Chapter 3

The inn where Vincent was staying lay a full ten miles from my home.

Clutching the indenture, I dared not pause even for a moment on the road.

Hurrying through the night, I finally reached the inn's entrance just before dawn, as the first rooster crowed.

The place often hosted nobles, so its guards were especially strict—a low‑born farm girl like me had no right to simply push the door open.

I could only ask the old watchman at the gate to announce me to Vincent.

I'd been waiting outside so long I nearly nodded off right there by the gate.

Just then, Vincent walked out at his own pace with Annabelle by his side, looking completely unhurried.

Seeing it was me, Vincent frowned.

Before he could speak, Annabelle cut in, her voice thick with impatience. "What do you want now?"

Instinctively, I looked at Vincent, and at once my hands and feet grew awkward.

He had changed into a deep‑blue velvet robe embroidered with silver thread, a gilded belt at his waist—a perfect match for Annabelle's own lavish attire.

He looked nothing like the man who had worn coarse, short tunics and pushed the millstone behind our donkey.

Standing before this dazzling version of him, I felt an odd tightness in my chest, as though I could hardly breathe.

It was then, too, that I suddenly understood what he had meant by "unsuitable."

Side by side with Annabelle—one elegantly noble, the other poised and lovely—they seemed a pair born for each other, and indeed far more pleasing to the eye than when he stood next to a farm girl in rough‑spun skirts, smelling of earth and mud.

A long silence passed before I managed, haltingly, to string the words together. "I... I came to see when you'd be leaving for the capital," I said quietly.

Annabelle rolled her eyes dramatically, her scorn unmistakable. "What does our departure matter to a schemer like you, who took advantage of his misfortune?"

I stared blankly, hurt swelling inside me—I had never meant to exploit anyone.

Vincent stepped in, cutting Annabelle off.

He replied, sounding indifferent, "We'll be heading out in a bit."

As I heard he would go so soon, a wordless sense of loss washed over me.

Vincent caught the look on my face right away.

He looked at me and, for the last time, shut me down.

"I told you a long time ago—I'm never going to be your husband. Just go home and stop bothering me," he said, his voice cold and final.

I had heard that refusal from his lips countless times before, yet never had it stung as it did now—like a needle pricking straight through my heart.

Grief rose in me, and without thinking, my fingers found the indenture tucked inside my sleeve, clutching it tight.

As Vincent turned to step into the waiting carriage, I called out quickly, "Wait—Vincent."

Vincent looked at me, puzzled, while Annabelle was already rolling her eyes in annoyance.

"What now, you country bumpkin?" she snapped.

I hurried forward and held out the neatly folded indenture.

"This is yours. You left it at my home," I said softly.

Annabelle reached out first and quickly took the indenture, passing it to Vincent, who stared at it like he couldn't quite believe what he was seeing.

When he finally managed to read the messy handwriting on the indenture, Vincent's brows eased, and for once, he actually looked relieved.

Then, right in front of me, he ripped the indenture into pieces.

"I'm not a slave anymore. This indenture doesn't mean a thing to me," he said, sounding cool and collected.

I just stood there in a daze, watching the bits of paper scatter in the wind.

But then Vincent's tone shifted, sounding almost gentle for once.

"Must've been tough for you to come all this way. You should head home now—we're leaving soon," he said.

For the first time ever, he actually talked to me with a bit of kindness in his voice.

As Vincent turned away, I called after him once more, "Wait."

"What else do you want?" Vincent said.

I rubbed my hands together, feeling awkward. "Back then, I paid five silver coins for you."

He paused for a second, then turned to Annabelle. "Annabelle, give her five gold coins," he said.

Annabelle pulled out five gold coins from her purse, her face twisted in disgust.

She then tossed it right in front of me.

As I bent down to pick it up, the carriage rolled right past me.

Vincent pulled back the curtain and called out to me.

"Mary Rivers, someone like you is only fit for a butcher. Don't get any ideas about anything better," he said, his tone leaving no room for argument.

It was the first time he actually said my name.

Right after he spoke, Annabelle snickered from inside the carriage.

"Hear that, you hillbilly? Stop aiming for things way out of your league. People like you? Dream on."

She totally misunderstood me again.

I never wanted Vincent as my husband just to marry up.

After all, when I bought him, he was just a criminal slave, locked up for some serious crime.

I only liked him because he was easy on the eyes.

But honestly, what was the use of being handsome? Guys like him—so high and mighty—would never lower themselves.

The carriage rattled off into the distance.

I stood there for a long time, staring until I couldn't even see the back curtain of the carriage anymore. Only then did I finally drag my aching legs back home.

Just as I turned into the alley, there she was—Serena, waiting for me at the door.

I figured she was about to give me an earful.

I'd left without a word that morning and forgotten to set out the grain for milling.

But Serena said nothing. She only sighed softly, her voice weary and forgiving.

"There's warm soup and bread by the hearth. Go in and have something to eat."

Her gentle tone only deepened my guilt.

Serena had always told me, "Mary, don't follow my example. Don't choose a husband just for his looks—find someone strong, someone who can support a family."

She gave that advice not because my handsome father had betrayed her, but because he'd been frail and sickly.

Not long after I was born, he fell ill and died, leaving the two of us to manage on our own.

The day I went to buy Vincent's freedom, Serena pressed five silver dollars into my hand.

Before I left, she reminded me firmly, "Two for the man, two for the donkey, one for seed.

"Pick someone sturdy who can work—don't just choose a pretty face."

In the end, I failed her.

I spent all five silver coins on Vincent—so pale and frail, not a sturdy bone in him.

Still, I comforted myself by feeling the hard coins tucked in my sleeve—five silver dollars had turned into five gold ones.

It wasn't such a poor trade after all.