The carriages of the Thompson family rolled smoothly up the long, gravel driveway, coming to a stop before the imposing sight of the ducal estate. The mansion was a masterpiece of stone and glass, its towering spires and wide, elegant windows reflecting the afternoon sun. It was a place built to project power, a fortress of wealth and influence.
A footman in Thompson uniform hurried to open the door of the first carriage. Carlos Thompson stepped out, then immediately turned and offered his hand to his new wife. Ashlyn took it, her heart fluttering with a mixture of relief and nervousness as he helped her descend.
Moments later, the door to the grand ducal carriage was opened. Marissa emerged alone. She gathered the heavy, pearl-encrusted skirts of her gown and descended the steps with a slow, deliberate grace, her face hidden behind the sheer silk of her veil.
A long line of household staff flanked the grand stone staircase leading to the entrance. As the two brides approached, the servants bowed in perfect, practiced unison.
"Congratulations on your marriage, Your Grace," they chorused, their voices directed at Marissa.
Then, turning their heads slightly, they added, "Congratulations on your marriage, my lady," to Ashlyn.
The distinction was immediate and clear. One was the mistress of this great house. The other was the wife of the second son.
Ashlyn felt a familiar sting of envy but quickly pushed it down. Status means nothing if you are miserable, she reminded herself. I chose the safer path.
Their respective maids joined them, helping them navigate the wide stairs. At the very top, standing in the grand, open doorway, was a young woman. She was beautiful, with sharp, intelligent eyes and an air of quiet confidence that suggested she was in complete control. Her smile was perfectly polite, but it didn't quite reach her eyes.
"Welcome to the Thompson estate," she said, her voice smooth as silk. She gave a small, respectful curtsy. "I am Miss Lorena. I manage the household for the Dowager Duchess. On her behalf, I am here to welcome and bless both new brides of the family."
She gestured towards the gleaming marble floor of the entrance hall. As she did, two maids came forward with large baskets, spreading a thick, fragrant carpet of fresh white orange blossoms from the threshold all the way into the grand foyer. The scent was sweet and intoxicating.
"It is a Thompson family tradition," Lorena explained, her serene smile never wavering. "A path of blossoms for fertility and purity. Before you enter your new home, please remove your shoes and walk the path to receive your blessing."
The moment the words left Lorena's mouth, Ashlyn went cold. Her breath hitched in her throat, and a violent tremor ran through her. Her eyes widened in horror as she stared at the beautiful, innocent-looking petals.
It's the same, she thought, her heart hammering against her ribs. It's exactly the same as in my past life.
The world around her seemed to fade, the colors washing out, the sounds becoming distant and muffled. She was back in her previous life, wearing the heavy ducal gown, standing on this very spot, her heart filled with pride and ambition.
~ • FLASHBACK • ~
Ashlyn and Marissa stood before the spread of blossoms. Lorena had just finished her speech. Marissa, the bride in the simpler gown, looked tired after the long day. Carlos noticed this at once.
"Miss Lorena," he said with a charming smile, "my bride is quite weary from the day's events." Before anyone could react, he bent down and swept Marissa into his arms. "I will see that she crosses safely."
He carried Marissa effortlessly across the petal-strewn path, setting her down gently in the foyer. They both waited, smiling, for Ashlyn to follow. As the Grand Duchess, all eyes were on her. She couldn't be outdone by the second son's wife. With a confident smile plastered on her face, she slipped off her shoes and took her first step onto the blossoms.
The petals were soft under her thin silk stockings. The second step, however, brought a sharp, stabbing pain to the sole of her foot. She gasped quietly, but forced her smile to remain in place. Another step, and another searing pain. She looked down, but the thick layer of petals hid the cause. With each agonizing step, she realized the truth. Hidden beneath the beautiful, fragrant blossoms were the thorny stems, cut into sharp points and deliberately scattered along the path.
It was a trap. A cruel, welcoming present from a household that did not want her here. Her feet were being torn to shreds. She could feel the warm trickle of blood soaking into her stockings. But she could not stop. She could not show weakness. Not now, not on her first day. She kept walking, her vision blurring with unshed tears of pain. As she neared the end of the path, she risked a glance at Lorena. The household manager was watching her, and on her lips was the faintest hint of a triumphant smirk.
Finally, she reached the foyer. The pain was so intense she felt faint. She quickly used the heavy skirt of her gown to cover her feet, hiding the growing bloodstains on the white silk. She stood beside her sister and Carlos, her face a mask of pleasant grace, while her feet bled beneath her dress.
~ • FLASHBACK ENDS • ~
The memory was so vivid, so real, that Ashlyn could almost feel the sting of thorns in her feet. She started to tremble uncontrollably, the trauma of that hidden agony washing over her. I can't, her mind screamed. I can't go through that again! I won't!
Just as a wave of panic threatened to overwhelm her, a strong arm wrapped around her. It was Carlos. He looked down at her, his brow furrowed with gentle concern. He mistook her trembling for exhaustion.
"My bride is tired from the long day," he announced, his voice warm and protective. His words were almost exactly the same as in her past life. Before Ashlyn could even process what was happening, he scooped her up into his arms, lifting her off the floor.
A gasp escaped her lips, quickly followed by a wave of relief so profound she felt weak. She was safe. She was being carried. She wouldn't have to walk the path of thorns.
As Carlos started to walk, carrying her over the treacherous blossoms, Ashlyn turned her head, her fear instantly replaced by a surge of vicious, triumphant glee. She looked back at Marissa, who was now standing alone before the path, the grand ducal bride who had to face the household's cruelty.
Marissa was watching them, her expression unreadable behind her veil. Ashlyn's lips curled into a smirk. She had done it. She had passed the cup of poison to her sister.
"Good luck," Ashlyn mouthed, the words a silent, malicious curse.
Without the slightest hesitation, Marissa bent down. With steady hands, she reached under the heavy hem of her gown and gracefully unfastened the silk ribbons of her slippers. She slid them off her feet and handed them to a waiting Lily.
She stood barefoot at the edge of the blossom path, her back perfectly straight. She had seen the pure terror on Ashlyn's face, and she saw the smug relief now. Of course, Marissa thought calmly. She remembers the thorns.