"My final letters, were they read? Or were they written in vain?"
Although born in France, Juliette Villeneuve often spent her childhood summers in London. With the passing of each summer, her adoration for a certain Bridgerton boy grew. During thei...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
THE LATE AFTERNOON SUN SEEPED THROUGH THE OPEN DRAPES, causing a bright orange to wash over the DuBois drawing-room. The sunlight glinted in the crystal chandelier, reflecting dancing rainbows on the floral wallpaper. On the wall opposite of the window, the large DuBois family portrait was brightened by the sun, enhancing the appearance of their painted happiness. Silver strands littering her father's hair shimmered in the light and the blues of his eyes were illuminated. The warmth settling in the room did nothing to ease the coldness she felt and the darkness blooming in her chest.
All of the repressed sadness and anger she felt towards her father came rushing back like a dangerous current breaking through a dam. She remembered how her father treated her for three years as if she were nothing but a speck of dust on the wall. His heart that was once filled to the brim with nothing but warmth for his daughter became so cold she risked frostbite. Juliette knew her father loved her, for it was a father's duty to love their child, but his dislike for her was much more apparent.
"Father," she repeated herself, ignoring how her voice broke under the weight of the simple six-letter word. "Why are you here?"
The words that fell from her tongue were strong in appearance but weak in nature. She hated how weak she felt in his presence. She absolutely despised how she wished to curl into a small ball and cower in the corner behind the piano.
Juliette felt like fragile glass threatening to shatter at any moment.
A grim frown tugged at his lips. With a raised brow, he said, "I'm permitted to visit my child, am I not?"
"I— why are you here?" She demanded once again from her position in the doorway, her tone a sharpened knife.
Lord Villeneuve cleared his throat and stood up from his spot on the chair with haste. "I've come to apologize."
At his words, something inside her snapped.
"Apologize?" A satirical laugh fell from her tongue. She was in anger-fuelled disbelief at what he was saying. Stepping towards the man, she continued, "You wish to apologize for what exactly? For abandoning your role as a father once maman passed? For casting me aside like I was nothing more than an unwanted pest on your expensive rugs? For refusing to meet my eye or hold a friendly conversation? Or—"
"Juliette." Power and authority oozed from his tone, nearly causing the girl to flinch at the sound.
She ignored him and the shrinking feeling clawing at her insides that was urging her to run far away.
"Or, or do you wish to apologize for denying Anthony's wishes to marry me?" She asked, coming to a stop a mere six feet away from her father. "For making me feel unloved and alone for three years? What about the pain you not only cast upon me, your only daughter, but the man I love?" Juliette glared at her father, and continued coldly, "So, please enlighten me, father, what is it you apologize for exactly? Or, should I list more instances of how you wronged me?"
