CHAPTER TWO : ANOTHER PRISON
1105 Words
The sun had barely risen when Tessa burst into my room without knocking.
“Run.”
Tessa grabbed both my hands before I could finish folding the last dress into my worn-out bag. Her eyes searched mine desperately.
“Please, Naya. We can leave right now, before he gets here.
I smiled.
“And, go where?”
“I don’t know, anywhere but here.”
A bitter laugh escaped my lips. “You know they will find me.”
“Then let them find you.” She shot back.
“Anything is better than marrying a man you’ve never loved.”
“You are only twenty-four, Naya.”
“Your life shouldn’t end before it even begins.
You deserve someone who smiles when he sees you, not someone who bought you, with a bag of coins.”
I lowered my eyes to the tiny bag resting on my bed. Everything I owned fit inside it. Three faded dresses, my sewing kit, and the old scarf my father had once wrapped around my shoulders whenever the nights grew cold.
“This isn’t fair,” Tessa whispered. “You shouldn’t have to give up your life for people who wouldn’t do the same for you.”
“It’s too late.
My mother has already accepted the bride price.”
“So? Give the money back.”
I shook my head, “You know she will never.”
Tessa sighed and folded another dress into my bag with more force than necessary.
“I don’t understand you, Naya.”
“You’ve spent years working yourself to exhaustion. “Why is it always you?”
“Celine has never worked a single day in her life.”
“You’ve been feeding your family ever since your father passed. You gave your mother every paycheck you earned. Now she’s giving you away to a man you barely even know.”
I swallowed the lump in my throat.
Neither of us spoke.
Then a knock echoed through the house.
Neither of us moved. Another knock came, louder this time.
Tessa slowly let go of my hand.
“He’s here,” she whispered. I nodded. For a brief second, I wished my legs would refuse to move. Instead, I picked up my bag.
“It’s time,” Brant said when I stepped into the living room. My mother beamed.
“There she is.” Brant reached for my bag before I could protest.
“I will carry that.” I thanked him quietly, he only nodded. No one hugged me.
No one wished me happiness.
No one asked if I wanted this. My mother reminded me to behave. Celine told me to take care of myself.
Tessa couldn’t bring herself to say anything. She looked at me with tears in her eyes and gave me the smallest shake of her head, silently begging me not to go. I wanted to run back into her arms.
Instead, I climbed into the carriage.
And watched the only home I had ever known disappear behind me.
The journey passed in silence.
Only the steady rhythm of the horses’ hooves broke it.
I stole a glance at Brant, but he kept his eyes fixed ahead, his expression unreadable.
I wanted to ask him if the stories were true, but every question died before it reached my lips.
Instead, the rumors replayed in my mind.
People said he was cold, they said he had a temper, I squeezed Father’s scarf a little tighter.
Maybe people exaggerated.
After all, he had carried my bag without being asked.
Perhaps this marriage wouldn’t be as frightening as I had imagined.
“We are here.” Brant pushed the front door open and stepped inside without waiting for me. I followed, my small bag clutched tightly against my chest.
The house was larger than ours, quiet, almost empty. My eyes drifted over polished floors, spotless furniture, and walls untouched by cracks. For one foolish moment, I wondered if perhaps Tessa had been wrong. Maybe they were just rumors after all.
Brant set his keys on the table.
“Your room is upstairs. The second door on the left.” I nodded and hurried upstairs. The room was simple but clean. I placed my bag beside the bed and sat on the edge of the bed for a moment, running my fingers over the neatly folded blanket.
The room wasn’t grand, but it was clean, there were no cracked walls, no leaking roofs, no shouting.
For the first time in years, I found myself wondering what it would feel like to live in a place where I wasn’t constantly reminded that I was a burden.
Maybe this marriage could become a new beginning.
Maybe… just maybe…Brant wasn’t the monster everyone believed him to be.
I closed my eyes and allowed myself one small breath of hope before making my way downstairs.
He hadn’t moved.
Without looking at me, he said, “Make dinner.”
The words caught me off guard.
He finally raised his eyes.
“I…I only just got here.”
“ And?” Not an ounce of patience entered his voice.
His expression didn’t change.
“I don’t know the way to the kitchen”
For a moment none of us spoke. Then he walked toward me, each step slow and measured until only an arm’s length could separate us.
“Listen carefully, Naya.”
His voice was calm, too calm.
“You are my wife now.”
“That means you will do as you are told.”
“I don’t like disobedience.”
I lowered my eyes.
“ When I ask you to do something, I expect it done. I don’t repeat myself.
And I don’t tolerate excuses.”
“I wasn’t making excuses,” I whispered.
“Good,” Brant replied.
“Because excuses won’t get you very far in this house.”
I looked up, confused. He finally stepped aside.
“You will find the kitchen on your right”
And without another glance, he walked away as though the conversation never happened.
I stood alone in the hallway for several seconds before forcing my feet toward the kitchen.
I opened one cupboard, then another, trying to figure out where everything belonged.
By the time I found the rice and vegetables, my hands were already shaking.
cooking wasn’t what frightened me. Getting it wrong was.
Less than an hour ago, I had left my mother’s house believing marriage might finally give me a chance to breathe.
Instead.
I had simply walked from one prison into another.
And this time the prison had a name.
Brant Mercer.
- Writer
