The relentless knocking echoed through the room, each rap sharpening Joanne's anxiety. She hesitated before peeking through the peephole. Her breath caught.
Philip Winchester stood there, with his assistant.
Her fingers twitched, nervously brushing against each other. What could he want now? Was he here to ensure the wedding still happened? To force her into a family that barely tolerated her existence?
Philip had always had a way of making her feel included, though his family's cold glances and sharp words told a different story. She wasn't ready to face him, not with the storm of emotions brewing inside her.
But then she caught the shadow in his expression, a flicker of something that almost looked like guilt. He wasn't just knocking—he was waiting. And waiting felt heavy.
With a sigh, Joanne unlocked the door, her conscience refusing to leave an elderly man standing outside for long. She wasn't raised that way.
Philip smiled as he stepped in as his assistant stayed out. Philip's usual warmth was laced with something…off. "My dearest poppet…"
The endearment grated on her nerves this time, a cruel echo of his charm that once made her feel valued. Poppet. Puppet. The words blurred in her mind. Was she anything more to this family than a convenient pawn?
She tried to return his smile, but the effort cracked under the weight of her emotions. Philip leaned in for a hug, his embrace lingering too long, his breath heavy with regret.
"I'm sorry, dearest poppet," he murmured, his voice trembling. "I am so, so sorry…"
Joanne stiffened, the sorrow in his tone slicing through her defenses. "What is it, Mr. Winchester?" she asked softly.
Philip's hands gripped her shoulders, his usually steady demeanor unraveling before her eyes. "The wedding…" he began, his voice breaking. "It's off. Jeffrey…he…he's gone."
Her heart dropped. "Gone? What do you mean? Is he hurt? Is he in danger?" The words spilled out before she could contain them. Confusion, relief, and an inexplicable sense of loss collided in her chest.
Philip shook his head, his sorrow deepening. "No, he's not in danger." His shoulders slumped. "He ran away."
Ran away.
Joanne's thoughts spun wildly. At first, there was the gut-wrenching realization: the wedding was off. The life she had begrudgingly braced herself for—gone in an instant. Then came the relief, a bloom of happiness she didn't quite know how to name. This was what she wanted too. But it was quickly overshadowed by something darker, colder.
Ran away? Jeffrey would rather flee than speak to her? Did he despise her so much he couldn't even tell her himself? Did he think she was so desperate, so hungry for his family's wealth, that she'd trap him into a marriage he didn't want?
It burned.
"I'm sorry, dearest poppet." Philip's voice wavered, his sincerity undeniable. "This is all my fault. I thought I could convince him to do the right thing, but…" His voice faltered. "I was wrong."
Joanne barely heard him. The humiliation, sharp and merciless, consumed her. She was nothing more than an afterthought to Jeffrey Winchester, someone not even worth a confrontation. Her pride screamed in protest.
Philip's voice broke through her turmoil. "Your debt—don't worry. It will be handled. This is my responsibility, and I'll make sure you're taken care of."
"No." Joanne's voice was steel, cutting through the air like a blade. She straightened, lifting her chin to meet his gaze. "I appreciate your concern, Mr. Winchester, but this deal… is over. It is what it is."
"But…" Philip's voice faltered, his regret unmistakable.
Joanne met his gaze with unwavering resolve. "It's over," she repeated, her tone sharp and final.
She refused to let anyone—not Jeffrey, not Philip, not anyone—treat her as disposable. The sting of rejection still scorched her, but beneath the pain, something stronger stirred: her pride, her dignity. They were all she had left, and she clung to them with fierce determination.
No one, not even the mighty Winchesters, not even the looming debt, could take that from her.
Philip hesitated, his mouth opening as if to say something more, but the set of Joanne's jaw silenced him. He sighed, defeated. "Please, stay in the room tonight. I'll see you off in the morning." His voice was heavy with apology. He lingered for a moment before leaving, casting one last remorseful glance in her direction.
Joanne stood still, staring at the closed door long after he'd gone. Sleep eluded her that night, her thoughts a whirlwind of grief and anger.
Out of nowhere, her grandfather's passing had left her drowning in debt. The Winchesters' promise of salvation had seemed like a lifeline, only for it to crumble before her eyes. But even as despair threatened to overtake her, her pride refused to waver.
"Joanne Smith," she whispered into the dark, "you've come from nothing and survived this long. You can get through this too."
As the first hint of dawn painted the sky, she rose from the bed, her decision made. Her bags were already packed. She wouldn't give the Winchesters the satisfaction of seeing her despair. They would likely blame her for Jeffrey's cowardice, but she didn't care. She just wanted out.
"This is your lucky day, Joanne," she muttered to herself as she opened the door to the hallway. "Believe."
The corridor stretched before her, quiet and empty, save for her own echoing footsteps. But as she approached the nearest crossway, a sound stopped her in her tracks—a muffled scuffle, followed by raised voices.
"Let me go!" A man's voice rang out, loud and desperate.
"Jeffrey Winchester," a commanding voice barked. "Mr. Winchester wants you brought to him. Stop struggling."
Jeffrey.
Her pulse quickened as the scuffle grew louder, the voices nearing. Just a few more steps, and the men would turn the corner, exposing her. She hesitated, torn between retreating to her room and pretending she hadn't seen anything.
Every instinct urged her to leave, but curiosity and simmering anger kept her in place. What did I do wrong? Why should I hide?
The scuffle drew closer, footsteps echoing in the hallway. Joanne held her breath, her heartbeat thundering in her ears. She gripped her bag tightly, every muscle coiled in anticipation.