Page 18 of Cursed By Gold

"It's been years since the old estate was passed down to me, and I'm still without an heir," he sighs heavily, running a hand through his already thinning hair. He pauses momentarily before continuing, "All these years of searching for the right partner, yet none were suitable."

My stepsisters watch eagerly, barely containing their excitement at the thought of what such a marriage could mean for them. Stepmother nods with each of his words, her face displaying only feigned interest as she listens intently to what he says next.

"Society these days cares more for flights of fancy than facts," Stepmother adds.

My stomach churns as the conversation veers into unsettling territory. The thought of being engaged to a rickety old manlike Duke Geralsh ties my insides into knots. Each word from Stepmother and the Duke feels like a nail in the coffin of my freedom. I desperately search for an escape, my mind cataloging every possible excuse, every potential ally, every fleeting opportunity to slip away unnoticed. Anything to avoid this fate.

"Yes, I wholeheartedly agree. Money is what runs the world. It should not be this difficult to find a prime young lady who can bear me an heir... no, several heirs, to continue on my family name." Duke Geralsh grasps at his waistcoat with shaking hands, his gaze too direct for my taste.

Did he just say prime? I almost gag.

Stepmother gestures for me to serve them tea. I move clumsily across the room trying not to spill any on the expensive rugs beneath my feet.

Once everyone is served, they continue discussing business while I sit silently in the corner, my breath shallow and my eyes wide. They talk of business, money, and politics, but mostly of marriage. My heart pounds as I watch them discuss my fate with such ease and detachment, like I'm nothing more than a pawn in their grand scheme.

I want to speak up, to protest against being sold off like a piece of property, but I know better than to do so. Stepmother isn't one for arguing with her decisions, and my name has yet to be specifically brought up. Her sharp eyes have caught every mistake I've made thus far, and I am sure she will find more if I try to challenge her.

I glance around the room, my eyes flicking from Stepmother's calculating gaze to Duke Geralsh's trembling hands. The thought of being tied to this man for the rest of my life makes my skin crawl. Yet, I know that voicing my objections now would only make things worse. Stepmother would see to that. So I bite my tongue, forcing myself to remain silent, even as my mind races with plans and possibilities.

Even though I know better than to speak up against her wishes, hope begins to swell within me at the thought that there may be another option besides marrying Duke Geralsh. Perhaps there is someone else who could take me away from all this wretchedness and give me a chance for something more...

My mind wanders to a pair of soft forbidden lips. Ones that, if ever encountered again, would be more likely to announce my death than offer the tenderness I desire. I don't notice as my elbow slips off the chair's arm. My head drops suddenly, and I snort as my attention returns to the group.

"It appears I have overstayed my welcome," Duke Geralsh declares as he rises. A look of disgust is evident on his face.

"No, not at all!" Stepmother replies. She shoots me a glare as she continues, "I must thank you for visiting us today."

"I am most grateful for your hospitality and the wonderful meal," the Duke responds, bowing slightly and offering a quick smile.

Stepmother nods in acknowledgment, then gestures towards Petunia and says, "Allow me to escort you out."

The two walk together to the parlor door with Petunia trailing behind them, carrying the Duke's cape over her arm like a badge of honor.

Stepmother glances in my direction, her eyes still glinting with underhandedness. She bows gracefully as he makes his way to the door before turning towards me and mouthing "behave."

The room is full of palpable tension once he leaves. Starla is snickering in delight, undoubtedly at the thought of the punishments coming my way for my careless mistake.

I look around the room, and it feels as if time has frozen at that moment. All my hopes and dreams seem so far away now, lost in the shadows of what I know is expected of me. Tears well in my eyes, but I refuse to let them fall, determined not to break downin front of these people who see me as nothing more than a slave or a commodity for sale.

The silence in the room is deafening as Stepmother returns to face me. Her expression is stern, her eyes like daggers piercing through my very soul. I try not to cower away, but keeping myself from shaking with fear is hard.

"What were you thinking?" she demands. "This was a perfect opportunity for us, and you blew it!"

I don't know what to say, so I stand there in shock as she continues her tirade. She shakes her head before turning towards Petunia and gesturing towards the door.

"We will discuss your punishment later. For now, you are to leave this house and return when I am ready for you. Do not leave the property. Do you understand?"

Unable to speak without triggering the tears of frustration welling up in my eyes I only offer a small nod.

My stepsisters snicker as they watch me scurry out of the parlor and into the courtyard beyond. Tears stream down my face as I run, desperate to escape the judgmental glares of those I am forced to call family.

I hobble through the flower garden, my feet pounding against the cobblestones beneath me. The chill of the early evening air bites at my skin, but it does nothing to cool the frustration burning inside me. Tears stream down my face, mingled with the anger and helplessness of being treated like a pawn in Stepmother's schemes. She wants to sell me off to the highest bidder, and I need to find some peace, some refuge from this madness.

As I move through the garden, I force myself to remember the happy moments I shared with my father in this very spot. But instead of warmth, the memories bring a bittersweet ache. The way his eyes would twinkle when he told me stories, his gentle voice as he taught me about plants and wildlife—those momentsseem so distant now, overshadowed by the reality of my current situation.

Though it has been years since he passed, thoughts of him linger like a comforting embrace. The way his eyes would twinkle when he told me stories, his gentle voice as he taught me about plants and wildlife. Most of all, I remember how he jokingly named me Scarlet because when I was born, I was bright red like a beet. My mother thought it was a beautiful name and agreed before passing away that night from an infection

As much as I want to stay in this place filled with happy memories, my worry for the future weighs heavy on my mind. With a sigh, I continue walking towards the back of our property, towards an area that holds some of my fondest childhood moments—watching clouds and finding shapes in them as Father pointed out different animals or places in the sky. Picnics of strawberry jam and butter sandwiches and cheese. Before everything changed when he didn't return from a business trip.

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