Nathaniel walked down the Hall, ready for his morning class. Today, they were having a little hands-on demo of musical instruments, their basics and properties.
He stopped in front of the studio door, frowning.
Was someone already having a class there?
He opened the door, and sure enough, the studio was full of faces.
Students were split into groups and each group had a different instrument pressed to their ears. Professor Collins was engaged in a discussion with one of the groups who had no idea how a violin worked.
Nathaniel cleared his throat, catching everyone's attention.
"You don't simply strum on thi-" the Professor paused and spun around, meeting his eyes.
He arched his brow, "Again?"
She narrowed her eyes, "Maybe check your emails before barging into my classes? There was a last minute reschedule."
He blinked, and pulled out his phone.
Once again, he forgot to go through the faculty emails.
"...Oops?"
She sighed, "Get out."
He smirked despite himself, "How stingy. Is it the mornings that bother you?"
"Out."
Victor got shoved out of the room, students snickering behind his back as the door slammed shut.
"Great. Insulted and late to a class," he grumbled, making his way to the opposite end of the building.
But his mind couldn't help but linger on her expression, her actions.
The same as ever.
How was she so unaffected?
Or maybe she was just masking it yet again. She was always exceptionally good at that. So good that Nathaniel once considered taking lessons from her.
But his pride got in the way, and he decided to keep his head held high. Hell was better than lessons from Beatrice Collins on emotional management.
Will she keep up the cool facade even when she gets forced into a marriage neither of them wants?
"Maybe she will."
Suddenly, his mother's words rang in his mind.
After she produces an heir, she will no longer be necessary.
Nobody is a human. Everybody is simply an asset.
He didn't feel anything for the woman, but the way she was treated? Her consent and free will being trampled over in her own house?
His jaw tightened. The thought left a bitter taste in his mouth.
Just being in that house a minute longer nauseated him. How had she lived with those people since she was little?
It's not like his own mother was any better, but at least she knew to keep her interests within the four walls of their house. At least she was there when he needed her.
"I doubt that old man ever cared."
He stopped in front of another door, taking a deep breath.
"Okay, focus. Focus, Nathaniel."
He opened the door and walked inside.
"Good morning, Professor Victor." students chanted.
"Morning, kids. How's it going?"
"Just peachy." one responded.
Another decided to be brave and ask, "Why are you late, Professor?"
"Maybe he met Prof. Bee on the way?"
The students snickered. By 'met', everyone knew the guy meant saw, provoked and actively fought Professor Collins.
Nathaniel grinned, "Nah, I'm a good guy."
Laughter rippled through the crowd as the man switched to his professional voice.
"Okay, enough goofing around. Time to see how these babies work, kiddos." he gestured to the instruments standing neatly in a corner.
"Your assignment for this week will also be a detailed analysis on their working and musical purposes."
Amusement was quickly replaced with groans, but they all obliged quickly.
After all, Professor Victor was everyone's favorite.
. . .
Beatrice could not believe her ears.
She knew her father was a horrible man. She tried to understand him, tried to empathize, but he had just crossed the line.
First, he barged into her flat. No call, no nothing. Straight up stormed into the building and lounged there like he owned the place.
Second, he brought her mother there, not as his legal wife and her biological mother, but as a hostage. A fucking leverage.
Last but not least, he was spouting nonsense he was soon to regret.
"Hah… haha!" a laugh scraped out of her throat before she could stop it, "do you think I give a shit? I'm a grown woman. You could disown me right here and now, and I wouldn't give a damn."
"You wouldn't, and neither would I. But… Chelsea begs to differ."
She froze. Slowly, she turned to her mother.
"...Mom..?"
Tears crowded around the reddened rims of her eyes. "I-... I'm so sorry, my love."
"...what…" Beatrice ran a hand through her hair, the lump in her throat growing bigger.
A minute passed in silence.
"I…If you marry him, then… I promise we will never bother you again." Chelsea spoke again, her voice grown steadier.
"You promise me that, but can you say the same for him?" she glared at the man standing in front of her. The one she so closely resembled, and the one whom she took after in temperament.
"Yes." Her reply was sudden. Confident, even.
She raised a brow, "Oh? I don't trust him."
"But… Do you trust me?"
"...it's not the same thing."
"I can guarantee it."
She went quiet. Not hurt. Not angry. Just empty. Like something inside her had finally given up arguing.
Chelsea persuaded her, "You'll live a comfortable life, I promise."
"But…" Beatrice trailed off.
I don't want to lose my freedom as well.
"I… need time." she managed to whisper.
Chelsea offered a small smile. "Take all the time you need."
She turned and nodded to her husband. He took the hint and walked towards the door.
"We'll be going now. Take care." She pressed a soft kiss to her forehead, and they left the flat.
Beatrice collapsed on the spot, her breathing rough. She massaged her forehead, tears welling up in her own eyes.
"Why?" she repeated the word over and over, trying to find the answer in her aching chest.
"Why does it always have to be her?"