"She agreed." A wave of relief washed over Ashlyn. She watched the genuine smile on Marissa's face and laughed internally, a silent, mocking sound. The fool. The absolute fool. Marissa's easy acceptance was not the reaction of someone who knew the horrors that awaited the Grand Duchess of Denver. It was the greedy grasping of a simpleton who saw only a glittering title.
"She doesn't know about the past life,"Ashlyn thought, a giddy sense of superiority blooming in her chest. "Indeed, only I came back to the past. I have successfully handed my miserable fate to her."
Feeling triumphant, Ashlyn turned with a flick of her luxurious skirts, ready to walk towards Marissa's simple carriage and her new, safe life with the insignificant Carlos Thompson. She had done it. She had escaped her dreadful fate.
She didn't get two steps.
A hand clamped down on her shoulder, yanking her back with surprising force. She stumbled, spinning around to see Marissa's face, no longer smiling, but set in a mask of ice-cold fury.
Before Ashlyn could even form a question, Marissa's other hand swung through the air.
SLAP!
The sound was shockingly loud, a sharp crack that echoed in the stunned silence of the cathedral courtyard. Ashlyn's head snapped to the side from the force of the blow. A fiery sting erupted on her cheek, and her mind went completely blank with disbelief. For a moment, the only sound was the distant chirping of birds and the collective, sharp intake of breath from every servant and guard watching.
Slowly, Ashlyn raised a trembling hand to her stinging cheek. Her eyes, wide with shock and outrage, stared at her sister as if seeing a ghost. "You… you dare hit me?" she whispered, her voice trembling with a lifetime of indignant privilege.
Marissa didn't flinch. She stood tall, her posture radiating an authority Ashlyn had never seen before. "Since we have swapped, I am now the fiancée of the Grand Duke," Marissa said, her voice dangerously calm and clear. "That makes me the future Grand Duchess. And I will teach you the manners your mother so clearly failed to instill in you."
With that, she turned her back on the stunned Ashlyn and walked to her handmaiden, Lily, who was still cradling her own red cheek. Marissa's expression softened instantly. She gently took Lily's hand away and caressed the maid's face, her touch a providing relief to Ashlyn's violence.
"Are you alright, Lily?" Marissa asked softly.
Lily could only nod, her eyes wide with a mixture of fear, confusion, and a dawning sense of awe.
Then, Marissa turned back to Ashlyn. She closed the distance between them until she was standing just a few inches away, forcing Ashlyn to look straight into her cold, unwavering eyes. Marissa raised a single finger and poked Ashlyn hard in the chest, right over her heart.
"My people," she said, her voice a low, menacing whisper, each word punctuated by another poke, "are off limits. You will never lay a hand on anyone in my service again. Do you understand?"
Ashlyn was speechless. This wasn't the Marissa she knew. The timid, quiet stepsister who never dared to speak out of turn, who had withered under the slightest criticism from her or their mother, was gone. This woman was a stranger. So confident, cold, and utterly terrifying. Where had this person come from?
Ashlyn's mind raced, but she dismissed it as a sudden, foolish burst of arrogance from someone who had just been handed a title they didn't deserve. It was a mistake she would let her sister enjoy for now.
Marissa didn't wait for a reply. She took a step back, her commanding presence filling the courtyard. She clapped her hands once, a sharp sound that made everyone jump. "Everyone!" she called out, her voice ringing with authority. "We are wasting daylight. Swap the gifts and dowry chests immediately. The processions must be rearranged. And you," she pointed to her own maids and Ashlyn's, "help us swap wedding dresses. The ceremony begins soon, and the Grand Duchess's dignity must be upheld."
For a second, the servants stood frozen, looking back and forth between the two sisters. Then, seeing the resolute power in Marissa's face and the stunned silence from Ashlyn, they moved.
"As you wish, my lady!" they chorused, bowing their heads before scurrying to follow her orders.
A flurry of activity erupted. Footmen began hauling heavy, ornately carved chests from the wagon procession behind the two carriages and moving them to the Thompson's carriage. Maids rushed forward with bolts of the finest silks, boxes of intricate jewelry, and deeds to various properties.
Ashlyn watched in horror as all the precious gifts her mother had painstakingly prepared for her, the foundation of her future wealth and security, were carried away. The reality of what she was giving up hit her with the force of a blow.
"Stop!" she shouted, her voice shrill with panic. "Don't touch those! They are mine! That is my dowry!"
The servants hesitated, looking to Marissa.
Marissa turned her head slowly, fixing Ashlyn with an unimpressed look. "Don't waste my time, sister," she said, her voice dripping with condescension. "You have a choice. You can have the swapped marriage and the life you so desperately seem to want, or you can keep your precious gifts and marry the Grand Duke as planned. Choose wisely. And choose now."
The unspoken threat hung heavy in the air. Choose the gifts and you choose the fire. Ashlyn felt a chill run down her spine. The memory of the flames, of choking on smoke, was still so vivid, so terrifying. The gifts were nothing compared to her life.
She swallowed her pride, forcing a tight, artificial smile onto her face. "They are just gifts," she said, trying to sound as if she didn't care. Her hands were clenched into fists at her sides, her nails digging into her palms. "You can take them all. I don't mind."
"Good," Marissa said simply, turning away. "Take us to the waiting room. We need to change."
Their respective maids hurried them towards the waiting room, holding up privacy screens. Lily and another maid began to carefully unlace the simple silk gown from Marissa, while Ashlyn's maids worked on the complex fastenings of the grand ducal wedding dress she was now wearing. Ashlyn stood stiffly as they removed the gown that was her birthright, her symbol of power, and felt a burning resentment build in her gut.
As they draped the plain, simple dress over her shoulders, Ashlyn caught a glimpse of Marissa being laced into the pearl-encrusted gown. She looked every bit the Grand Duchess already; poised, powerful, and serene. A dark smirk touched Ashlyn's lips, a secret, vicious thought warming her.
"Marissa, you fool. You think swapping grooms and stealing my dress changes anything? You think this power you're playing with is a prize?" she thought, a cold satisfaction settling over her. "You have no idea what kind of man Derek Thompson is. You have no idea what happens to his brides. Just wait and see the hell that awaits you. It will be far worse than any fire."