"I CARE ABOUT you Rose. For what it's worth, for everything I've put you through, I care about you," he finished helplessly. I gave a mock appreciative sigh.

"Ah, yes, a husband who cares for his wife. I must be the luckiest woman in the world," I remarked. Sarcastically, of course. He looked me over, with due lack of words. He opened his mouth, then closed it. There was nothing Matthew could possibly say. We both understood that at least.

"Goodnight. I do hope that you have...have a good night," he fumbled. Then he left. I felt anger wash over me. Rather large in it's extremity. I sat, rather collapsed, by the rose bushes, thoroughly defeated.

Tears ran down my cheeks. Hopeless, full of anger and desolation. This went on for a full hour or so until I heard a voice inside me scream.

Oh for the love of God Rose, this isn't going to do anything! This isn't getting you anywhere!

I sniffed rather pathetically, as the thought dawned upon me. I was waiting out the divorce, that was the only thing keeping me here. However, this situation was slowly proving to be the most turbulent and emotionally draining time I had ever endured throughout my entire marriage. My sad, broken, pathetic marriage.

Was I, truly, going to let these four years I had withstood wed to Matthew Whitfield amount to nothing? Let nothing come of the most ridiculously insulting relationship I was sure couldn't be heard of in any other part of the kingdom.

For the first time, I felt an emotion that had never descend upon me take hold of my heart.

Revenge.

The plans of murder was unlikely to be carried out, as the divorce proceedings would occur before she ever came close to delivering that child of her's. On another hand, Victoria was capable of anything. Better she marry a widow than a divorced man. The dissolving of marriages still held scorn, at least in the upper class. Especially as she was playing a merry game with Hector. Between her legs. God knows why.

I would oust her. That demon-hearted bitch. I would reveal her truest colors before taking leave, with Matthew in absolute mortification. It was the ultimate revenge against every one of my horrible relatives too, as I would make sure to turn the news to a sweet scandal. How the kingdom loved gossip.

Indeed, the news would introduce a special shame onto the Axel name, Matthew, and their precious unborn child. Then, and it was only then, I would disappear into thin air. Maybe sell the jewels Matthew bestowed upon Victoria, along with my own, out of spite. I would disown the then-shunned Axel name, and start from a humble beginning in the country. Adopt a few children.

Be happy. Although segments of this plan had been formulated already, it was only now I saw a clean polished picture. Vengeance and happiness.

Perfection.

I brushed eagerly at my tears, and rose with a new air of confidence. I rushed to my chambers, my lips spread so widely I thought my face would crack. I would begin the sketch of my scheme.

Tonight.

🥀

I dined later than usual that morning. I knew that the ball began sharply at seven in the evening, and ended around midnight. It had already been arranged, I was sure, for our carriages to leave at five. The ride to Therese Castle was a good two hours away. And I hope Matthew knew, that there was no way I would share a carriage with my relatives.

I had usually rode alone while Matthew and Victoria rode together on occasions such as this. However, as the circumstances were a great deal more unique this time, I was not changing this usual factor of transportation. I would rather burn in the hottest hell before sharing two hours in any small space with those creatures.

At fifteen-to five, I dressed myself in my wedding gown. I took a long look at myself in the reflecting glass, as my thoughts took me back to that day.

It was a beautiful burgundy, flowing effortlessly from my waist. The straps hung lazily on my shoulders. As the neck of the gown opened, it parted widely and dipped low, exposing my breaths.

Why, it didn't look at all like a wedding dress.

"It looks like the something one would wear to a cocktail party," I muttered as Aunt Agnes tightened the strings.

"A girl like you should be thankful you're even getting married at all. To Matthew Whitfield no less. Who cares what your dress looks like? It's the only thing I've seen on you that doesn't make you look like a cow," Agnes snapped.

"I swear this one. Not grateful at all. Her father makes sure, till even after his death, his child is taken care of. And what does she do? Insist she's too young to marry!" Aunt Sarah exclaimed. She was sprawled lazily on the divan, watching her sister maliciously tighten the strings of my dress. She then suddenly stood up to walk to my side. Only to pull my hair. "What a selfish, selfish girl you are Rose. You are going to marry one of the wealthiest men in the kingdom, and all you do, she tugged mercilessly, is run your mouth."

"Stupid and selfish you mean. Complain about being too young to marry, at sixteen? I married when I was barely fifteen years," Aunt Agnes scoffed. I tried to block out their taunts, and gaze at myself in the reflecting glass, which only captured half of my figure. My breasts looked tight, my waist practically bulging through the silk. I didn't look pretty at all. Not for a second.

A tear slid down my cheek.

The memory melted as quickly as it came. The same body stared back at me, with no significant change. I encircled my arms around myself, and produced the smallest smile. If I was going to attain happiness, to raise children, I couldn't hate myself at the same time. Not my scars, or my figure. I had to love everything about myself before I could think of loving someone else. Of teaching someone to love others.

It had to start here. By accepting the woman that stared back at me through the reflecting glass. After one last glance, I exited my chambers.

When I arrived downstairs, at exactly five, all eyes were placed my way. Everyone recognized the dress. All but Victoria. She looked me up and down distastefully, but only proceeded to draw a retort once she saw Matthew's stare in my direction.

"Don't you know how to select things that compliment your figure? That dress does very little for you," she remarked. I brushed off her words as if she was a fly, simply tossing the fabric of my veil to the side. A silence followed.

"What exactly are we waiting for? Aren't our carriages drawn outside already?" I mentioned. No one bothered to respond. Hector's vile eyes were pre-occupied with the task of studying my body, while Sarah and Agnes ignored me. Probably due to our small 'argument' the previous day. A smile graced my lips. I would do it again if I could.

William was doing everything he could to avoid my eyes, probably because he was the one who gave me away at the altar in this awful thing. Meanwhile Andrew could only gaze, looking profusely shame-faced. The only way I could accurately describe his countenance, is to give a comparison to a victim of Medusa. Haunted and struck features, but drawn to look by some uncontrollable force of nature.

And Matthew. Well, his expression was the hardest to discern. However I detected something unique in his visage. Was it a trace of want? Maybe a thread of desire he, somehow, didn't know he was displaying? I shook off the thought. Matthew and I wouldn't end up together, in every sense of the word, it was impossible.

If I was going to be able to successfully leave this god-forsaken place, I would have to rid all these feelings I felt for Matthew. Fast.

Seeing that no one was going to make the move to tell me anything, I exited the house. Outside was the scene I was expecting to see, three of Whitfield's best carriages, drawn and ready for the journey ahead. I approached the one in lead of the carriages. The footman helped me in, but he commented nervously, "Are we waiting for the rest of them?" I gave him my sharpest glance.

"Who else would we be waiting for?" I asked dangerously. The footman swallowed.

"The rest of them, the carriages, are supposed to follow us," he replied quietly.

"Do they know the way?" I inquired.

"Well yes but-"

"Then they will be fine. Will they not?" I questioned. But it was no question, not at all. We both knew that. The footman managed a weak smile and nodded.

"Yes, they should-they will be fine." He closed the carriage. I waited in perfect patience as I heard him climb atop the horse, and with the crack of his whip, the horse started to trot.

We were off.

🥀

The trip extended for as long as I expected. After a brief drowsy moment, I thought about the first step of my plan. It wouldn't relatively hard to track the movements of my Uncle. After all, with the swarm and buzz of things like these, it would be difficult to say if someone was watching you. However, it was the perfect place to steal a moment, in a private place, or discuss personal agendas in areas of discretion.

I would make sure to track every movement at that ball. Suddenly, the carriage came to a halt. I peered out of the small window. Amidst the darkness, was an almost sparkling white building, glowing from within. I watched figures, darkened in the shadow of the night, ascend the steps. We had arrived.

🥀

When I exited the carriage, I saw no sign of the other carriages carrying the rest of the current Whitfield household. I turned to enter. I walked up the steps as elegantly as I possibly could. I was ushered with a wave of guests into the ballroom, only after our coats had been accounted for by the butler. In there, I felt as if I could hardly breathe.

It wasn't due to the magnificence of the space, obviously. I was accustomed to luxurious pleasantries. It was so, hot. Maybe it was due to the amount of people in the room, but that had never presented itself as a problem before. No, this was a special type of heat. I could already read it on the faces of people, carefully disguised discomfort. Something, I couldn't place it, but something was seriously wrong.

What I first saw in the ballroom was Elizabeth. And I had to admit, she looked stunning. Her dress was a soft pink, spreading out around her in a pool of silk. Her hair was curled into the kind of soft tresses that my own hair could only dream about. At the moment, her face was captured into a smile that made her look divine. It seemed Elizabeth had appropriately recovered from the tearful argument with her husband.

I couldn't help the stab of jealously that attacked me. But I felt it anyway.

"Mrs Whitfield. A word?" a voice at my side said. I turned. Frances DuBois had materialized at my side, a vicious air about him. The way he almost hissed at saying 'Whitfield', the stony glint in his eyes, his posture. My eyes narrowed instantly.

There wasn't any way Frances talking to me could be a good thing.

"Why?" I asked simply. His lips were in a tight smile.

"It is of grave importance," he replied. I studied him for a quick second. I couldn't see any way out of what he was asking.

"Very well," I said finally. I let him lead me into a quiet, secluded part of the castle. It was under the grand staircase, and in semi-darkness. Instantly, I was on edge. I was quite a bit heavier as well as unfit compared to Frances. If he tried anything...

I gulped. I curled my small, chubby hands into fists. If he tried anything, I would throw a weak punch and scream. There was a good amount of people in this Castle, hopefully someone would come to rescue me in time.

He looked down at me with insulting condescension. Then he parted his lips to speak. "Your husband's mistress is trying to kill you."

Oh I had a very good knowledge of this already. The real question was this:

Why was he telling me this?