A/N: Hey! I hope you're enjoying the story so far! I will try and make the chapters longer since the updates are spaced apart by a week. If you have any advice or things you like/dislike, feel free to leave a comment. And only if you really liked the chapter, drop a vote. Have a great day.

"MRS AXEL?" HE asked. I felt the flame of bitterness and pain flare. It was obvious I had been crying, even with my veil donned. But, I still sat up as gracefully as I could manage and adjusted my veil. Then I placed my gaze on him.

"Mr. Whitfield?" I returned spitefully. Matthew gave me a strange once-over. I could detect pity in his eyes, and that made me nearly want to scream. Or cry. "Is there is a reason you decided to grace me with your presence?" I added. His eyes gave a dangerous glimmer.

"I would like to speak with you downstairs in my workspace," he replied. Before I could say anything more, Matthew left briskly. Gathering myself, I followed him down the corridors and stairs, leading to his private areas in which he conducted business. Once we were truly alone, Matthew offered me a chair. I didn't sit. "Very well then," he said. Searching my face for a moment before continuing he spoke, "I have written to your family." I felt every fiber of my being tense.

"Regarding what?" I asked.

"The dissolve of our marriage," he answered. Whatever I felt eating away at me, I didn't let it show. From the moment he left our bed chambers on our wedding night, I knew our marriage would be nothing more than ink on a document. And I knew that someday, when respectable enough, he would find a way to wash his hands of me. So it shouldn't hurt. Instead, I laughed. "Is it really so funny?" he remarked.

"Only terribly amusing, Mr. Whitfield. If you think my relatives will agree to dissolve our marriage, to a divorce, you have a wonderful sense of humor," I stated.

"I see nothing amusing in wanting the woman I love to be more than a mistress at my side. For my future child to not be titled a bastard for the rest of their days," Matthew snapped. There was some cold bite in his voice. I straightened my back.

"My father, with his dying breath, wished for me to be wed. He had it put in his will, his final testament, that I was to be married to you. And for whatever rationale or basis, you agreed to the terms. To dissolve this marriage would dishonor my father's wishes, and therefore, insult my family," I mentioned. Matthew clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth.

"I must infer you know very little about your relatives," he presumed, rising.

"I know my relatives fairly well, thank you," I asserted. He shook his head.

"No, you don't. Your kin wrote back telling me that they would only be at peace with the decision if they could meet Victoria. They are arriving late tomorrow evening," Matthew reputed. A condescending leer fell poised on his lips. It didn't make any sense. I had two aunts and three uncles I could directly call kin. That was all. They were all each as fantastically cruel, quick-tempered, and haughty as my father. Though the Axel name was nowhere near as formidable and wealthy as Whitfield, they weren't the type to stoop to anyone's power.

Perhaps their plan was to leave me without refuge or source of income, forced to reside with them in their homes. Transform me back into the fearing crying girl of my childhood, and abuse me into a shell resembling nothing human. They had once crushed my spirit before, driving me almost to the edge of insanity. I'm sure it would appease their sadistic pleasures to do it once more.

"It's in the letter if you don't believe my words," he added, producing a folded sheet of paper from his desk. Then Matthew took a few steps toward me. The same thing he had managed to do in the garden, in such near proximity that I wilted internally. "They spoke of your mother. A destitute boorish woman. They apologize for your bad manners on account of her," he reported. My whole body quaked with rage. He could say whatever he wanted about me, but not my mother. The woman who had selflessly and lovingly raised me, only to be killed when I was not even nine years.

"Don't you ever open your mouth and mention my mother again," I ordered, my words laced with sheer anger.

"I suppose they must be right," he taunted. I was having none of that. Matthew stood at an impressive height, and I was not very tall. Nevertheless, I reached up and slapped him clean across his face. The sound resonated in the room. His jaw was slack, eyes unblinking, as if he couldn't process what had just occurred.

So, taking advantage of the moment, I did it again. Another slap, this time across his other cheek. I didn't wait for any fury to be unleashed on his part. Instead, I exited his workspace as quickly as my feet could carry me.

🥀

I'd made a terrible error in judgment. Slapping him was unwise. He would be very quick to inform my relatives, who would cluck their tongues. as if they hadn't done worse. It wasn't my kin's approval that troubled my heart, but it was the fact that I had hurt someone. After the murder of my mother, my childhood was thick with heavy physical abuse and emotional turmoil. Most of everything came from my father, but a percentage could be fairly distributed among my aunts and uncles.

My tenth birthday would forever be etched into my brain. Not due to any happiness, as you could probably infer. It would mark the day my father had thrown hot oil in my face, in one of his drunken fits. From that day forth, I vowed something to myself. I would never, ever lay a hand on anyone. Today I did. The fact that Matthew had driven me to a point that it was possible for me to break that kind of vow to myself, scared me. It scared me to bits. I inhaled a breath as I sorted through my thoughts.

Every day I looked upon my burns in a reflecting glass, and each day I continued to pity myself. I continued to hate my body, to border a strong dislike for my husband. To hate my father.

Even beyond the grave, he had subjected me to a life of misery. I had a woman who was intent on killing me, while pregnant with my husband's child. My husband bore not an ounce of care for my general well-being, let alone love me. My relatives were coming just to-morrow, bringing back a world of torment I thought I had buried away. And last, but certainly not least, I had lost the only person that had cared for me. Elisabeth. And all I continued to do, as time progressed, was feel sorry for myself.

I sat up. I was tired of regarding myself as unworthy of affection, pitying myself due to my situation. Then I came to a decision. No longer would I stew unhappily in the Whitfield Mansion. When the decision came to dissolve the marriage, which I knew it would, I would flee. It would likely be before the birth of the baby, so the murder plans would dissolve as well. I would sell all of my valuable belongings, jewels, dresses, my wedding rings. I would not be seeking refuge in any place of my relatives. I would use the money to buy somewhere humble in the countryside of the kingdom, perfectly remote and undisturbed.

And a child. My heart swelled with the idea of adopting one. Showering my baby with unconditional love and care. My mood soared at the prospect. I wouldn't wear my veil once I escaped. I would raise my children to love, no matter how anyone looked. The people who resided on the outskirts of the kingdom had a much simpler value system than the higher class. Perhaps there I could really make true companions, for life.

Yes. My grand design in life did not include staying in this cursed flow of thinking forever. I smiled. Matthew thought our divorce marked his final chapter with me. And it did. But really, it was my ultimate escape.

🥀

When I awoke, after breaking my fast and bathing, I first went to the gardens. There, strolling among my sunflowers, was Victoria and Matthew. She was smiling, but it wasn't quite reaching her eyes. Considering the type of woman she was, I doubted it ever did. Matthew's smile, however, was completely genuine. It lip up his eyes, revealed his dimples. After taking a moment to observe the peace, I went to approach them.

"Good morning," I greeted. I kept my tone friendly, I was in much better spirits anyway. By the end of my relatives visit, I would finally be free. Which shouldn't be more than a couple weeks. Victoria scowled while Matthew's face became a perfect expression of masked emotion. Seeing that remaining civil would get me nowhere, I skipped formalities.

"Matthew, I inquired, may I speak with you in private?" There was a brief silence.

"No, Victoria spoke for him, you may not." She then turned to Matthew.

"You will not speak to this woman, this harlot. Not while I carry your child at the very least," Victoria whispered to Matthew. As if I was invisible. I paid no mind, in fact, I nearly laughed. Since the insult she decided to toss my way belonged to her and certainly not me. Harlot? I'd never been touched by a man. Matthew's jaw tightened.

"I will not be commanded by the likes of anyone. Especially you. Now, Victoria, you will leave Mrs. Axel and me alone. Until I deem it appropriate for you to return, you will be at the house," Matthew directed. Victoria huffed and simply inclined her head before making her departure. Matthew then turned to me. "What is it?" he asked impatiently.

"It is concerning the...events of the prior evening. I wanted to apologize for slapping you. It was unnecessary, uncalled for, I paused, certainly boorish. And most certainly cruel. I am wholeheartedly sorry Mr. Whitfield." There was pause. It wasn't awkward or filled with tension. A breeze softly sang passing my ear. It was almost pleasant.

"I accept your apology," he said. Matthew made a pause of his own. "It wasn't cruel," he said.

"It most certainly was. I meant it out of anger. Any form of harsh physical action due to anger is cruel," I stated. Matthew laughed. It wasn't sarcastic or humorless.

"My mother gave me a good slap now and again. I would hardly call it cruel," he chuckled. I chewed on my lip.

"There is a fine line between discipline and the plain hurt of others. And I, my voice wavered, ...crossed it." Matthew's eyes connected with mine, softer than ever.

"I accept you apology," he drawled. His voice took on a new flavor, an accent. I nodded.

"I will see you this evening Mr. Whitfield," I told him before taking my leave.

🥀

My relatives had always made a point of calling me hideous in my years as a child. After the death of my mother, of course. When I was small, she guarded me carefully against my the despising hearts of my father's family. They hated her because their brother had married someone of low class. She represented a dip in hierarchy. Anyway, it was before the burns. I have totally forgotten what I looked like before my facial features changed drastically. They had allowed me to grow up with the mentality that I was ugly, worthless. Even before it had become an underlying truth, and my weight had increased as a coping mechanism.

If there was anything I truly hated them for, it was that. I sat on my bed and penned a poem, as the hours ticked by before their arrival.

Do you hear their song?

The melody the branches make

As they swing?

The chorus of the birds

As they chirp?

The bridge as

The flowers bloom?

Winter might creep

And silence them

But spring shall

Come again.

And they

Shall sing.

I frowned at the words. It took two hours to finally think of how to put my thoughts to paper. Only, it hardly appealed the way I wanted it to. I set down my quill in the ink and paper aside. Hopefully a glass of water could help me collect my thoughts. I descended down the staircase. Just at that moment, the butler opened the door. Without even a thank you, a succession of five people entered.

Agnes Axel, the wife of William Axel. A wrinkled twig of a woman, with eyes like chips of ice. Her dress hung on her like the unfashionable curtain it very much was. Her skeletal hands and long fingernails formed claws and her hair was thin gray film on her head. Agnes' gaunt cheeks and pursed lips formed an extraordinary permanent pout. She had loved to claim that her methods would help me gain a suitable man, despite my mother's status.

Sarah Axel, wife of Andrew Axel. She fared in looks much better than Agnes. Skin and lips that could still be made beautiful by cosmetics. Slim, with a soft voice that could coerce anyone into anything. But behind her seemingly timid exterior, was a nature that could bend anyone's will by pure intimidation. A soft voice that could turn hiss replicating one of a serpent's.

Then her husband. Andrew. I had to admit, he was not as terrible as the rest of them. He didn't go out of his way to maltreat me. But he watched, and to tolerate what they they had done.... It almost made him worse.

William Axel was the brute of the brunch. He had been very quick to insult my mother before and after her demise. Slaps, punches, in rare cases timely beatings. He did his actions in the name of discipline, without a word before or after. I think that was how he justified his actions.

Lastly, was my unmarried uncle. Hector. The eldest of the Axel clan. Lanky and muscled with hawk-like features, he rose like a tree over every one else. He was very plain in his intentions. They were only to exact pain for pleasure. It wasn't for discipline, or misguided drunkenness, or a shut mouth, intimidation, or the intention of giving me off to a suitor. He liked, nay loved, to hurt me. He had fed on my fear like a lapdog, and wasn't afraid to let me know.

I took a long look at the people responsible for my past hellish years. Studying the wrinkles on their faces, how they changed, how they'd aged. Remembering each set of beady eyes, each frown and snarl. I would beat them all at their game, I would triumph. I would remember all their words, their faces, their actions and laugh once I had made my escape.

"Welcome, I said throwing up my arms theatrically, to my home."