Chapter 6: Two Coffins, One Choice

I called the manager over and asked if Mason was still outside. The manager nodded, looking uncomfortable, and said Mrs. Carter had been faking her faint for almost two hours. To avoid drama, the manager had already had a doctor check her—she was pretending.

That news made me want to laugh and cry at the same time. Even now, they were playing games, trying to control me. But I was done being their puppet.

But even so, she was older, and the staff couldn’t be rough with her, so they let her lie there. I almost rolled my eyes.

I smiled, a strange, brittle thing that felt foreign on my lips. The staff watched me, probably wondering if I’d lost my mind or finally grown a spine. Maybe both.

"Ignore her. Go get two coffins and drape the house in black."

If Mrs. Carter wanted to stick to me, let’s see how long she could keep it up. As for Mason, I had four or five big security guys at the door. If he tried to force his way in, they were to break his legs. I meant it.

My words hung in the air, cold and final. The staff nodded, moving fast, faces pale. People would talk about this for years.

The manager didn’t waste time. In less than half a day, the house was draped in black, everyone in black, and two coffins carried in, right out in the open.

The halls echoed with shuffling feet, the swish of fabric, and the heavy thud of coffin lids. The smell of lilies and cleaning solution mixed in the air. The house felt like a mausoleum, all hush and tension, like it was holding its breath.

Mason and Mrs. Carter just stood there, stunned, unable to say a word.

They froze in the foyer, eyes wide, faces drained of color. For once, Mrs. Carter was speechless, mouth opening and closing in silent horror. Mason stared at the coffins, hands shaking.

"What are you doing? In broad daylight—are you planning to kill us?" Mrs. Carter’s voice was barely a whisper, trembling. She looked ghostly pale. I almost felt sorry for her. Almost.

Just then, I came out, wearing a bright red gown, and walked straight toward Mason. I told him, voice heavy with sorrow, that I didn’t have long to live—probably wouldn’t last a day after marrying him.

The red dress was a statement, a jolt of color in a room full of black. I stood tall, facing Mason, voice steady even though my hands were shaking.

"I’m afraid you’ll be left all alone after I die, so why don’t we go together?"

I pointed to the two coffins. "If you truly want to marry me, then come lie in here with me. We may not share a bed in life, but we can share a grave in death."

The words landed like a punch. The staff held their breath, waiting for the next move, eyes wide.

Mason looked at me like I’d lost it.

His eyes were huge, mouth open. He stepped back, shaking his head, like he was trying to shake off a nightmare.

"I’m alive—are you trying to bury me alive?" His voice cracked, and for a split second, I almost smiled. It was the first honest reaction I’d seen from him in days.

I looked him dead in the eye, calm as can be.

"Long ago, Juliet joined Romeo in the tomb. If you really care for me, why should life and death matter? Or is it that you don’t really want to be my husband—you just want to inherit my estate after I’m gone?"

My words hit like a gavel, echoing in the silent house. I watched Mason’s face crumble. For the first time, I felt truly free—no longer the villain, but the one writing my own story.