Chapter 34

CHAPTER 34

C iara awoke to darkness and a stifling sense of confinement. The hard, unforgiving wooden bench beneath her jostled with the motion of the carriage. Panic set in as she realized she was in a confined space, the walls pressing in on her from all sides. Her breaths came in shallow, rapid gasps, and she felt the cold bite of iron against her wrists—she was shackled.

She struggled to sit up, her heart pounding wildly in her chest. As her eyes adjusted to the dim light filtering through the small, barred window, she saw the thick iron bars surrounding her. She was in the back of a jail coach—a carriage designed like a cell with no means of escape.

Terror gripped her as she pressed herself against the bars, trying to see where she was being taken. The realization of her captivity was suffocating. The space was so small, and the air felt thick and oppressive. She screamed for help, her voice raw and desperate.

"Help! Someone, please help me!" Her cries echoed within the confines of the carriage, absorbed by the unfeeling walls.

Her mind raced, trying to make sense of what had happened. The last thing she remembered was feeling drowsy at dinner, her parents' smug faces, and the Mother Superior's sinister presence. They had drugged her, betrayed her. The horror of it all was overwhelming.

She pulled against the shackles, the metal cutting into her skin, but it was no use. Tears streamed down her face as she realized how truly helpless she was. The darkness around her seemed to close in, making it harder to breathe. Her body trembled uncontrollably, her thoughts a chaotic swirl of fear and confusion.

"Please," she sobbed, her voice breaking. "Please, let me out!"

But there was no answer, only the relentless rattling of the carriage as it moved along the rough road. Ciara felt the walls pressing in on her, the small space becoming tighter with every passing moment. She had never felt so trapped, so utterly powerless.

The feeling of claustrophobia intensified, and she closed her eyes, trying to calm herself, but the darkness only made it worse. She could feel her sanity slipping, the terror clawing at her mind. She screamed again, a primal, anguished sound that reverberated through the carriage, a desperate plea to the uncaring night.

"Shout all you want, girl, but no one will save you," Mother Superior's voice came from the driver's seat, laced with cruel satisfaction. "You are a lost soul, and you deserve punishment."

Ciara's heart sank at the sound of her tormentor's voice. The realization of her situation hit her like a blow to the chest. She scrambled to her feet, clutching the iron bars for support as the carriage jolted and swayed.

"Where are you taking me?" she demanded, her voice trembling with fear and desperation.

"St. Catherine's, of course," Mother Superior replied with a mocking laugh. "What did you expect? Stray sheep like you always get what they deserve in the end."

Ciara felt the world slipping away from beneath her feet. The name of the abbey, the place of her worst nightmares, sent a wave of terror through her. She had fought so hard to escape, to free herself from its clutches, and now, she was being dragged back.

"No," she whispered, shaking her head in disbelief. "No, please. Please, don't take me back there."

But her pleas fell on deaf ears. Mother Superior's voice turned venomous, filled with righteous anger. "After all your scheming to kick me out of the abbey, even contacting His Majesty? How dare you? There is no retribution for you now."

Ciara's knees buckled, and she sank to the floor, her hands gripping the cold metal bars for support. Her mind raced, trying to comprehend the full extent of her betrayal and the hopelessness of her situation.

"Please," she begged, as tears streamed down her face. "Please, set me free. I'll do anything. Just don't take me back there."

Mother Superior's laughter was a cruel, hollow sound. "You brought this upon yourself, Ciara. There is no escape for you now."

The carriage continued its relentless journey, the wheels rattling over the uneven road. Ciara's sobs filled the small, dark space, mingling with the rhythmic clatter of the wheels. The weight of her parents' betrayal, the return to St. Catherine's, and the knowledge that there was no one to save her pressed down on her like a tidal wave that threatened to drown her.

The road stretched on, leading her back to the place she had fought so hard to escape, and there was nothing she could do to stop it.

A few days passed in a blur for Jonathan, each one more miserable than the last. The house felt eerily silent, the absence of Ciara's laughter and presence creating a void that nothing seemed to fill. He found himself wandering through the rooms, each one a painful reminder of the life they had begun to build together.

He had thrown himself into his work, hoping to distract himself from the ache in his chest, but it was no use. The house was empty without her. His heart was empty without her.

As he sat in his study, staring blankly at the papers scattered across his desk, he felt a deep sense of regret. He had let his pride and stubbornness drive her away. He had pushed her to the point where she felt she had no choice but to leave. The letter she had sent still haunted him, the words echoing in his mind.

He missed her more than he could have ever imagined. Her absence was a constant, gnawing pain, a reminder of everything he had lost. He couldn't sleep, couldn't eat, couldn't focus on anything other than thoughts of her.

He thought about the nights they had spent talking and laughing, the way she had made him feel alive and whole. He remembered the way she had looked at him, the warmth in her eyes, and the way she had made him believe that he could be a better man.

That afternoon, a knock on the door interrupted his unproductive business attempt.

"Go away," he said loudly, not caring who it might be.

But the doors opened, nonetheless, and Rebecca allowed herself in.

"Oh, it's you," he said with a frown. "I'm busy."

"I can see that," she gave him a displeased glance. "What is going on here, Jonathan? Where is Ciara?"

Jonathan sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair. There was no point in lying, denying the truth, or embellishing it in any manner. There was only one truth, and it could be said in two simple words.

"She left."

Rebecca's eyes widened in shock. "She left? What do you mean she left?"

"I mean exactly that," he pouted. "She left. She is gone. She is not here."

"You know, I am still older than you, and as such, I demand respect," she reminded him although he knew that there was no ill will behind her words. She was more concerned than she was willing to let on and he knew that.

"She went to stay with her parents," he clarified, unable to meet her gaze.

"The parents who hate her?" she asked incredulously, obviously in hopes that through some incredible fluke of fortune, Ciara had another, secret set of parents, and she had decided to stay with them. Of course, that was not true.

"Yes," he murmured.

"And you allowed her?" she gasped.

He frowned again. "I am not her guardian. She can do whatever she wants, and she made her choice."

Rebecca's face hardened. "Jonathan, you're an idiot."

He flinched at her blunt words. "What?"

"I won't pretend to know what exactly happened, but I can rightfully assume that you said or did something to drive her away," she pointed out. He hated it when she was right.

He lifted an annoyed eyebrow at her. "Why do you always assume that I am to blame?"

"Because I know you better than you think," she said calmly which only seemed to irritate him more because he could see how confident she was in her own conclusion.

"That still doesn't make me to be the guilty party of every sour conversation," he pouted.

"No, just this one," she said simply. "Because I know the other party as well. And someone as kind and compassionate as Ciara would not offend anyone unless she was driven to it. And you are quite good at driving people mad for that matter. I know that from personal experience."

"So, are you going to tell me the truth finally or do I have to pull it out of you like a weed out of my garden?"

"We had an argument," he replied, not wishing to delve more deeply into it.

"I knew it." She shook her head at him. "You've pushed away your only chance at happiness for what?" she demanded, leaning forward. "Your pride? Your stubbornness?"

Jonathan's temper flared. "It's not that simple, Rebecca."

"Isn't it?" she shot back. "You had a wonderful woman who loved you, and you let her go. Why?"

He felt a pang of guilt but masked it with anger. "You don't understand. You remember what my father was like. That's how I'll end up. I can't be the husband she needs."

Rebecca shook her head. "That's a pathetic excuse, Jonathan. You're not your father. You have the power to change, to be better. Ciara saw something in you, something worth loving. Why can't you see it?"

Jonathan clenched his fists, his frustration boiling over. "I can't just change who I am overnight, Rebecca."

She softened slightly, her voice gentler but still firm. "No one expects you to change overnight, but you have to start somewhere. You have to be willing to try. Ciara believed in you. Don't you think you owe it to her to at least try?"

Her words cut deep, and Jonathan felt the weight of his own stubbornness pressing down on him. He had pushed Ciara away because he was afraid of becoming like his father, but in doing so, he had become exactly what he feared.

"I don't know, Rebecca," he sighed, getting up and starting to pace about his study as he always did when he was apprehensive.

She inhaled deeply, her hands resting on her hips. "I was hoping that you would do this on your own, that you would realize the error of your ways, but I see you need help."

Upon those words, she headed toward the door, lingering there only for a moment, turning to face him. "What are you waiting for? A formal invitation? Come on!"

He had no idea where she was taking him or what she had in mind. They walked through the grand corridors of the manor, their footsteps echoing against the wooden floors.

Rebecca led the way up a narrow staircase that creaked under their weight. At the top, they reached a dusty, dimly lit attic. Jonathan looked around, puzzled, until Rebecca pushed open a hidden door at the far end of the attic. She stepped inside, and he hesitated for a moment before following her.

"What is this place?" he asked, having seen it for the first time in his entire life. He had no idea that it was even there.

"This room is dedicated to your mother," Rebecca said.

"But… who made it?" Jonathan asked, incredulous at what he was witnessing.

Rebecca hesitated for a moment then revealed what he needed to hear.

"It was your father."