Married To The Thorn In My Flesh

Sophia Rose's POV

I only have two choices: kill myself or run away.

White pills litter the floor of my closet-a choice I couldn't make. So, I'm running. I step over the pills, suitcase in hand.

My parents have arranged for me to be married off to a rich man. This is the fifth arrangement. But this time, there's no longer a way out.

In an hour, I'll be officially introduced to him. And my fate will be sealed forever.

My hands tremble as I stuff my suitcase.

I blink back tears, rushing to leave this privileged yet caged life for good.

They won't see it coming; I've been the perfect daughter, always saying yes to all their demands. The exemplary scholar with fine grades, the daddy's girl who comes home from London whenever she's needed.

I finally returned home with a resolve to figure out what I want to do with myself. That hasn't happened at all. It's been: 'Sophia, do this, not that.'

Endless rules, constant scripts to follow.

The latest script is: "Sophia, you're getting married."

I was nineteen the first time I heard these words. Now twenty-three, and I'm still trapped.

My eyes flick to my jewelry box. Quickly, I grab it and empty it onto my clothes.

Next, I grab some purses, shove them into my suitcase, and force it shut.

I step into my shoes and pull up my suitcase. The weight halts me for a second, but I drag it out of my closet.

My chest thumps rapidly. I've only disobeyed my parents a few times, but nothing comes close to what I'm about to do.

I rush to my vanity, where my purse full of cash waits. With shaky hands, I scoop all I can from the table and dump them into the purse before wearing it across my shoulder.

My phone buzzes on the bedside desk.

I grab it fast.

It's my best friend, who lives in London.

Layla: {Sure about this, Soph?}

I type my response without hesitation: {My second option is death, Lay. DO YOU WANT TO ATTEND MY FUNERAL??}

Me: {Tell me he's almost here.}

I twist my mouth, tapping my shoe against the ground as I await her reply.

Most of my close friends are in London or far away from New York. Layla has a friend here who's supposed to pick me up and help with my escape.

Layla: {You're not dying. He'll be at your house in 10}

Me: {Thanks}

I throw my phone into my purse, grab the handle of my suitcase, and pull with purpose.

There's a sudden knock on my door.

My breath stops. I freeze, eyes locked on the door.

The knock comes again.

"My love?" My dad's voice echoes.

I swallow hard, chest tightening immediately.

My eyes fall to the doorknob, and I can only hope I locked my door after he and my mom left hours ago-when they broke the bad news of my sell-off to me.

He knocks