Chapter 150 The Breaking Point
The morning light streamed through the tall windows, bright and golden, yet to Carson, it felt cruel. The sky was too blue, the air too fresh, the world too happy for what he was about to do.
He stood in front of the mirror, dressed in his fitted black suit. The silk tie around his neck felt tight, like something choking him slowly.
He stared at his reflection, seeing a stranger. His face looked calm, but his eyes told a different story—tired, lost, and hollow.
His fingers trembled as he tried to fix the tie again, but it only made it worse. He pulled it loose, breathing hard, as if the air in the room had thinned.
From downstairs, Victoria’s voice filled the silence. It was sharp, busy, and commanding, cutting through the house like a blade.
She was giving orders to the decorators, the caterers, the photographers. Every sound reminded him of the life she had designed for him, not the one he wanted.
“Carson! The guests will start arriving soon!” she called. “You should already be downstairs for the pictures!”
He didn’t answer. He just stared at his reflection, seeing how empty his eyes had become. His heart pounded against his chest, but not from excitement—from fear.
He thought of Bridget, the bride waiting for him in another room. She was probably surrounded by stylists and mirrors, laughing proudly as they pinned the veil in her hair.
She would look beautiful, no doubt. But that beauty felt cold to him now. Every time he looked at her lately, all he saw was her hunger for attention, her need to be admired, her obsession with status.
He remembered the way she had smiled at reporters, how her laugh always grew louder when cameras were near. And then, like a ghost, another image came to his mind—Anabelle.
Her soft smile. Her calm voice. The way she listened when he spoke, not because she wanted to impress him, but because she cared. She had always been real—her laughter, her pain, her strength. He remembered the way she walked out of his life, head high, refusing to beg. That memory burned in him.
He sat on the edge of the bed, his hands gripping his knees. The walls felt like they were closing in. He could hear the sound of wedding music faintly from outside—the orchestra rehearsing. His body was in that house, but his soul was somewhere else.
He wanted to believe he could do it—to go through with this one last thing, make his mother happy, and be done with it. But every second that passed, his chest tightened more.
Victoria’s footsteps came closer. The door swung open, and she stepped in, her perfume filling the room. She looked at him with sharp eyes.
“What are you doing sitting there?” she asked. “You should be downstairs greeting people. Do not embarrass me today, Carson.”
He looked up at her slowly. “Mother…” he said, his voice low and tired.
Victoria frowned. “What now? Don’t start this again. Everything is perfect. The press is already outside. This wedding is exactly what you need.”
He stood slowly, looking straight at her. “What do I need?” he asked, his voice calm but cold. “You mean what you want.”
“Carson, don’t you dare—”
“I’m not happy,” he said simply. His words hung in the air, soft but sharp.
Victoria stiffened. “You’ll be happy once it’s done. Happiness takes time. Stop acting like a child.”
He took a deep breath and shook his head. “No. Happiness doesn’t come from pretending.”
Victoria’s eyes widened slightly. “You’re not thinking of doing something foolish, are you?”
He gave a faint, humorless smile. “Maybe it’s time I did.”
He walked past her, his footsteps heavy on the polished floor. Victoria turned sharply, following him. “Carson! You will not walk away from this! Do you hear me?”
But he didn’t stop.
Downstairs, the grand hall buzzed with life. The flowers, the golden ribbons, the clinking of glasses—it was all too much.
Servants moved quickly, photographers adjusted their cameras, and guests began to gather. Everyone was smiling. Everyone was waiting for a perfect story to unfold.
He walked through them silently. Some turned to look at him, admiring his composed look, unaware that every step he took was a war inside his chest.
He reached the back door, where the noise softened. The garden stretched wide, glowing under the sunlight. He stopped there, breathing in deeply. The scent of roses filled the air, but it only made him feel more trapped.
He looked toward the driveway. Cars were parked neatly. His heart pounded faster. He could almost hear Victoria’s voice echoing in his head—her orders, her plans, her expectations.
Then he thought of Anabelle again. Her laughter. Her quiet strength. The way she had looked at him that last time, eyes full of disappointment but not hate. She had walked away to find her freedom. And now, he realized, he wanted the same thing.
He turned back toward the house for one last glance. Through the tall windows, he could see movement—Bridget’s white gown, his mother’s glittering jewelry, the busy chaos of perfection. None of it felt real anymore.
He loosened his tie completely and slipped it off. It fell onto the grass. He stood there for a moment, breathing heavily, as if the air itself was telling him to go.
Then, quietly, he walked toward his car.
He opened the door and sat inside. His hands rested on the steering wheel, shaking slightly. His reflection stared back from the mirror, but this time, something was different. There was life in his eyes again.
He turned on the engine. The hum of it drowned out everything else—the laughter, the voices, the wedding bells. For a long moment, he sat there, torn between two worlds.
Then, with a quiet, steady breath, he drove off.
Behind him, the grand mansion faded into the distance. The road stretched ahead, empty but full of possibility.
For the first time in a long while, Carson didn’t know what waited for him—but he knew it would be real.
And that was enough.