Thatcher's Death, My Liberation

I stormed into Thatcher's office without knocking, my grief and rage propelling me forward like a physical force. The receptionist's protests faded behind me as I pushed through the double doors.

Thatcher looked up from his desk, his expression shifting from annoyance to cold calculation when he saw me.

"How dare you," I said, my voice breaking. "How dare you sit there like nothing happened."

He leaned back in his leather chair, studying me with detached interest. "Rose. I'm rather busy at the moment."

"Georgia is dead!" I screamed, sweeping my arm across his desk, sending papers flying. "My sister is dead because of you!"

His eyes narrowed as he watched me, not moving even as his precious documents scattered across the floor.

"Your sister's unfortunate passing is regrettable," he said finally, his tone as impersonal as if discussing a failed business deal. "But perhaps if you hadn't hidden Liberty, this could have been avoided."

I stared at him in disbelief. "You're blaming me? For Georgia's death?"

"I'm blaming you for your interference in my personal affairs," he replied, straightening his tie. "Liberty is still missing, Rose. And until you tell me where she is, there will be consequences."

"There are no consequences left," I whispered, tears streaming down my face. "You've taken everything."

He stood then, walking around his desk to tower over me. "No, I haven't. Not yet."

---

Darkness. Complete and absolute darkness.

I couldn't tell how long I'd been in this windowless room in the basement of our mansion. Time had lost all meaning in this lightless void.

The door opened, flooding the space with harsh light that made me wince and shield my eyes. Thatcher stood in the doorway, his silhouette outlined by the hallway light.

"Have you reconsidered your position?" he asked, his voice echoing slightly in the empty space.

"Please," I whispered, my throat dry from disuse. "I need to see Georgia. I need to arrange her funeral."

"The funeral has been handled," he said flatly. "You have only yourself to blame for missing it."

A small tray appeared at his side—a glass of water and a slice of bread. The same meager offering he'd brought twice daily since my imprisonment began.

"Your defiance has consequences, Rose," he continued, setting the tray on the floor just inside the door. "Perhaps in time, you'll remember that."

The door closed, plunging me back into darkness.

I crawled to the tray, my limbs weak from hunger and inactivity. The water tasted metallic, the bread dry and flavorless.

"You failed her," Thatcher's voice came through the door, making me jump. "You failed your sister just as you failed our marriage."

His words cut deeper than any physical punishment could have.

"I gave you every opportunity to save her," he continued, his voice muffled but still audible. "And you chose your petty jealousy instead."

I pressed my forehead against the cool concrete wall, silent tears streaming down my face. Was he right? Could I have saved Georgia if I'd just told him where Liberty was? But I didn't know—I still didn't know.

---

The door opened again, but this time the light was gentler, filtered through sheer curtains. I blinked, disoriented by the change.

"Get up," Thatcher said, his tone businesslike. "You have a new assignment."

I stumbled to my feet, legs shaky from days of confinement. "What?"

"Liberty is back," he announced, a note of satisfaction in his voice. "And she needs proper care in her condition."

Liberty stood in the hallway behind him, one hand resting protectively over her slightly swollen belly. Her eyes gleamed with triumph as she looked at me.

"Rose will be your personal attendant," Thatcher told her, his hand possessively at the small of her back. "Anything you need, she'll provide it."

"But—" I began.

"That's not all," Thatcher cut me off. "You'll continue to stay here, in the guest quarters. No visitors, no outside contact."

Liberty smiled, a cruel twist of her perfect lips. "I'm so looking forward to our time together, Rose."

As they led me from the basement room, I caught a glimpse of Thatcher's tender expression as he gazed at Liberty's stomach. The same gentle look he'd once reserved for me.

"I want fresh flowers in our bedroom every morning," Liberty was saying, her voice dripping with false sweetness. "And Rose will prepare all my meals exactly as I specify."

Thatcher nodded, kissing her forehead. "Whatever you need, darling."

I followed them silently, a hollow emptiness spreading through my chest. This was my new prison—not just confined to these walls, but forced to witness their happiness while bearing the weight of my sister's death alone.