Chapter 4: The Price of Belonging

The room murmured in agreement. Suddenly, I was at the center of a political tug-of-war.

"Savannah, what do you want?"

The question echoed, louder this time. My palms were slick with sweat.

Finally, Jackson asked.

His voice was flat, giving nothing away. I felt like I was standing on a ledge, waiting to fall.

Cold sweat trickled down my forehead.

I wiped it away, hoping no one noticed. My heart was pounding so hard I thought I might faint.

In my previous life, he ultimately cared about public opinion and married me as a second wife.

It was a compromise, one that satisfied no one. I became a footnote in his story, never the headline.

I couldn’t stand sharing a husband.

Jealousy gnawed at me, turning every small slight into a wound. I hated myself for it, but I couldn’t help it.

Naturally, I fought with him, even packed my bags, ready to go back to my fishing town.

I remember the suitcase, the way my hands shook as I folded my clothes. I wanted to leave, but part of me hoped he’d stop me.

Jackson stopped me.

He took my suitcase and pulled out my clothes one by one.

"Savannah, why bother? Even if you run to the ends of the earth, I’ll find you."

His voice was soft, almost pleading. But it wasn’t enough—not then.

But on our wedding night, he still went to his childhood sweetheart, Charlotte Avery.

The pain was sharper than I expected. I waited in an empty room, listening to the distant sounds of celebration, knowing he was somewhere else.

Until the candles burned out, Charlotte’s personal maid from the Avery house came.

Her footsteps were light, almost apologetic. She carried a tray, eyes downcast.

She brought a cup of wine.

The glass was heavy in my hand. I hesitated, but she pressed it into my fingers, her expression unreadable.

"Miss, drink this. There’s only ever one real wife in this family."

The words stung. I swallowed the wine, trying not to let her see my tears.

That wine was strong.

The taste burned, bitter and harsh. I coughed, the room spinning around me.

I remember the burning pain as it slid down my throat.

It was like swallowing fire. I gasped for air, clutching the edge of the table.

If given another chance, I want to live.

The thought echoed in my mind, fierce and stubborn. I wouldn’t make the same mistake twice.

But how?

The answer felt just out of reach, like a name on the tip of my tongue.

I want to leave, but can I really?

The city was a maze of power and secrets. I was just a girl from a fishing town, out of my depth.

This city is full of powerful families and old money. I’m just an ordinary fisher girl.

Everywhere I turned, there were eyes watching, judging. One wrong move, and I could lose everything.

The thought kept me up at night, heart pounding, mind racing with possibilities.

"Savannah?"

Jackson called my name again.

His voice was sharper now, a hint of impatience bleeding through the formality. I straightened, forcing myself to meet his gaze.

People in power are always like this, though during those two years, he was always gentle.

It was a reminder that things had changed. The boy I’d known was gone, replaced by someone harder, colder.

"I beg your mercy, Mr. Bennett. I have no family left, and I’d like to ask a favor..."

My voice trembled, but I pressed on. This was my one chance to change the story.

I paused, finally making up my mind.

The silence stretched, heavy and expectant. I took a deep breath, steadying myself.

"Would you let me call you my big brother?"

The words felt strange, but right. It was a way out—a way to survive.

The title of princess is just a name, with no real power.

I’d learned that lesson the hard way. Titles were empty, easily given and easily taken away.

Especially in recent years, after so many titles and cash gifts, people grew tired of it and would just grant honorary titles instead.