Burned and Crowned

Bennett's boot crashed into my head, and for a moment, my heart just stopped. Cradling my belly, I reached for the phone, my fingers slick with blood, and punched in the number I could dial in my sleep.

"Harriet? Did you set Bennett off again?" my mother's voice was a whisper of worry.

"Mom! Help me! Bennett's going to kill me!" I could barely get the words out, my voice shaking.

Silence stretched on the other end before my father's voice broke through, harsh and impatient, "Keep your family drama to yourself!"

"However, I'm bleeding, and the baby!" I choked on my tears.

"That baby is the heir!" he exploded, his anger palpable even through the phone. "You can't even protect an heir, you deserve what you get! You brought this on yourself when you refused that arranged marriage; Bennett's just teaching you a lesson!"

I gripped the phone tighter, blood and tears mingling as they dripped down my chin.

Before the line went dead, I heard him dismiss me to my mother, "Hang it up. She's Marshall's problem now, dead or alive."

The dial tone was the last thing I heard before everything went black.

When I opened my eyes again, I was staring at the family crest on the calendar on the wall.

I was back, back to that pivotal day when my father was playing matchmaker, deciding my future.

That day in my previous life, I was bullied into tears and into Bennett's arms by the threat of being disowned.

Four years of submission followed, ending with my life as the final price.

However, now, as I watched my father pore over those same marriage documents, my heart was racing, not with fear, but with the wild thrill of a second chance. Hope and life were mine again.

"Bennett's a catch!" my father's voice was closing in, full of approval. "Loyal, efficient, ambitious, he'll secure our family's future."

He paused at my bedroom door, eyeing me like I was just another item on his inventory list: "Forget about computer science or finance, those are men's fields. Who'd want to marry a woman who dabbles in that? You should study art history at Columbine. Don't worry, I've already scoped out your future husband."

My grip tightened around my pen, but I kept quiet. I already died once before, and then his lectures sounded like a bad joke.

"Are you listening?" His voice grew heavy with authority. "I'm thinking of our family's future here! Your cousin listened, went to that fancy school, and now she has children, and her husband's got a big stake in the local docks. She's living a good life. And you? Always dreaming too big!"

He was working himself up, using "for the family's future" like it was his ultimate weapon.

Mom, Emma, peeked out from the kitchen, a wet rag in hand, murmuring her support: "Harriet, listen to your dad. He's only looking out for you."

That line was on repeat for eighteen years. In my previous life, it shackled me.

"Mom," I cut in sharply, "do you really think Dad's always right?"

She froze, her eyes darting to Dad like a kid caught in a mistake.

Dad scoffed: "What does she know? A woman's place is to follow orders. This family would've crumbled without me!"

Mom quickly looked down. "Right, I don't get it. Dad's word is law."

What a team they made: one to lay down the law, the other to coax compliance.

I turned away, sizing up the man on the couch.

He sat there, belly out, snipping at his cigar, looking every bit the godfather.

His gaze on me was like I was just another commodity.

"Dad," I said quietly, "are you pushing me toward art just to trade me off at a higher price?"

The cigar cutter hit the coffee table with a loud smack as he shot up, his face shaking with anger. "What did you just say?"

I stood tall, my words deliberate. "I'm not going to be part of any arranged marriage. I'm applying for computer science at Camford University. I'm living for me, not for deals or expectations."

The room went still, as if the air itself turned to ice.

The storm hit without warning, fierce and sudden.