The mansion was unusually silent that evening. Even the servants moved about on hushed feet, as if the walls themselves had absorbed the tension pressing down on the household. Lillian wandered the long corridor with a tray in her hands, the porcelain teapot rattling faintly against the cups. Her father had skipped dinner again, retreating into his study the moment he arrived home. She told herself he was just tired, but deep inside, she knew something was wrong.
Her hand paused at the door. A murmur drifted through the crack—two voices, sharp and low. She froze.
"William," Celeste hissed, her tone edged with impatience. "We can't afford to wait any longer. Every creditor in the city is breathing down our necks. What will you do when they drag the Rivers name through the mud? Sit here and wring your hands?"
Lillian's breath caught. She leaned closer before she could stop herself, pressing her ear gently to the polished wood.
Her father's voice answered, heavy and weary. "You don't understand, Celeste. This isn't just business—it's about Lillian. She's my daughter, not some pawn in a game."
The teapot trembled in her hands. Her knees felt weak. They're talking about me again.
Celeste scoffed, the sound sharp as glass. "And what has she brought to this household since her mother died? Nothing but expenses for schooling, nothing but a burden on our dwindling finances. She is of age, William. If her presence can save this family, then it is her duty."
Lillian's heart lurched. She bit down on her lip so hard it almost bled.
There was a pause, a stretch of silence where even the ticking of the grandfather clock outside seemed deafening. Finally, her father spoke again, his voice cracking with emotion. "She's all I have left of Anna. Do you think I can just hand her over like a coin purse? How can you ask me to do this?"
Celeste's reply came like poisoned honey—smooth, but cold. "Do you think creditors care about your grief? Do you think your tears will buy back your pride? If you don't act now, everything you've built will collapse. And your precious daughter will suffer more than you can imagine. A poor man's wife, living in squalor, struggling for scraps—do you want that future for her?"
Lillian's throat tightened, a sob rising unbidden. She clutched the tray closer, terrified the porcelain would shatter and betray her eavesdropping.
Celeste lowered her voice, silky with persuasion. "This man—the CEO—is offering you salvation. All he asked in return is her hand. This is not cruelty, William. This is a gift. For her. For us. For you."
The silence that followed cut deeper than words. Her father did not argue. He did not slam his fist down or raise his voice. He simply said nothing, and that silence was worse than agreement.
Lillian set the tray quietly on the floor, her fingers trembling, and fled before her knees gave way.
---
She sat curled on her bed that night, her mother's worn book pressed to her chest. The candlelight flickered, painting shifting shadows along the walls. Her thoughts spun like storm winds, suffocating and relentless.
They're really planning it. Celeste wants to sell me like property, and Father… Father is listening. He's not stopping her. Not this time.
She closed her eyes, remembering the promise her father once made, the night her mother passed away. "I'll protect you, Lily. No matter what happens, I'll protect you." Those words had been her anchor through the years. Now they felt fragile, like a lie she'd been desperate to believe.
Tears blurred her vision. She couldn't breathe inside the walls of the mansion any longer. Throwing on a shawl, she slipped out through the servant's gate and ran through the quiet streets, her slippers tapping softly against the cobblestones.
The small café glowed like a beacon ahead, its warm lights spilling onto the road. She pushed the door open with trembling hands.
"Lily?" Clara's voice rang out immediately. She was behind the counter, wiping down a table. The moment she saw Lillian's face, she dropped the cloth and rushed over. "What happened? Tell me."
Lillian collapsed into her friend's arms, shaking. "It's worse than before. Celeste—she's forcing Father to agree. She said the only way to save the family is to… to marry me off."
Clara's arms tightened around her, fierce and protective. "That vile woman. She'll do anything to get her way." She guided Lillian to a seat, kneeling beside her. "And your father? Did he say yes?"
Lillian shook her head, tears dripping onto her lap. "Not yet. But he didn't say no either. He just sat there, silent. And his silence… it's killing me, Clara. It's like he's already decided."
Clara took her hands, squeezing them tightly. "Listen to me. Even if he agrees, you are not powerless. Do you hear me? You're stronger than you think."
Lillian's voice trembled. "But how do I fight this? They've already chosen my path for me."
Clara hesitated, then brushed a strand of hair gently from Lillian's damp cheek. "Then look at it from another angle. If this CEO is as powerful and wealthy as they say, maybe he isn't the monster you imagine. Maybe—just maybe—he might not treat you badly. He might even…" She trailed off, searching Lillian's eyes. "He might surprise you."
Lillian let out a choked laugh, bitter and soft. "You sound too hopeful."
Clara smiled, though her eyes burned with quiet anger. "Hope is all we have sometimes. But listen, Lily. Even if the worst happens, you won't be alone. You still have me. You'll always have me."
The words wrapped around Lillian like a fragile blanket, warming her even through her fear. She leaned her forehead against Clara's shoulder, whispering, "You're all I have left."
"And I'll never let them take you away without a fight," Clara murmured back.
---
Meanwhile, in his study, William sat slumped at his desk, the ledger open before him but unread. His glass of brandy remained untouched, the amber liquid catching the lamplight. His mind was elsewhere—on a promise he had made long ago to a woman who no longer lived.
Anna's voice seemed to echo in the quiet room. "Protect her, William. Promise me she'll never feel unwanted."
He had promised. And yet here he was, weighing her future against the ruins of his legacy. Bankruptcy loomed like a noose around his neck. If the creditors destroyed him, they would destroy Lillian too. Could he live with that? Could he bear to see his daughter struggle, abandoned and impoverished?
His hands shook as he lowered his face into them. "Anna… forgive me. I don't know what else to do."
---
Upstairs, unaware of her father's torment, Lillian lay awake, staring at the ceiling. Her stepmother's words echoed in her mind like a curse. Sacrifices. You'll understand soon enough.
She pulled her blanket tighter, whispering a desperate prayer into the silence. "Please, Father… don't give me away. Please."
But deep in her heart, she already feared the truth—that the decision had been made long before she ever had a say.