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The moment the lock clicked into place on her bedroom door, the strength that had been holding Jane up completely evaporated. She slid to the floor, her back against the cool wood, and wrapped her arms around her knees. The world spun in a dizzying kaleidoscope of terror and shame. The memory of Alexander's room, the cold air, the harsh command, the slow, agonizing striptease—it all rushed back, a torrent of humiliation that threatened to drown her. Tears she had been holding back for too long finally streamed down her face, hot and relentless.
This wasn't what she had planned for her life. This wasn't the future she had dreamed of with Austin. She was supposed to be a wife, a mother, living in a cozy house on Maple Street. Instead, she was a prisoner, a puppet in the hands of a cruel, ruthless man who held her family's fate in his cold, calculating hands. Why this? Why did all of this have to happen to her? This was definitely too much for her.
Just when she thought she would break, a small, defiant flame sparked in the darkness of her despair. It was a thought, an idea, a desperate plan born from her raw, unfiltered pain. Alexander's mother. Her entire future, her very freedom, now rested on the shoulders of a woman she had never met. If Mrs. Collins didn't like her, if she found her lacking, it would be an opportunity for her to leave this gilded cage. She would beg Mrs. Collins to please allow her to go to her family. She would promise to pay his son back, every last cent of her late father's debt, after some time. It was a risky gamble, but it was all she had.
She stood up, her body aching, and walked to the window. The vast, sprawling estate, with its manicured lawns and towering gates, looked more like a prison than ever before. But beyond those gates, there was a world where her family, her real life, still existed. She had to get back to them. And to do that, she had to fail Alexander's test. Spectacularly.
The afternoon sun was a warm, golden haze, and the weight of the previous night's trauma, coupled with the exhaustion of her emotional turmoil, finally caught up to her. Jane fell into a deep, dreamless sleep, a rare escape from her living nightmare.
She didn't know how long she had been asleep when her door burst open with a crash that rattled her to her core. She sat up in bed, her heart hammering against her ribs, her mind disoriented. Alexander stood in the doorway, a dark, menacing silhouette against the bright light of the hallway. His eyes, two dark pools of warning, were fixed on her.
"She's here," he said, his voice a low, dangerous growl. The words were a command, not a warning. "Don't try anything stupid, else kiss your family goodbye."
And with that, he turned and walked out, leaving the door open behind him. The air in the room, which had been peaceful just a moment ago, was now thick with the scent of fear and the lingering threat of his words. Jane scrambled out of bed, her limbs trembling. He hadn't needed to say more. The message was clear: her family was his leverage. He knew exactly what she valued most, and he wouldn't hesitate to use it against her.
She really loved her family, her sweet little sister Ginny, her kind brother James. She couldn't, wouldn't, let anything happen to them. Her desperate plan to make Mrs. Collins hate her shattered into a million pieces. Now, her survival, and theirs, depended on her acting skills. She had to convince the older woman that she was everything Alexander wanted, everything a perfect girlfriend should be. She had to play the part of a sweet, adoring lover.
She quickly took a bath, the hot water doing little to calm the frantic beating of her heart. She chose a simple, elegant dress from the wardrobe the maids had stocked for her, a pale blue silk that fell to her knees. She pulled her hair into a soft updo, a few curls framing a face that was still pale but now held a fierce, desperate resolve.
As she made her way down the grand, sweeping staircase, she could hear the faint murmur of voices from the drawing room. Every step felt like a step into a new, terrifying reality. She smoothed her dress, took a deep breath, and forced a smile onto her lips. It felt brittle and fake, but she hoped it would pass.
When she reached the doorway, she paused, her eyes searching for the woman who held her fate in her hands. She saw Alexander first, his imposing figure standing by the fireplace, his face unreadable. Then she saw the woman sitting on a plush velvet sofa, a crystal flute of what looked like champagne in her hand. Jane's breath hitched.
She was beautiful. Not in an old, elegant way, but in a way that defied age. Her hair was a sleek, silver bob that framed a face with not a single wrinkle. She was dressed in a pristine white pantsuit that exuded sophistication and power. She looked, at most, twenty years older than Jane, but she was a woman who was already fifty. Jane was shocked. She had been expecting a matronly, stern figure, not this vision of timeless grace.
With a newfound determination fueled by fear, Jane ran to the woman. She needed to act, and she needed to act well, else she might lose her family. She threw her arms around Mrs. Collins, a hug that was both desperate and theatrical.
"Mom!" she exclaimed, her voice a little too loud, but her smile was genuine, for a split second, because of the genuine shock on her face. "I've been looking forward to meeting you!" Her dimples, which she had been so careful to hide since the day she arrived, flashed on her cheeks.
Mrs. Collins was so taken aback that she spilled a little of her drink. Her hand, which had been holding the flute, froze in mid-air. Then, a slow, radiant smile spread across her face. She touched Jane's face, her fingers surprisingly soft and gentle. "You're beautiful," she said, her voice rich and melodic. "I never knew my boy would have such a good taste in women." She said it with a genuine warmth, a kind of proud affection that Jane had not expected. Mrs. Collins then hugged her tightly, a powerful embrace that was both surprising and comforting.
Across the room, Alexander watched the scene unfold. A small, almost imperceptible breath of air escaped his lips. He released the breath he never knew he was holding. He had spent the last hour convincing himself that his mother would hate Jane. He had prepared for her cold dismissal, for the disapproving glances, for the subtle barbs he knew his mother was so good at. He had braced himself for the confrontation he knew would follow. He thought his mother would not like her. He was wrong. Her hug, the genuine smile, the words of affection—it was all a shocking, overwhelming relief.
The charade had begun, and it was working better than he could have ever imagined.