Chapter 3: The Spark of Rebellion

The parchment felt heavy in my hands, the gold lettering glinting in the sunlight. I remembered every word from the dream, every twist of fate. My hands trembled, but I forced myself to smile.

In that instant, a splitting headache struck.

It was like a bolt of lightning, searing through my skull, blurring the room around me. I gritted my teeth, refusing to show weakness.

Henry smiled and tapped my head, asking what I was daydreaming about. I gazed deeply at him, probing.

I searched his face for any sign of the boy from my dream—the one who betrayed me so thoroughly. All I found was innocence, or a perfect mask.

Henry was so unnerved by my stare that his hair nearly stood on end. He forced a laugh, “Audrey, what’s wrong?”

He grew anxious. “Is it that you don’t want to? If you really don’t, I can ask Dad to call it off.”

As he spoke, his youthful face looked aggrieved and helpless, like a young man longing for love but unable to attain it.

He looked so earnest, so eager to please, that for a moment I almost believed him. But I remembered the dream, the pain, and kept my guard up.

I smiled innocently. “How could that be, Henry? I’m really happy.”

My voice was honey-sweet, my smile practiced. I knew how to play the game.

When the situation is unclear, the best move is to keep your cards close to the vest.

So I gave the same answer as in the dream—only this time, calling him ‘Henry’ made my heart ache.

After all, in the dream, it was in those repeated calls of ‘Henry’ that I made such foolish choices, closing off my own heart.

The name stuck in my throat like a bone, each syllable a reminder of what I’d lost in that other life.

After coldly observing for half a year, I found everything matched the dream perfectly. I felt as if walking on thin ice.

Every day was a test, every gesture a trap. I kept my distance, never letting my guard down.

The same outing: I got lost, Henry limped to find me, saw my sprained ankle, and couldn’t help but cry.

His tears surprised me, his vulnerability so at odds with the calculating boy I knew from my dreams. Still, I didn’t trust it.

Henry took me out of class to see the bustling street fair, waited in line to buy me a famous cherry pie—probably from a little diner with a neon sign—bought me a tiny turtle from a street vendor.

The pie was warm and sweet, the turtle tiny and green, its shell shining in the sun. I forced a smile, playing the role of the grateful fiancée.

Henry took me to the April tulip festival on the National Mall, fought fiercely with the young lord of the Harrison family to defend me, ended up bruised but smiling, “Doesn’t hurt, I won.”

His bravado was almost charming, but I saw the insecurity behind it. The crowd cheered, but I felt only exhaustion.

Henry took me boating on the Tidal Basin to see the cherry blossoms, picked a blossom and tucked it in my hair, gazed at me and said, “Audrey, you’re more beautiful than the flower.”

I felt the eyes of half of D.C. on us, the envy and admiration thick in the air. I wished I could disappear.

Henry collected fresh wildflowers, brewed champagne punch for me, blushed and said that on our wedding day it would be our special toast.

The gesture was sweet, the drink fizzy and bright. I sipped it, thinking of poison.

Every event matched perfectly. Even if I tried to avoid the traps, I still slipped and hurt my foot; even if I stubbornly chose another street, I still ate the cherry pie and got the turtle.

Fate, it seemed, had a sense of humor. No matter how I twisted, the story snapped back into place.

He seemed like the most perfect boyfriend in the world—the girls in D.C. envied me. I only felt my temples throbbing; the nightmare had come true.

Their jealousy was a bitter joke. If only they knew what waited behind the White House doors.

But I could not sit and wait for death, so I began to plot how to break out of this predicament.

I kept my plans close, my smile closer. No one suspected a thing.