Not anymore

My heart beats in my ears when I come to a standstill in the middle of a step. Mrs. Mayfield's words echo in my head: freedom always comes at a price. Her stare was steady and knowledgeable, as if she'd witnessed her own version of this battle. Am I prepared to pay that price? To put everything I know at risk for a better chance?

The idea frightens me, yet underlying the anxiety lies a simmering rebellion. I've spent my entire life following in the footsteps of others. Always the good daughter, the poised debutante, and the obedient pawn in my father's never-ending chess game. But every stride forward seems like chains are tightening around my wrists.

Not anymore.

Alexander Hayes comes to mind unexpectedly, but sharply. His remarks in the bookstore stuck with me, regardless of how I tried to dismiss them; maybe I assumed you might. He didn't just hand me the book; he extended an invitation. A challenge to venture outside of my comfort zone and tackle the questions I've been afraid to ask myself.

I look at The Stranger, which sits on the coffee table next to Wuthering Heights, and notice the striking contrast between the two worlds: passionate chaos and existential peace. Perhaps I'm on the verge of making a decision between two extremes, none of which feels fully comfortable. But I can't afford the luxury of safety anymore.

I flinch as my phone vibrates again. Another message. My father's name is on the screen, his power engraved into every pixel. My heart is pounding as I swipe to open it.

- Don't be late. This is about your future. -

My hands tighten around the phone, and I breathe in shallow waves. I've always followed the rules and played the part. But for what? To be someone else's reward. To be stuck in a golden cage forever?

I take a deep breath and force myself to focus. If I desire freedom, I must fight for it. I'll have to stop running and confront the storm head-on, no matter how scary it is.

And maybe—just maybe—I'll have the courage to change the story before it's too late.

I look at my books one last time, a faint smile pulling on my lips. Wuthering Heights and the Stranger. Chaos and clarity. Catherine and Heathcliff have a fire, but Meursault has cold logic. Two roads, two possibilities. But maybe there's a third—one that's entirely mine.

The thought hits me like a moving train, knocking me out of breath. Marry Alexander Hayes? The concept feels ludicrous, even irresponsible. But as I stand in the silence of my living room, the pieces of the puzzle begin to fit together in ways I can't deny.

If my father insists on a marriage union to achieve his grand goal, why not change the rules? Why not gain control of the narrative and make my own decision—not his or the Mayfields', but mine? Alexander Hayes is not part of my father's plans. He would probably despise the very concept of such a partnership. But that's what makes it so beautiful.

Alexander is the wild card—the one man in this tangled web who isn't bound to my father's scheming or the Mayfields' ambition. He has his own edges, his own battles, and perhaps most importantly, his own disdain for the social machinations we've been forced to endure. It's what makes him dangerous… but also what makes him perfect.

This is insane, I think, pacing the length of the room. The very idea feels like walking into a storm without an umbrella, daring the wind and rain to do their worst. But what's the alternative? Submitting to my father's demands? Becoming a pawn in his endless game?

No. I've lived that way for far too long, suffocated by the weight of expectations and the dread of straying from the norm. If this is my only chance to break away, I must take it. Even if it means aligning myself with Alexander.

I close my eyes and relive the memories we've had. His cutting wit, his penetrating stare, and the hidden challenge in every word he has said to me. He's not the man I imagined standing beside, but that may be exactly why this works. He wouldn't suffocate me with demands or compel me to fit a mold. If anything, he'd likely urge me to breach a couple more regulations.

This concept almost makes me smile. Almost.

The significance of the decision weighs heavily in the air, and the room's silence strengthens every thought that comes to mind. A part of me laughs at the silliness of what I'm contemplating—proposing a relationship, no, marriage, to Alexander Hayes. The same man who despises the games we were born into and takes joy in defying expectations with a bitter joke and unwavering assurance.

But isn't that the point? Isn't that the spark that ignites my defiance?

I've been so concerned with the anxiety of stepping out of line that I've forgotten the power of the act itself. Mrs. Mayfield mentioned this kind of power when she warned me about the cost of freedom. Her words had the authority of someone who has been through her own fire. I'm not sure what fights she fought, but I could see the resolve in her eyes. She survived, and I will too.

If I do it.

But first, I need to address him. That concept alone is enough to have my pulse racing again. I can almost hear his voice now, harsh, sarcastic, and uncomfortably honest. He will not make this simple. He'll confront, test, and possibly even outright reject me.

But that's the risk I must take.

I look down at the phone, which is still in my hand. My father's statement flashes on the screen like a brand, reminding me of the chains I've worn my entire life. My fingers clench around the device before I force myself to breathe and release my grip.

I do not have much time. If I'm going to do this, I'll need to move.