From Lies To Loyalty

Chapter 1: The Conditional Feminist

Lizzie

My name is Lizzie, and if I've done something wrong, I'd prefer prison. Not this.

Ten blind dates in one month. Ten different men handpicked by my mother like I'm some overripe fruit she's desperate to sell before I spoil.

My only crime?

I turned twentythree and didn't come with a husband.

~~~

"When I'm entertaining colleagues," The man sitting across from me said as he folded his napkin with ceremonial precision, "I expect my wife to stay out of sight unless she's serving something."

Kenneth Greene. The tenth and the worst one this month. And by all indications, my mother's favorite.

I blinked.

Not because I hadn't heard him. Because I wanted to confirm that the sentence had indeed existed outside a Victorian etiquette manual and inside my present reality.

Kenneth smiled across the table with the benevolent patience of a man who had never, in his entire life, been contradicted. "You strike me as someone who understands her place. I'm certain we won't encounter any difficulties in that department."

"Oh... I see."

Ten men. Ten restaurants. Ten variations of the same conversation delivered with different accents, different watches, different bank accounts but identical expectations.

Ten reminders that my mother loved the idea of me married far more than she loved me happy. She cherished the idea of a wealthy soninlaw and a powerful last name.

Somehow, my thoughts went back to Reese Blackwood like it usually did these days. My cousin's brotherinlaw. The last decent man I'd encountered.

And the man I gave my virginity to in a one night stand nearly two years ago.

The man with broad, solid shoulders that had pressed me firmly into the sheets and destroyed every filthy book I've read.

The man whose eyes were greener than the ring on Kenneth's index finger.

That is a reckless night I'd told myself to forget a thousand times. And yet, every single man my mother paraded in front of me, I measured against him.

Kenneth's smile was too smug. His jaw too soft. His voice too selfsatisfied. His shoulders too sloppy.

None of them were Reese. None of them could ever be.

How would my mother react if I'd brought back the son of the expresident home as a husband? Blackwood was a much stronger last name than Greene. So I bet she'd be happy.

Then at least I wouldn't have to be stuck in hell with Kenneth. But alas, things with Reese ended up quite messy.

Across from me, Kenneth was speaking again. He had been speaking continuously, in fact. I suspected he would continue speaking even if oxygen were removed from the room.

"Your mother mentioned you enjoy writing," he said, clearly encouraged by what he mistook for receptive silence. "A charming hobby. But naturally, after marriage, my wife wouldn't need to concern herself with career ambitions. My income is more than sufficient. Domestic focus creates harmony."

My mother had described him as traditional. Apparently, that meant he intended to marry me, silence me, and store me neatly beside the cookware.

I pictured gently placing his head inside the bread basket and closing the lid. Harmony indeed.

Smile. Sip. Breathe. Just a little longer, Lizzie.

I smiled pleasantly. "You don't seem to seem to like intelligent women, Kenneth." I noted.

He did not flinch. "I admire intelligent women, Lizzie. As long as they know when not to use it."

Ah. A rare specimen. The Conditional Feminist

He straightened slightly, as though preparing to deliver a particularly impressive revelation. "Our mothers spoke again this morning."

I set my glass down carefully. "Yes?"

"She mentioned something admirable about you."

My spine went rigid. I had learned through long experience that nothing my mother described as admirable benefited me.

Kenneth's expression softened into what he clearly considered reverence. "She said you've preserved yourself for me. That you're a virgin."

The words settled on the table like something unpleasant and sticky.

He watched me expectantly, eyes gleaming with satisfactionthe look of a collector who had just confirmed the authenticity of a prized acquisition.

"I've always intended to marry a chaste woman," he said proudly. "The idea of a wife who has been with other men is... revolting, frankly. One expects purity because experience in a wife suggests poor judgment. I find it difficult to respect women who arrive with history."

Something inside my chest went very still.

I lifted my glass again, studying the wine as though evaluating a scientific specimen.

"How interesting," I said calmly. "Are you a virgin, Kenneth?"

He blinked. Then he laughed not nervously, but confidently. The laugh of a man who had never once imagined his own standards might apply to him.

"Of course not," he scoffed. "I'm a man."

I nodded once as I took a sip from my glass, as though he had just confirmed a minor detail on a form.

Then I spat the wine directly into his face.

"What the hell, Lizzie!" he shouted, half rising from his chair. "Are you crazy?!"

Before he could recover, I lifted the glass again and emptied the remaining wine over his head. Red droplets clung to his eyelashes. A thin line of Cabernet slid down the bridge of his nose with tragic dignity.

The restaurant fell silent. Conversations dissolved midsentence. A fork clinked somewhere in the distance.

Kenneth stared at me, stunned, blinking through the wine.

I placed the empty glass gently on the table. "You," I said evenly, "are a pig. A remarkably confident, spectacularly selfrighteous pig."

His mouth opened and closed without sound.

"For someone so concerned with purity," I continued, rising from my chair and smoothing my dress, "it's remarkable how comfortable you are with hypocrisy. You want ownership, not partnership. You want obedience, not respect. And you want standards that apply to women but evaporate the moment they inconvenience you."

My voice managed to remain calm throughout and it actually surprised me.

"I would rather marry a houseplant," I added thoughtfully. "At least a fern contributes oxygen."

I picked up my bag.

"Oh, and for future reference," I said, meeting his eyes, "my personal history is not a commodity for your approval. Nor is it my mother's bargaining chip."

I leaned slightly closer, offering him the courtesy of clarity.

"But if you must know," I whispered, "I am not a virgin. So yesby your standards, I'm revolting. And as such, this won't work out."

Color flooded his face beneath the wine. His hands clenched on the table, knuckles whitening.

"Your mother speaks about a traditional woman for her son," I added softly, "but she's also the woman who wears turtlenecks in summer to hide what your father does to her."

"Shut your mouth," he hissed, voice low and trembling with fury. "I'll get you for this."

I smiled pleasantly. "Have a lovely evening, Mr. Greene."

Then I turned and walked toward the exit.

Behind me, his voice rose in indignant outrage. A waiter hurried forward. Someone gasped. Glassware rattled.

I laughed.

Outside, the night air struck my face and I inhaled deeply, feeling tension unwind from my shoulders.

Nine terrible dates had been endurance. Ten had been education.

"I'm never doing this again." I muttered to myself.

I pulled out my phone and opened my messages to my mother. My thumbs hovered over the screen, ready to deliver a masterpiece of righteous fury.

Then I paused. Deleted the draft. Switched off the phone.

Why inform her when she would soon be informed by an outraged network of mothers who believed matrimony was a competitive sport?

Somewhere in this city, I decided, there had to be at least one man who did not require basic humanity explained to him like a household appliance manual.

My mind drifted back to Reese. Who knows what he's up to now. Does he have a girlfriend? Is he still single? Is he still mad at me for what I did?

I sighed. "Close that chapter already, Lizzie. Reese has probably moved on." I muttered to myself.

I began walking home and I did not look back. Each step toward home felt like walking towards what was out to get me. The quiet stretched as the city seemed to hold its breath with me.

When I reached my street, the house stood at the end like a verdict. Every light was on. Even from the gate, I could see her silhouette through the curtainsstill, upright, clearly waiting for me.

My pulse quickened.

This wasn't over. This was the beginning. I reached for the door handle. But something shifted inside...

And then... the door opened before I could even touch it.

Chapter 2: What Did You Do?

Lizzie

"What did you do?!"

My mother's voice sliced through the hallway before I had both feet inside the house. The door had barely clicked shut behind me when she was in my face, eyes blazing, breath sharp with fury.

"What did you do to Kenneth?!"

I didn't answer. I stepped around her instead, slipping off my heels with deliberate calm and placing them neatly by the shoe rack.

If I moved slowly enough, maybe the night would rewind itself. Maybe this would turn into any other evening in this suffocating house where silence was safer than truth.

"I am talking to you, Elizabeth Marie Foster!" she shrieked. "Kenneth's mother just called me."

I stopped at the base of the stairs. "Then I assume she's aware he bathes in wine now."

My father appeared from the living room, newspaper still folded in his hand, reading glasses perched low on his nose. He took in the scenemy mother trembling with rage, me rigid and clearly exhausted.

"Carol," he said gently, "why don't you let her freshen up first? I don't think Lizzie would have done something disrespectful if Kenneth hadn't done something to offend her in the first place."

It was the usual script. Calm father. Explosive mother. Me in the crossfire.

But tonight, the script wasn't working.

"Stop making excuses for her!" my mother snapped, rounding on him. "That's why she turned out like this!" She jabbed a finger in my direction as if I were something rotten she'd discovered in her pantry. "You keep excusing her behavior until one day you'll realize you've done her more harm than good when she turns thirty in a few years without a husband and no one wants her!"

The words hit like pebblessmall, but painful. "Is that all that matters to you?" I asked quietly.

My mother blinked, thrown by the softness.

"Is that all I am to you?" My voice steadied. "A heifer on a market stall?"

Dad winced. "Lizzie, please. Go upstairs. Change. Your mother and I will discuss this like adults. The neighbors don't need to hear"

"Why?" I asked him, turning fully now. "Why shouldn't I talk? I am an adult. I'm fucking twentythree, dad. Not a teenager."

"You see?" Mom cried. "You see that, Eric? Now she talks back to you too! My God. Where did I go wrong?"

I laughed under my breath. "What's so wrong with being thirty and unmarried, Mom? Because you got married at twentyone doesn't mean I will. Because Dad was laid off and we're barely making ends meet doesn't mean I should be sold off to a pig like Kenneth Greene."

Dad inhaled sharply. "Lizzie"

"Did he tell you what he said to me?" I pressed.

My mother's eyes turned cold. "Who cares what he said? He's a man. They say things all the time."

Silence fell.

"It's your duty to understand your husband and act accordingly," she continued, voice rising. "You threw wine on him! You created a scandal when you know he's running for mayor next year! How can you be so stupid?"

The humiliation of the evening rushed back. Maybe I had overreacted. But the wine had felt good.

"I don't care," I said, and this time I didn't bother keeping my voice down. "I don't care about his campaign or his reputation or his future. I don't care about that man or his political ambitions, and I certainly will never be his wife. That is my decision."

Dad dragged a hand down his face. "Oh good heavens."

"Your decision?" Mom echoed, her voice turning dangerously calm.

"Yes." I met her stare without flinching. "And nothing you do will change my mind. I'm not marrying Kenneth. I'm not going on another date. Tonight was the last time I let you parade me around like some prized breeding stock."

Her lips trembled. Not with hurtwith fury.

"And while we're at it," I continued, the dam fully broken now, "stop discussing my private life with Mrs. Greene or any of the other rich women you suck up to. I am not your social ladder, mom."

The slap came out of nowhere.

One second I was standing tall. The next, my cheek exploded with heat and my head snapped to the side. The taste of iron bloomed in my mouth.

Dad stepped forward. "Carol!"

"You ungrateful child!" my mother spat. "After everything we've done for you? After the sacrifices your father and I made? This is how you repay us the one time we ask for your help?"

I slowly straightened. My cheek throbbed, but I refused to touch it.

"You say it like you're asking me to pass you the salt," I said, voice trembling with contained rage. "Cut it out, Mom. Emotional blackmail doesn't work on me. Never did. Never will."

Her nostrils flared. For a long moment, we simply stared at each other.

Then she said, very softly, "I never should have let you stay with Savannah. Never."

I blinked. "What does Savannah have to do with this?"

"She filled your head with nonsense. Independence. Freedom. Career before marriage." My mother laughed bitterly. "Look at her now. She's happily married to a billionaire. Who's the fool now, Lizzie?"

"Leave her out of this," I snapped. "She's not to be blamed. You are!"

"You want to bring embarrassment to our family?"

"No," I said, stepping closer despite the sting still burning across my face. "The embarrassment is a mother branding her daughter a virgin bride to impress wealthy neighbors. I'm ashamed of you, mom."

If the words cut, she didn't show it.

Instead, she straightened her shoulders and delivered her verdict like a judge handing down a sentence.

"Tomorrow morning, Kenneth Greene and his family will be here. You will apologize to him and his parents for your disgraceful behavior today."

My pulse stumbled.

"Then," she continued, "you will go home with them. Your wedding will be in one week. Those were the demands from the Greenes. And we have accepted it on your behalf."

The room seemed to tilt.

Chapter 3: You're Selling Me

Lizzie

"What?" The word came out as a breath, not a scream.

Dad's eyes were fixed on the floor. Guilty.

I looked from him to her, waiting for someone to laugh. To admit this was emotional theatrics taken too far.

No one did.

"You can't be serious," I whispered.

"Oh, I'm very serious," she replied. "Do you know how much Kenneth's father has promised to invest in your father's new business idea? Millions, Lizzie! Do you understand what will happen if they pull out now? Do you even care about us at all?!"

The obvious missing piece clicked into place.

It was debt. Dad was in debt. And marrying into the Greene family was the ladder out of that pit.

Dad's small side business had been bleeding money since the layoff. When he said he'd finally found footing again, it had been with backingfrom the Greenes.

My stomach twisted.

"You promised me," I said to my father, voice cracking. "You promised you'd never use me as collateral, dad. I trusted you. I believed you."

He looked up then, eyes redrimmed. "Lizzie, it's not like that."

"Then what is it like?" I demanded.

"It's security," Mom cut in. "For all of us. Kenneth adores you. He'll dip your hands in gold."

"You don't actually believe that, do you?" I barked a humorless laugh. "He told me tonight that after marriage I'd stop writing. That my opinions would be better kept inside our home. That a good wife knows when to be silent."

Mom waved a dismissive hand. "Men say things."

"And women just endure them?" I shot back.

"Yes!" she cried, as if it were obvious. "That is how marriages last!"

"He laid claims on my body! Aren't you even disgusted?!" I screamed. "You're a woman, mom!"

"What's so bad about that, Lizzie?!" She pulled at her hair in frustration. "If that's what it takes to get you to be his wife, then yes. He can lay claims for all I care! Don't think too much about those things."

My vision blurred. "Is that so?"

"Yes." She stood her ground.

"In that case I hope you have a good excuse for him when he bundles me back home to you." I stepped forward. "I'm not a virgin, mom. I lost it. I already had sex with a man."

She paused. Actually, she froze.

Then she finally spoke in a chilling tone. "What was that? What'd you say?"

Luckily my dad stepped in. "Calm down. Both of you. Carol, stop it."

But mom was still glaring at me.

Dad took a hesitant step toward me. "It won't be as bad as you think. Kenneth comes from a respectable family. You'll live comfortably. You won't have to worry about bills."

"I don't want comfort, dad," I said. "I want choice. I want freedom."

"And you have it," Mom said smoothly. "You can choose to support your family or you can choose to destroy us."

There it was.

I felt something inside me harden.

"So that's it?" I asked. "If I refuse, what happens? They pull their funding? We lose the house? I get thrown in jail for throwing wine on Kenneth in public?"

Silence answered.

Dad swallowed. "It's complicated."

"No," I said quietly. "It's simple. You're selling me."

"Don't use that word again," Mom hissed.

"But that's what this is. A transaction."

Her jaw clenched. "Tomorrow morning. Eight o'clock. Be dressed."

"And if I'm not?"

She smiled. "You will be, Lizzie."

I searched my father's face for resistance. For rebellion. For anything. But there was none. He looked tired. Defeated. Small.

And in that moment, I realized I was alone.

"I won't do it," I said, though my voice sounded distant, even to me.

"You will," my mother replied calmly. "Because you love us."

I let out a breath. "Love shouldn't feel like a cage."

She didn't respond. The conversation was over.

I turned and walked up the stairs slowly, each step heavier than the last. My legs trembled once I reached my bedroom. I shut the door softly behind me and leaned against it, listening to the muffled argument that resumed downstairsmy father's low murmur, my mother's sharper tone.

My cheek still burned.

I crossed to my mirror and stared at the faint red imprint blooming across my skin.

One week. They planned to marry me off in one week.

My gaze drifted to my desk, to the stack of resumes I'd been meaning to send out. To the tiny savings jar hidden behind my books. To the framed photo of dad and me at the beach last summer.

"I never should have let you stay with Savannah." The words replayed.

My heart began to pound.

Tomorrow at eight, the Greenes would be here. By tomorrow at eight, I couldn't be.

The thought settled over me with terrifying clarity.

If I wanted to make it out of this house with my life intactmy real life, not the polished politicalwife versionthey were constructing for me... I had to leave. Tonight.

I pushed off the door and moved to my closet, pulling out a small suitcase from beneath the bed. My hands shook, but my mind felt strangely calm. Focused.

Two pairs of jeans. Three blouses. Underwear. Toiletries. My passport. The little envelope of cash I'd been saving for no particular reason other than instinct.

I hesitated at my bookshelf, fingers grazing the spines. I couldn't take them all.

Just one.

I chose the worn paperback my best friend, Kira, had given me years agothe one about a woman who ran away from an arranged marriage and built a life from nothing. I slipped it into the suitcase.

I was going to run away to Philadelphia.

No matter how bad things were the last time I spoke to Savannah, I was sure that she and her husband, Roman, wouldn't mind me crashing at their place for sometime until I figured out what to do next.

Downstairs, a door slammed. Voices hushed. My heart jumped into my throat.

I turned off my bedroom light and crossed to the window, easing it open. The night air rushed in.

Freedom smelled like this. But fear did too.

I glanced back at my roomthe bed I'd slept in since childhood, the faded curtains, the familiar walls.

But tonight, it felt like a cage. There would be no tomorrow morning for Elizabeth Marie Foster in this house.

Only escape.

And whatever waited for me on the other side of it.