Page 88 of Captive Bride

Isobel

I run away to my room.

Tristan doesn’t come after me.

A part of me wishes he did.

I go to his master suite and slam the door, making sure the entire penthouse can hear it. I don’t care what his guards or cousins or anybody else think. He’s ruining my life.

I imagine Theo provoked him. I imagine that neither side wants this to end in death. But I can’t forgive Tristan for what he’s just done.

He’s forcing me to choose between him and my beloved cousin Theo. More than that, he’s not asking me my opinion at all. He’s just made a decision to go ahead with this duel, and I can’t think of a more reckless move on both their parts.

If only Theo hadn’t called today. If only Theo would just let it rest and let me be with Tristan happily.

But I imagine my father breathing down his throat, constantly making him find me.

My worst fears are coming true, and I don’t know how to get out of it. Someone is gonna die. Either Tristan will or my cousin.

The thought of losing either of them is too much for my heart to bear.

I fling myself down on Tristan’s bed and just cry. Years of frustration come bubbling to the surface. Our families put us in this precarious position, and now it’s all coming to a head.

I don’t see a way out of this. No matter which way I turn, there is blood and death.

I cry for a long time. I cry myself to sleep. And then I wake up several hours later, and the room is dark.

It’s obvious Tristan hasn’t come to find me at all. Maybe he doesn’t care. Maybe he’s truly a callous and cold killer.

But I know that’s not my Tristan. I know that if he can avoid this, he would.

That’s what makes it all the more damning. Theo’s likely being stubborn, and so is Tristan.

I rub my eyes and try to wake up out of this fucking nightmare.

But it’s real. I can’t run away from this reality anymore.

I get out of his bed and walk over to the large windows. I push the huge velvet curtains aside to look down on the city. It’s the city I live in, yet it’s the city that’s also held me captive for so many years.

Images of the countryside flash across my mind.

The manor. The shooting practice. The nights alone with Tristan with not a care in the world except for the feeling of his strong hands on my body.

Those were some of the happiest days in my life. Carefree and filled with nature and freedom.

I’m living in the antithesis of that now. It’s a nightmare happening before my eyes, and there’s no way to stop it.

I can think of no other way to drown my sorrows than by taking a bottle of champagne from Tristan’s in-room bar and sinking into a hot tub.

Is it wrong that I turn to alcohol so frequently to drown my sorrows?

If one of your loved ones was gonna die in a couple days, you would do the same thing.

I take a bottle of Dom, the most expensive thing he has on hand, and then I go into the master suite, undress, and turn the water on. I make it hot, almost scalding.

Then I pour in some bubbles and some essential oils, and I sink into the water, one toe at a time, one leg at a time, and eventually, my body acclimatizes to the hot temperature.

What is it about a hot bath that makes you feel like you can forget your cares?

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