Chapter 2 Mrs Nicholas

It was a girl standing next to him, her arm snaked around his shoulders, but he subtly shifted away, his gaze never meeting the girl's, as Roselle approached.

The girl walked away, leaving Roselle and Nicholas. They climbed into the backseat of the car, and the first few minutes were silent, until Nicholas spoke up, breaking it.

“I will not have you give me a bad reputation.”

Roselle looked up, confused. She opened her mouth to speak, but decided against it.

“There will be distinguished personalities at the event, and this is what you chose to wear? How pathetic are you, really? Are you that desperate?”

“But, Nicholas –” Roselle started, but her voice betrayed her. It was not in her nature to defend herself.

“Keep my name out of your mouth, and do exactly what you were paid to do,” he spat, giving her a contemptuous look, like she was beneath him.

“But I’m not a servant, Nicholas, I am your wife,” Roselle said, get voice shaky, as tears threatened to fall.

“You are whatever I say you are.”

Roselle stiffened, as her gaze lowered to the ground. The rest of the ride silent, with Nicholas busy on his phone, and Roselle wondering if she was just something he paid for.

They arrived at the venue, shortly after. A red carpet laid, leading into the grand hall, as cameras flashed. Many luxurious cars parked, and affluent men and women flocked, each having a red carpet walk.

Roselle was completely unfazed by the power and affluence which echoed within the space. Her father was wealthy, and she had been to many of such, in the past.

“Smile,” Nicholas prodded in a low voice, as he angled his arm for Roselle to take. She slid her manicured hand into the gap, lightly grabbing his arm. Together, they walked the red carpet.

“This way, Mr Nicholas,” some reporters called.

“Mrs Nicholas, right,” they also called to Roselle, who gave bright smiles, and waved as the cameras flashed in their faces.

As they walked into the hall, the sound of champagne glasses and muted conversations filled the air. Rows of seats were separated by a long runway stretched out.

“Ah! If it isn't Nicholas Wilson,” a man beckoned in a hearty voice, walking towards them. “Congratulations on your new collection, you're a true visionary,”

“Julien Freeborn, man of the evening. Congratulations to you too, on your new collection. We look forward to seeing those amazing pieces,” Nicholas responded, much to Roselle's surprise. Was was, apparently, the only thing Nicholas was loyal to.

“Your support means a lot to me, Nicholas.” He turned to Roselle, “This must be your lovely wife, I presume.”

“Yes, this is Roselle,” Nicholas responded, his tone indifferent, with a subtle hint of possessiveness.

“She's absolutely stunning. You're a lucky man, Nicholas.”

“We'll be around,” Nicholas said, as he placed his hand on Roselle's waist, pulling her away. She couldn't help but feel like a mere accessory to him.

They went around, exchanging pleasantries with other wealthy people, and Roselle tagged along, smiling like a puppet.

Everytime she received a compliment, Nicholas would abruptly end the conversation, and pull her away.

After they had settled down, the fashion show began. Julian's models walked the runway, displaying his collection, until the evening was over, and they headed home.

“Never wear something like that, if you're going to be seen anywhere with me,” Nicholas spat, without as much as a glance in Roselle's direction.

“I'm sorry,” she muttered, her voice barely above a whisper.

Once she was back inside her room, Roselle  knew immediately what she wanted to do. She sat on her bed for a while, reflecting on her plans and the consequences they could have, but decided it was best. She was leaving.

A friend of her father's owned a hotel downtown. She would head out there and plead with the lady to let her stay the night, while she planned her escape from there.

It was too toxic for her to remain there, so she began packing up, her plan in mind.

After she was done, Roselle took a trip around the house, searching for the positions of the cameras.

“A beautiful kitchen you have here,” she forced a smile to a worker, as she glided around the cabinets and island, her eyes searching.

“Thank you, ma'am,” the short blonde chef responded, with a wide grin spread across his face.

“There wouldn't happen to be a back exit somewhere around here, would there? I was thinking about a little outdoor stroll to admire the scenery,” she lied, making sure to maintain a neutral expression.

“It's right over there, ma'am,” he gestured to a large door far behind him.

“You're so kind,” Roselle smiled.

“Mr Nicholas wouldn't have you lurking outside in the dark. I might lose my job,” he said, his voice laced with worry.

“Don't fret. I'll be back in a minute.”

Roselle walked out, through the door, and was immediately greeted by the cold air which slapped against her skin. She shuddered in response, clasping her hands over her body.

She observed the arrangement of the cars and thought it was perfect, so she headed back into the house, through the kitchen.

“Certainly, you wouldn't mind if I made dinner tonight?” She asked the same chef, with a warm smile.

“Please ma'am, Mr Nicholas would kill me,” he answered, his tone dripping with trepidation.

“He's my husband. He wouldn't mind,” Roselle prodded, “you would most likely get into trouble, for failing to grant my request.”

Hesitantly, he made way, standing a few feet from her.

“And I'd like to be alone, if you don't mind.”

“But ma'am,” he started, but stopped midway, when he saw that she wouldn't budge. He showed her around to where everything was kept, and excused himself.

Roselle was convinced that she only needed her mobile phone. She knew it was a bad idea, but she was willing to try.

After pretending to cook for a few minutes, she disappeared into a blind spot, and stealthily slipped out through the door.

She considered what she was doing for a minute, but decided that it was the only way she could help herself. It had only been a day, yet she was tired.

She saw the chauffeur who drove her home from the courthouse, and walked to him.

“I need a quick ride,” she said, and his face set into a frown.

“I haven't received instruction from Mr Nicholas. I'm sorry, ma'am,” he apologized with a curt nod.

“You could get in trouble for refusing to grant my request,” she prodded with an expressionless gaze.

“I wish I could, but I can't. One thing I can do is ask for permission,” he tried to explain.

“My husband is taking his rest. Do you think you'll get away from disturbing his rest? What's your name?”

“I'm Stephen, ma'am.”

“Amazing. I'll pay you however much you need. Just take me out of here,” Roselle's voice came out as a desperate plea, as she leaned closer into him, standing on her toes to reach him.

“Mr Nicholas pays me enough,” he said, and Roselle could see him stifle a laugh.

“Am I funny to you?” She asked, wearing a quizzical look.

“It’s just…you don't seem to have done this before.”

“Will you, or will you not take me?”

“I'm really sorry,” he said with a curt nod, before walking away.

Roselle stood there, wondering what she had been thinking, and how impossible it would be to leave. With resigned fate, she walked around to the pool area, staring at the liquid which illuminated a blue glow in the dim evening light.

She contemplated whether or not she wanted to get in, and after a while, she decided she would.

So she headed back into the house, and changed into a swimsuit, draped a thin towel over herself, and went back out, into the evening.

Roselle sat by the edge of the pool for a while, dipping her feet only, into the cold water as realization dawned on her. There was no leaving this place, no matter how hard she tried.

She knew she was incompetent in planning an escape, which was why she remained a prisoner in her father's house, until she got married…

…into yet, another prison. A defeated sigh escaped her lips, as she let her body slip into the pool. She knew that Nicholas would not change towards her. He despised her, for reasons beyond her comprehension.

She couldn't help, though, but think about the way his hand smoothly glided around her waist at the event, the way he avoided compliments from other men, to her.

Could there have been a burning chance, that he secretly adored her? She let out a heartless laugh, catching herself midway her delusion. There wasn't, even the slimmest of chances, that he adored her. He wouldn't even look at her.

He wouldn't hold her gaze for a full second, without a look of utter disgust. Roselle knew.

She swam across the large pool, allowing the flow of water to distract her from her aching thoughts. She had to make the most of her time in this prison, before both their families eventually decided they were done.

The transaction was over.

Roselle knew that, that was all it was – a mere business transaction. She would wait, until it was over. She only hoped she remained sane, until the end of it.

She ran her hands over her face, sweeping her hair back from it as she took a deep breath, before swimming back to where her towel was.

“Making yourself comfortable, I see.” The voice startled her, causing her to gasp rather loudly.

“Did I startle you? My bad,” he said with a smirk, as Roselle tried to hide her body underwater.

“We both know that trying to escape on your first night is a terrible idea,” he asserted, and Roselle felt her heart drop.