Page 30 of Misconducts & Temptation

“Elodie,” he greeted me, a smile spreading across his thin lips. “I’m glad we finally have some time alone.”

His voice was oily, each word dripping with a false charm that only deepened my discomfort. I nodded politely, not trusting myself to speak.

As we walked toward the car, he leaned in closer so his breath clawed at my skin. “I used to be one of the major investors in your father's company, you know,” he said, puffing out his chest as if this was something to be proud of. “Your father made some poor decisions, but I’m sure you already know that.”

His words stung, but I kept my face neutral. I didn’t need reminding of my father’s failures; they were already a constant weight on my shoulders.

Then he placed his hand on the small of my back, and I nearly leaped out of my skin. The touch was possessive, almost claiming. My stomach churned with nausea, but I forced myself to remain still as he guided me to the car.

“Don’t be so nervous,” he said with a chuckle that sent shivers down my spine. “This is just a formality.”

Formality or not, every fiber of my being wanted to run far away from him and never look back.

I climbed into the car and clasped my hands tightly in my lap, praying for this day to end quickly.

The ride to the boutique felt like an eternity. William kept talking, filling the air with stories about his business ventures and connections. I tuned him out, focusing on the hum of the car engine and the passing scenery. It was easier that way, numbing myself to his presence.

When we arrived at the boutique, a bell chimed as we entered. The air inside was heavy with the scent of perfume and fabric softener. A saleswoman greeted us with a bright smile, her eyes darting between William and me.

“We’re here to find a wedding dress for this lovely lady,” he announced, his hand sliding possessively onto my shoulder. I fought the urge to shrug it off, instead offering a tight smile.

The saleswoman led us through rows of dresses, each more elaborate than the last. I felt like I was walking through a dream—or perhaps a nightmare—everything surreal and distant.

William selected several dresses for me to try on, each one more extravagant than the last. As I slipped into the first dress, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. The girl staring back looked like a stranger—a porcelain doll dressed up for someone else’s amusement.

His hands were never far from me as I modeled each dress. Adjusting a strap here, smoothing fabric there. His touch lingered longer than necessary, sending shivers of discomfort down my spine.

“That one’s nice,” he commented as I stepped out in a lace gown that felt suffocatingly tight. “But let’s try something with more flair.”

The saleswoman brought another dress, this one adorned with intricate beadwork that sparkled under the boutique’s soft lighting. William’s eyes lit up as he saw it.

“Perfect,” he said, his hand resting on my lower back again as he guided me toward the changing room. “This is the one.”

I nodded mechanically, too numb to argue or express any real opinion. My reflection in the mirror seemed even more distant now—a puppet going through motions dictated by someone else.

After William paid for the dress—his fingers brushing mine as he handed over his credit card—we left the boutique and headed to lunch at an upscale restaurant nearby.

Throughout the meal, his hands found every excuse to touch me: guiding me to my seat, brushing crumbs from my lapel, even resting on my knee under the table. Each touch made my skin crawl, but I endured it silently, focusing on getting through this day one moment at a time.

As I pushed food around my plate, pretending to eat while avoiding William’s gaze, all I could think about was how desperately I wanted this day to end.

By the time the date was over, I felt like my skin was too tight, trapping me in a life that wasn’t mine. My chest ached with the effort of holding back tears. How did it come to this? What had I done to deserve such a fate?

William's hand remained on the small of my back as he walked me to the door, each step feeling like a march toward doom. His voice dripped with false sweetness, promising more than I ever wanted.

"I'll be seeing you soon," he said, his smile never reaching his eyes. "Once you're my wife, you'll move in with me. You won't have to worry about that formal education nonsense anymore."

The words hit me like a punch to the gut. Formal education nonsense? Crestwood was my escape plan, my one shot at a future that didn’t involve being someone's possession.

"We can finally start our lives together," he continued, oblivious to my growing discomfort.

Once we reached the door, he leaned in closer. I could see his lips parting slightly, aiming for mine. Panic surged through me, and I turned my head at the last moment so his kiss landed on my cheek instead.

He chuckled softly as he pulled back, his breath warm against my skin. "Shy, are we?" His tone was condescending, as if I were a child caught in some innocent folly. "Don't worry, Elodie. I'll break you of such foolishness on our wedding night."

His words sent a shiver down my spine, not from excitement but from sheer dread. I managed a tight smile, nodding mechanically before slipping inside the house.

As soon as the door closed behind me, I leaned against it and let out a shaky breath. The house felt both too quiet and too loud at once—filled with the echoes of Marion’s expectations and my own desperate thoughts.

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