Chapter 1 Fractured Vows

How much longer was she supposed to endure this? The servants moved in silence, placing dish after dish before the family. Suzanne Smith sat stiffly, her hands folded in her lap, her heart heavy with an all-too-familiar tension. At the head of the table, Beatrice Langford perched like a queen, her sharp eyes scanning Suzanne with barely concealed disdain. “And how long has it been now?” Her voice cut through the air like a blade—cold, sharp, deliberate. She didn’t even look at Suzanne as she spoke, slicing into her roast lamb with clinical precision. Suzanne knew exactly where this was going. “Three years,” she said softly, keeping her voice steady while a storm raged inside her. Beatrice smirked, setting down her knife and fork with deliberate elegance. “Three years of marriage and not even a whisper of a child.” The words hung in the air like a noose. “Do you know how ridiculous this looks for the Langford family, Suzanne? People are beginning to talk.” Suzanne felt the heat rise to her cheeks, but she kept her gaze fixed on her plate. Across the table, Charles Langford remained silent, scrolling through his phone like none of this concerned him. “I’m doing everything I can,” she said quietly, forcing herself to meet Beatrice’s piercing gaze. Beatrice scoffed. “Everything you can?” She leaned back in her chair, shaking her head as if Suzanne had just told a foolish joke. “You’ve been to the finest doctors money can buy, and yet here we are. Still waiting.” She paused, letting the words sink in before delivering the final blow. “Perhaps the problem isn’t just physical, Suzanne. Perhaps you lack the determination necessary to fulfill your role as a wife in this family.” The words hit like a slap. Suzanne’s grip on her fork tightened. She wanted to lash out, to tell Beatrice exactly what she thought of her and her outdated expectations. But she didn’t. She had learned long ago that arguing only made things worse. “Mother, that’s enough,” Charles finally muttered. His tone was more annoyed than protective, and he didn’t even glance up from his phone. Beatrice waved a dismissive hand. “Don’t interrupt me, Charles.” Her eyes remained locked on Suzanne. “If she isn’t going to take her duties seriously, then someone needs to hold her accountable.” Duties. That was all she was to them. A means to produce an heir and secure the Langford legacy. The door to the dining room opened. A servant entered with a bottle of wine. Suzanne seized the moment, pushing her chair back and standing abruptly. “Excuse me,” she said, her voice trembling despite her best efforts to sound composed. “Sit down, Suzanne,” Beatrice commanded, her tone icy. Suzanne hesitated. Her chest tightened as her instincts screamed for her to leave. But years of conditioning forced her to obey. She sank back into her chair, her head bowed. Beatrice leaned forward, her expression softening into something that resembled pity—though Suzanne knew it was anything but. “Suzanne, dear, I know this isn’t easy for you. But you must understand how important this is for our family. The Langfords have a legacy to uphold. Charles deserves an heir, and you’re running out of time.” The words echoed in Suzanne’s mind, each one a weight dragging her deeper into despair. She wanted to scream. She wanted to tell Beatrice she wasn’t some broodmare whose sole purpose was to bear a child. But she couldn’t. Not here. Not now. Charles finally put his phone down and rubbed his temples as if the entire conversation was an inconvenience. “Mother, can we please just drop this for tonight? I’ve had a long day.” Beatrice sighed, clearly annoyed. “Fine. But this discussion isn’t over.” She picked up her fork and knife, resuming her meal as if nothing had happened. Suzanne’s appetite was long gone. She stared at her untouched plate, her mind racing. How had her life come to this? Three years ago, she had been so sure of her decision to marry Charles. She had believed in their love, believed they could build a life together. Now, sitting in this cold, oppressive dining room, she felt like a stranger in her own life. Dinner dragged on. The conversation shifted to business and social events, topics Suzanne had no interest in. She nodded along when necessary, pretending to listen while her thoughts spiraled. When the meal finally ended, she excused herself. She retreated to the sanctuary of her bedroom, closing the door behind her. Leaning against it, she let out a shaky breath. Her chest heaved as she struggled to hold back tears. The door slammed open. Suzanne’s heart pounded as Charles stormed into the room, his expression twisted with anger. “Do you have any idea how embarrassing that was for me?” he growled. His voice was low but cutting. “Walking out of dinner like that? Mother was furious.” She blinked, still reeling from the evening’s events. “Embarrassing for you?” Her voice rose with disbelief. “Charles, she humiliated me. She treats me like—” “Like what?” he interrupted, stepping closer. His towering frame felt suffocating. She instinctively backed away. “Like a disappointment?” His voice dripped with mockery. “Because that’s exactly what you’re proving to be.” Her breath caught in her throat. Anger flared in her chest. “How dare you—” Before she could finish, his hand lashed out. The slap rang through the room. She froze. Her face stung from the force. Slowly, she turned back to him, her eyes blazing. “Don’t you ever lay a hand on me again,” she warned. She tried to leave. He grabbed her wrist. His grip was like iron as he yanked her toward him. Charles smirked, his face void of regret. “Or what?” he sneered, his voice laced with cruel amusement. “What are you going to do, Suzanne? Run away? You’ve got nowhere to go. No one would take you in.” Her voice came out barely above a whisper. “Let me go.” His grip tightened. Without another word, he dragged her toward the bed. Her body was drained. Too exhausted to fight. He shoved her onto the mattress. “You’re going to stop acting like a spoiled child and start doing what’s expected of you,” he hissed. His breath was hot against her skin. “Do you understand?” She pushed herself up, her chest heaving with fury. There was no fear left. Only exhaustion. She looked at him, her voice low and trembling. “Get out.” His jaw clenched. His gaze burned with contempt. “Don’t push me, Suzanne. You won’t like where that leads.” She spat back at him. “You will do nothing.” Regret hit the moment the words left her lips. A tense silence fell between them. Then, slowly, he unbuckled his belt. The sound was deafening in the room. “Then I shall teach you a lesson,” he said coldly. His movements were slow. Deliberate. A chill ran down Suzanne’s spine.