The night had come more quickly than Laura wished. For days she had fought, argued, and reasoned her way out of the family dinner that had been planned without her consent. Yet all her efforts had fallen flat. She had sent mail after mail to her father, each one carefully worded to state her reasons for not attending. But Dr Jude had read them all with that same cold understanding, the kind that knew her mind but cared nothing for her feelings. To him, her resistance was nothing more than a childish trick.
"Refrain from such games and avail yourself," he had replied in one short message. That was enough to silence her efforts.
When Rachael heard of Laura's refusal, she became restless. In her worry she had even dared to command the family's private security to fetch her daughter by force. But Jude stopped her, his voice sharp with confidence. "She knows what I can do," he said, his words ringing with unshaken authority. Rachael obeyed, though her anxious gaze never strayed far from her daughter in the days that followed.
The hours before the dinner were heavy with dread for Laura. She paced her apartment, trying to summon the courage to face what awaited her. The thought of sitting at the same table as Charles, of smiling as though she belonged to him, filled her with a kind of grief that tightened her chest. It was not fear of Charles as a man, but rather what he represented: the chains of a marriage she had never chosen.
She had reached for her phone and called Bridgette, her closest friend, hoping that at least she would not have to face the evening alone. "Please come with me," Laura pleaded over the line. "I need someone at my side tonight. You know how my father is. I cannot do this on my own."
Bridgette's voice was soft but firm. "Laura, you know how dangerous it is for me to interfere with your father's plans. If he found me sitting at that table with you, he would see me as an intruder. I cannot, Laura. I am sorry."
Laura's heart sank. She understood Bridgette's refusal, yet disappointment still pressed heavily on her chest. She had counted on her, prayed for her support, and now she would have to walk into that hall with no ally but her own courage.
The mansion glittered that evening as if prepared for royalty. Chandeliers hung like frozen waterfalls of crystal, scattering light across polished marble floors. Every table in the dining hall was dressed in white linen, each one crowned with silver cutlery that gleamed under the soft glow of candles. The scent of roses filled the air, mixed with the aroma of delicacies being prepared by the chefs in the kitchen. It was a sight meant to impress, to remind the guests of the wealth and influence of Dr Jude.
Laura stepped through the wide doors, her figure framed in the golden light. She wore a simple gown of midnight blue, elegant yet unpretentious, a quiet defiance against the extravagant world around her. The moment she entered, conversations dimmed and eyes turned. To them she was not just Jude's daughter. She was the prize, the jewel, the woman whose marriage would seal alliances and strengthen empires.
She walked with grace, her chin held high though her stomach twisted with unease. She took her place at the long table, positioned at the center as if she were the evening's crown jewel. On her left sat her mother, her face a mask of elegance and quiet satisfaction. On her right, the seat remained empty, waiting for Charles.
Charles arrived moments later, his steps confident and his smile wide. He was dressed in a finely tailored suit, his cufflinks sparkling under the lights. Behind him came a small group of his wealthy friends, men whose laughter echoed with the arrogance of privilege. He moved toward the table with ease, his eyes locking on Laura with a hunger that he did not bother to conceal.
Laura felt his gaze sweep over her like a hand she had not invited. He studied the curve of her shoulders, the shape of her lips, the glow of her skin. His admiration was clear, but to her it felt suffocating. She forced her face into a mask of indifference, pretending not to notice, determined to deny him the satisfaction of her discomfort.
The guests settled into their seats. Laughter and chatter rose like music, but beneath it all Laura heard only the pounding of her heart. She smiled when required, nodded politely to the friends of her parents, and responded with rehearsed grace when addressed. But inside she was withering.
Dr Jude sat at the head of the table, his presence commanding, his words shaping the rhythm of the evening. He spoke of success, of alliances, of the bright future that awaited his daughter and Charles. Each word was a stone laid on Laura's chest, each toast a reminder of the prison being built around her.
Rachael leaned toward her daughter, her smile never faltering. "See how well this suits you," she whispered. "Look at the respect in their eyes. You belong here, Laura."
Laura's lips curved into a smile, but her eyes were distant. "I do not belong to anyone," she whispered back, so low her mother could barely hear.
Charles raised his glass, his voice booming with enthusiasm. "To Laura, the most beautiful woman in this room, and to the future we will build together."
The hall erupted with applause and laughter. Glasses clinked, guests cheered, and all eyes turned once more to Laura. She lifted her glass slowly, her movements calm and practiced. She raised it just enough to acknowledge the toast but did not drink. Instead, she pressed her lips together, forcing the bitterness down her throat.
Charles leaned closer, his voice low, almost intimate. "You look breathtaking tonight, Laura. I cannot wait for the day you are mine."
Laura turned her gaze to him, her eyes sharp, her smile frozen. "I do not belong to you, Charles," she said softly, so only he could hear.
For the first time that night, his smile faltered.
The dinner dragged on, each course served with precision, each dish a masterpiece. To the guests, it was an evening of elegance and promise. To Laura, it was a cage, gilded and inescapable. She played her part well, laughing when required, answering when spoken to, hiding the storm that raged inside her.
When the final toast was made and the guests began to rise, Laura excused herself quietly. She walked out of the hall, her steps steady, her head held high. But the moment the doors closed behind her, she allowed herself a deep breath, her chest trembling with the effort to contain her fury.
She knew now more than ever that she could not let her parents win. If she surrendered, she would lose not only her career and her independence but her very self. She needed a plan, a way to escape the walls closing in around her.
What she did not yet know was that fate had already begun to weave its threads, and soon she would stumble upon Felix Jimmy, the one man who understood her struggle because he too lived in the same cage.