Chương 4: I Wasn’t Invited
It had been three years since that fateful day when I became Mrs. Ashford—at least on paper. The marriage had been a quiet affair, nothing more than a contract signed with shaky hands. There was no ceremony, no vows exchanged—just a signature that bound me to Alexander Ashford for five years. Five years to fulfill the terms of the contract, five years to prove myself. Five years to somehow win him over. But as time passed, my hopes had faded.
The Ashford estate was beautiful yet suffocating and it operated by a strict set of rules. There were two parts to the family: the Main Family, made up of direct descendants, and the Branch Family, a group of outcasts considered unworthy to carry the Ashford name. The branch members were those with faulty genes, lacking the perfect beauty or the intelligence the Ashfords demanded.
Beauty ruled their lives. It determined everything—seating arrangements, the quality of their meals, even their monthly allowances. Those who met the Ashford standard were placed at the top of the hierarchy, while those who fell short were exiled to the branch family, stripped of their last name and any claim to the Ashford fortune.
And I, who didn't come close to their standard, had been banished to the branch family, even though I was Alexander's wife. No one outside the family knew, and inside the estate, I was nothing more than a shadow, a stain on their perfect image.
I had heard whispers of the branch family, but seeing it in person was chilling. They lived in the shadows, their presence barely acknowledged. Even their children so long as their beauty didn't meet the standard, were seen as mistakes, banished to the farthest reaches of the estate.
Alexander, who had not yet inherited the Ashford legacy, was under the control of his aunt, Lady Beatrice, the acting head of the family. Only direct descendants could take the position of family head, and until Alexander fulfilled the terms of the contract, his aunt held all the power.
Every morning, the main family gathered for breakfast, their beauty almost blinding. Alexander sat beside Lady Beatrice, who sat at the head of the table. She is the embodiment of Ashford perfection—tall, regal, with flawless golden hair and porcelain skin. Her presence commanded attention, her flawless face admired by everyone around her.
Three years. Three years of trying to catch Alexander's attention, to make him see beyond my scars. But he never did. He never even visited where I lived since the day we signed the contract. Instead, I watched as he brought home woman after woman, each more beautiful than the last, their laughter echoing through the halls of the estate. They were everything I wasn't—perfect, flawless, desired.
This morning, I had overheard the maids talking. Tonight was the Ashford gala, an event that only happened every ten years. Tonight, Alexander would be announced as the official heir to the Ashford legacy. It was supposed to be a grand occasion, the pinnacle of Ashford power and status. And of course, I wasn't to show my face.
Not that I wanted to be there. Seeing him with his family, with his beautiful guests, knowing I didn't belong—it was a pain I had grown used to. But it still hurt.
I shook my head, trying to clear my thoughts as I arrived at work. The Vallencière Atelier was my sanctuary, the one place where I could escape from the suffocating world of the Ashfords. I loved it here. Working with beautiful fabric and bringing my ideas to life was an experience I lived for. It was the only time I felt free.
My boss, Sylus Thorn, was the Leonardo da Vinci of the fashion industry. He was the world's best fashion designer, requested by all kinds of people around the world. From kings and queens to heirs and heiresses. And he was extremely good looking with his jet-black hair and blue eyes. He could compete with the Ashford's beauty.
More than that, he was everything the Ashfords weren't—creative, kind, and charismatic. His designs were works of art, and the world adored him for it.
I stared blankly at the fabric in front of me, trying to focus, but my thoughts kept drifting back to the gala. Would Alexander even notice I wasn't there? Or would he be too busy celebrating with his beautiful guests?
I sighed, tracing the edge of a fabric, when I heard my name.
"Ms. Sinclair"
I blinked, snapping back to reality, and turned to see Sylus leaning against the door frame of his office, his sharp blue eyes locked on me. He had that look—the one that made me feel like he could read my thoughts, like he saw more than I was willing to show.
"You're a million miles away today." His voice was low, smooth, with a hint of amusement that always made my heart flutter. He took a step closer, the air between us thickening. "Is something on your mind, or are you just that eager to escape me?"
My cheeks warmed at his teasing tone. "N-no, of course not, Mr. Thorn" I stammered, trying to steady myself. Sylus had that effect on people—his confidence was almost intoxicating, and his looks didn't help. "Just... thinking."
He raised an eyebrow, his lips twitching into a small, knowing smile. "Well, maybe I can give you something else to think about."
Before I could ask what he meant, he crossed the room in a few easy strides and dropped a large garment bag onto my desk.
I glanced at it, confused. "What's this?"
"Your dress," he said simply, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. When I still stared at him in confusion, he added, "For the Ashford gala. You're going as my date."
My heart skipped a beat. "What? I-I can't go to the gala, sir. You know I'm not—" I started to protest, but the words seemed to catch in my throat. No one knew I was actually Alexander Ashford's wife. Not looking like this. Not when Alexander would be there.
But he just smiled that same disarming smile, tilting his head slightly as if studying me. "You can, and you will," he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. "I've been requested to make some last-minute adjustments to the Ashfords' outfits, and I need you there with me. Besides..." He leaned a little closer, his voice dropping just enough to send a shiver down my spine. "I thought I'd like to have you by my side tonight."
I felt a blush creeping up my neck, and I quickly looked away, trying to ignore the way my heart raced in my chest. "But I don't belong at that kind of event," I mumbled, finding it hard to meet his gaze. "I'm just your assistant."
He tilted his head and took another step closer, his fingers brushing lightly against my arm, so lightly that I wondered if I imagined it. The warmth of his touch lingered long after he pulled away.
"Freya," he said softly, his voice coaxing me to look up at him. When I did, his eyes were warm, filled with something I couldn't quite name. "You're more than just my assistant. And trust me, with that dress, you'll outshine everyone at the gala."
The flutter in my chest intensified, but I shook my head, trying to remain grounded. "But—"
"No buts," Sylus cut me off, his smile widening. "I'll pick you up at eight. Be ready."
And just like that, he turned and walked out of the office, leaving me staring after him, my heart in my throat.
As the door closed softly behind him, I rested a hand over my chest, trying to calm the rapid beat. Sylus Thorn had always been kind to me, more than most. But this... this felt different. Maybe if I wasn't married to Alexander, I would have been with Sylus instead.
For the first time in years, something related to the Ashfords didn't fill me with dread—maybe it wouldn't be so bad.
But how was I going to pull this off?
Sylus was coming to pick me up. I needed time to think, so I made my way to my father's house. As soon as I stepped inside, I knew something was wrong.
The house was in chaos. My stepmother and stepsisters were running around, in half-zipped dresses , makeup scattered everywhere. Isabella spotted me first, her eyes narrowing in confusion. "What are you doing here?" she demanded.
"I—"
"We don't have time for this," my father grumbled from the couch, barely looking up. He was as uninterested in my presence as always.
"We're going to the Ashford gala," my stepmother announced, her voice full of pride. "Isabella and Anastasia were personally invited."
I couldn't believe it. How were they invited? They had no connection to the Ashfords.
Before I could ask, my father clapped his hands. "Let's go."
They rushed for the door, my stepmother in the lead. But before she stepped out, she paused, turning back to face me. Her lips curling into a cruel smile as her eyes shine with satisfaction.
"Oh, Freya," she said sweetly, "See you at the gala… Oh wait, you weren't invited.
Laughter erupted from Isabella and Anastasia. Even my father chuckled. And with that, they were gone, leaving me standing in the middle of the living room.
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