A Criminal Kiss [Max Verstappen]

chapter five

"Annalise!" My father's bellow echoes through the halls of the estate, shattering the morning's fragile calm.

What could he possibly want now?

It's barely seven o'clock; the sun has only just begun to rise, and breakfast has yet to be served. Dragging myself out of bed, I thread my way through the endless corridors, my slippers brushing softly against the polished wooden floors. I find him in the drawing room, seated in his favorite armchair, his posture uncharacteristically slouched. His hands are pressed to his face, and his eyes are squeezed shut as though warding off some great headache.

"Father?" I ask cautiously, stepping into the room. "What is wrong?"

He sighs deeply, pinching the bridge of his nose before straightening to meet my gaze. His expression is weary but sharp, his frustration simmering just beneath the surface.

"What is wrong? You, Annalise, that is what is wrong," he snaps, his voice heavy with irritation.

My heart sinks, confusion twisting my features. "Me? How?" I ask, my voice hesitant.

"Yesterday, I gave you a day to relax, to focus on your skills—something useful, like embroidery or needlework. Instead, you chose to disobey me and go off into town!" His voice rises, each word a whip cracking against my resolve. "Annalise, your days of being suitable for finding a husband are growing shorter. You are getting older, and quite frankly, more disobedient. This cannot continue."

His words strike me like a blow, but he barrels on before I can respond.

"You need to focus on your duties. You need to find a husband. A good man from a respectable family, someone who will make a fine Duke." He leans forward in his chair, his eyes narrowing. "You cannot be so selfish. You do not need true love, Annalise. You need stability, an alliance that benefits this family. Your mother and I—" He falters, his tone softening for a brief moment. "We... we made it work, we may have been an exception, not the expectation. You will come to like your husband, given time. Please, Ann, for the sake of this family."

I feel the knot tightening in my chest, the familiar pressure of duty and expectation wrapping around me like a noose.

"You are not to leave this estate again," he finishes, his tone final. "Not until you find a husband."

For a moment, the room feels oppressively quiet, save for the sound of my breathing. My palms are damp, clenched into fists at my sides, but I don't trust myself to speak. What could I possibly say that he would listen to?

Finally, I nod stiffly and turn to leave, my eyes stinging with unshed tears, but not before finally saying my final words, "Mother would have wanted me to find true love, a man that wants me and not my title!"

Mr father only ignores me, harshly gripping onto the arm of the chair, ushering me off.

As I hurry out of the drawing room, Clara's voice catches me in the hallway. "Ann?"

Her tone is soft, but there's an edge of curiosity—or perhaps concern—in it. She stands near the staircase, her hands clasped loosely in front of her. The sight of her, calm and composed, makes my frustration flare even more.

"What happened?" she asks, stepping closer.

I hesitate, the words catching in my throat, but the storm in my chest demands release. "Father is furious with me," I say, my voice strained. "He says I can't leave the estate until I find a husband. Apparently, I've been wasting my time, gallivanting off into town instead of devoting myself to my 'duties'."

Clara's eyebrows knit together, but she doesn't respond right away. Her silence stings, as if she's processing something I won't like.

"Maybe..." she begins, her voice careful. "Maybe Father has a point."

I blink, stunned. "What?"

"I just mean..." She shifts uncomfortably, her eyes darting to the floor before meeting mine again. "You've always been so... idealistic, Ann. Always talking about love and wanting more. But maybe that's just not realistic. Maybe it's time to focus on what's expected of you, not what you expect from the world."

The words hit like a slap, each one sharper than the last. My mouth falls open, disbelief flooding through me.

"So you're taking his side?" I demand, my voice rising.

"No, that's not—" Clara starts, but I cut her off.

"Yes, it is," I snap, the anger bubbling to the surface. "You're telling me I should just give up. Marry some boring, pompous Duke and live a miserable, loveless life because that's what Father wants. Is that what you think I deserve?"

"Annalise, I'm just saying that maybe you're asking for too much!" she exclaims, her voice growing louder. "Not everyone gets true love or some grand romance. That's not how life works, especially for us. We have responsibilities, whether we like them or not."

I stare at her, my hands trembling. "You think I'm selfish for wanting more? For wanting to at least try to be happy?"

"I think," Clara says, her tone hardening, "that you don't realize how much pressure you're putting on yourself—and everyone else. You're making this harder than it needs to be."

The air between us crackles with tension, and I feel something inside me snap. The words come spilling out before I can stop them.

"Well, maybe you shouldn't be lecturing me about expectations, Clara. Especially when you're sneaking off with that boy every chance you get."

Her eyes widen in shock,"And you are no better, Clara!" I lash out, my voice sharper than I intended. "You and that Franco boy—whatever this little game is you're playing, it will ruin us if you continue it!"

Her mouth falls open in shock. "Nothing is going on between us, Annalise! We are just friends!"

"Oh, really? Friends?" I retort, stepping closer. "Shall I go and tell him that myself? Let's see how he reacts to being called your friend." My words drip with sarcasm, and Clara's cheeks flush crimson.

"You don't know what you're talking about," she snaps, crossing her arms defensively.

"Don't I?" I counter, my anger surging. "I saw you yesterday by the river, Clara. That was not just friends, and you know it. Maybe next time you should bring a chaperone if you're so innocent. One wrong move, Clara—just one—and you're done. Do you understand me? No man will ever look your way if rumors start about you sneaking off with some boy."

Her jaw tightens, and for a moment, I see the flash of rebellion in her eyes. "At least I'm not hiding behind Father's rules and pretending I'm happy about it," she fires back.

The words cut deeper than I want to admit, but I refuse to let her see it. Instead, I turn on my heel and stalk down the hall, leaving her standing there. The sound of my footsteps echoes in the silence, each step a futile attempt to distance myself from the crushing weight of my father's expectations—and my sister's painful truths.

I hate this.

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