Chapter 2: House Arrest at the Wedding

I knelt for three days and nights, begging my father—the Governor—to truly investigate my husband’s murder.

Three days on the cold marble steps of the Governor’s mansion, my knees bruised and stiff, rain soaking through my jeans and chilling me to the bone. Every hour blurred into the next; staffers rushed by, pretending not to see. I was a ghost in my own life, invisible unless I made enough noise.

I waited for Dad’s personal assistant, Mr. Simms, to bring word.

“Miss Rachel, the police did everything they could. It was just bad luck—wrong place, wrong time. Those guys are long gone. The Governor’s got the whole department looking, but... he says you should try to rest now.”

Mr. Simms stood beneath the portico, umbrella dripping onto his loafers, voice polite but distant. He looked exhausted—like he’d said these lines a hundred times before.

“It wasn’t random. He was stabbed more than thirty times—clearly a vendetta.”

The words clawed out of me, my voice trembling. I wanted someone, anyone, to listen if I just said it plain enough.

“Miss Rachel, the Governor says it was a robbery gone wrong.”

His tone was final. No arguing with the Governor’s version—not for me, not for anyone.

A lump rose in my throat. Tears mixed with rain, running down my lips and into my heart.

I tasted salt and rain and grief, the world swimming at the edges. My hands shook. I tried to steady myself, but the ache only sharpened.

After a long silence, I managed, “Dad’s right. I was too stubborn—troubling him.”

My voice sounded small, like I was watching myself from far away. I forced myself to be polite, as if apologizing could erase the last three days.

I bowed toward the Governor’s mansion, then rose, straightening my coat, chin up—the way I’d been taught at every family event, no matter how close I was to falling apart.

Back at my house, I collapsed the second the door shut behind me. My knees gave out. The silence pressed in, every tick of the clock reminding me what I’d lost.

When I woke, three days had passed. The bedroom was dark, air stale, mouth dry with the taste of old medicine and sleep. Lila hovered above me, gentle and worried, her eyes red from crying.

She fussed with the blanket, smoothing it over my legs, then handed me a mug. Her hands shook just a little, and she kept glancing at my face as if afraid I might shatter. “Mrs. Thompson was worried about you and sent lots of soup and casseroles. You have to take care of yourself. The Prince cared for you most. If you ruin your health, he wouldn’t want that.”

Chicken noodle, because in this town, soup was the answer to everything—grief, heartbreak, even the flu.

“Oh.”

I picked at the blanket, barely hearing her. The world outside felt like it belonged to someone else.

Outside, the sound of a marching band and church bells rang out—lively and bustling.

Somebody’s grill was going, the smell of burgers and hot dogs drifting in with the music. It all felt like a celebration I’d never be invited to.

“What’s going on outside?”

I sat up slowly, squinting at the light sneaking in around the curtains.

“It’s nothing, Miss. You’re not well. Please rest more.”

Lila tucked the covers tighter, her voice too bright, too quick—a terrible liar.

I dressed and headed for the door, body heavy, needing to see the world for myself—maybe if I saw it, I’d remember how to breathe.

“Miss, don’t go.”

Lila hurried after me, knocking a vase off the hall table. The crash made us both jump. She cursed softly, scrambling to clean up, hands trembling.

She was always steady and capable, but today she was flustered. Something big must have happened.

The house felt tense, everyone bracing for a storm.

I opened the main gate, only to be stopped by two security guards in crisp uniforms, hands clasped, eyes averted.

“Sorry, Miss Rachel, Mrs. Thompson says you’re not supposed to leave the house today.”

So, I was under house arrest.

My fists curled. They wouldn’t meet my eyes. I knew I wasn’t getting out.

“What’s happening outside?”

I pressed, voice low, almost pleading. The smell of cut grass and barbecue floated in—life going on, just out of reach.

“Today’s the wedding day of County Princess Danielle and Mr. Lucas.”

They were finally getting married. Why today?

It felt like a punch to the chest, Lucas’s name dropped like it was nothing.

“It’s a big deal—like a governor’s daughter’s wedding.”

A flicker of pity crossed the guard’s face before he looked away.

Lila tugged my sleeve, her grip gentle but urgent. She wanted to protect me from something bigger than gossip.

“Miss, let’s go back.”

She led me inside, arm around my shoulders, and for a moment I let myself lean into her, pretending I wasn’t completely alone.