off the rug .

But the moment those hands brushed her, Vivienne shrank even deeper against the wood paneling of the bed frame, frantically clutching her head between her hands, her deep blue eyes squeezed tightly shut as if bracing for a physical blow.

"Don't hit me!" she cried out louder, frantically clutching her head between her hands, her deep blue eyes squeezed tightly shut as if bracing for a physical blow.

"Shh... child, look at me. Come here, no one is going to hurt you," Aunt May pleaded, her voice dropping into a soft, maternal hush.

But Vivienne was completely trapped inside the dark headspace of her past trauma. She couldn't see the gold-leafed ceilings or the pristine minimalist luxury surrounding her; she only saw her father's raging face. Driven by sheer panic, she forced herself up, ignoring the agonizing fire in her foot, and ran. Limping violently on her sprained ankle, she dragged herself across the room, desperate to find a corner to hide.

"Madam, stop! You are hurt, don't run!" Aunt May shouted, chasing after her. But Vivienne was completely unreachable, her breathing ragged as she collapsed into the furthest corner of the master dressing room, trapped in a panic attack.

Realizing she couldn't calm the girl down without escalating her terror, Aunt May backed away out of the room, pulled out her phone with trembling fingers, and dialed the one man who could command this house.

Vivienne's whole body was trembling with fear. "He's going to hit me." She repeated again and again.