When You Try to Break a Nun

"You can't be serious," I whispered, my voice barely audible even to my own ears. "I've taken vows of celibacy. I'm preparing to become a nun."

Mrs. Wilde's laugh was like glass breaking. "Childish nonsense, Lark. Those aren't real vows. They're games you played while waiting for your real life to begin."

"Games?" Heat rushed to my face. "I've dedicated my life to God. To service. To—"

"To running away," Mr. Wilde cut in, his voice sharp as a blade. "The convent was a convenient hiding place. But now you have responsibilities. Family responsibilities."

I looked from face to face—these strangers who claimed to be my blood—searching for any sign of understanding. Celestine stared out the window, his profile rigid with tension. Mrs. Wilde's perfectly manicured nails tapped impatiently against the leather armrest. Mr. Wilde regarded me with the cold calculation of a businessman assessing damaged goods.

"You don't understand," I said, rising to my feet. "I've committed myself to a life of service. I can't just—"

"Can't what?" Mrs. Wilde interrupted. "Can't fulfill your duty to your family? Can't make a small sacrifice when our very survival depends on it?"

"A small sacrifice?" I echoed incredulously. "You're asking me to marry a man I've never met. To give up everything I believe in. To—"

"To do exactly what Zinnia would do if she were strong enough," Mr. Wilde snapped. "Samuel Rodriguez is not a man who accepts rejection. He's made it clear—this marriage happens, or our company faces bankruptcy. Thousands of people will lose their jobs. Our family name will be ruined."

"And Zinnia?" I challenged. "Why isn't she being offered as this... sacrifice?"

A heavy silence fell over the room. Mrs. Wilde's face softened into something almost like pity. "Zinnia is... special, Lark. Fragile. Pure. She's never had to face the harsh realities of the world."

"Because we've protected her," Mr. Wilde added, his voice gruff with emotion I'd never heard directed at me. "Samuel Rodriguez isn't a man for someone like Zinnia. He's... demanding. Cruel, even. He needs a wife who can withstand his... particular tastes."

The implication hung in the air like poison. I wrapped my arms around myself, suddenly cold.

"Whereas you," Mrs. Wilde continued, her tone almost clinical, "have strength we've never had to provide. You've lived a life of hardship, of discipline. You can endure what Zinnia cannot."

"So I'm not even worthy of protection," I said flatly. "Just expendable."

Before anyone could respond, the study door burst open. Zinnia wheeled herself in with surprising speed, her face flushed with emotion.

"Stop it!" she cried, her voice trembling. "I won't let you do this to Lark. It should be me. I'll marry Samuel Rodriguez."

Mrs. Wilde rushed to her side. "Zinnia, darling, you shouldn't be out of bed. Your condition—"

"I don't care," Zinnia declared, tears streaming down her face as she turned to me. "I won't let an innocent girl be sacrificed because of my weakness. If this man is so terrible, I'll face him myself."

Her voice rose dramatically, her eyes wide with a passion I'd never seen in her before. "I'll do it! I'll marry him and spare Lark this fate!"

With a theatrical gasp, she slumped forward in her wheelchair, her eyes rolling back. Mrs. Wilde screamed her name as she crumpled, the perfect picture of feminine fragility overwhelmed by emotion.

Chaos erupted. Mr. Wilde bellowed for help. Mrs. Wilde cradled Zinnia's limp form, tears streaming down her face. Servants rushed in, and somehow, in the midst of it all, Zinnia's eyes fluttered open, finding mine with uncanny precision.

"Forgive me," she whispered, just loud enough for me to hear. "I tried to save you."

Then she was gone, whisked away to her bedroom with an entourage of concerned family and staff. I stood forgotten in the corner of the study, watching as they fussed over my replacement—the daughter they truly loved.

When the commotion finally died down, Celestine remained, his face troubled as he studied me.

"You okay?" he asked, his voice low.

"No," I replied honestly. "How can you be part of this?"

He ran a hand through his hair, a gesture so like our father's that it startled me. "It's complicated, Lark. The company is in real trouble. Rodriguez is our only option."

"And I'm just... collateral damage?"

Something flickered in his eyes—genuine regret, perhaps even shame. "It's not like that. We're trying to protect the family. You included."

"By selling me to a monster?"

"By making the best of a bad situation," he corrected, his voice hardening. "This is how the world works, Lark. Not everyone gets to live in a convent, protected from reality."

"And what about Zinnia?" I pressed. "Why is she exempt from this 'reality'?"

Celestine's expression shuttered. "She's different. She's always been... special."

"Special enough to manipulate everyone into getting her way," I said bitterly. "Did you see how perfectly she timed that fainting spell?"

"You're wrong about her," he said, but his voice lacked conviction. "She genuinely cares about you."

I laughed, the sound sharp and humorless. "Right. That's why she was on the phone last night, laughing about how pathetic I looked at the gala."

A flash of surprise crossed his face, quickly replaced by defensiveness. "You don't understand our relationship. Zinnia has been through so much—"

"Save it," I cut him off. "I've heard enough about how fragile and special Zinnia is. What I want to know is why you're all so eager to throw me to the wolves when you've known me for less than a week."

Celestine's shoulders slumped slightly. "It's not that simple, Lark."

"It seems pretty simple to me," I replied, gathering what little dignity I had left. "You need a sacrifice, and I'm the only one willing to bleed."

I turned to leave, but his hand caught my arm—gentle, but insistent.

"It's not just about the money," he said quietly. "Samuel Rodriguez is dangerous. If he doesn't get what he wants..."

The unspoken threat hung between us. I pulled my arm free, suddenly understanding with perfect clarity just how trapped I was.

"We'll talk more when you've had time to think," Celestine said, backing toward the door. "Just... try to understand. We're doing what we think is best."

I watched him go, the door closing softly behind him. For the first time since arriving at the Wilde mansion, I allowed myself to acknowledge the truth: I was never going to be part of this family. I was just a tool—a convenient solution to their problems.