A Criminal Kiss [Max Verstappen]

chapter six

You know, I never thought it would be so incredibly difficult to climb a stone wall in a dress and corset. Yet here I am, proving just that. 

I have nearly died twice, fallen more times than I care to count, and had more than one furious, whisper-shouted argument with this cursed wall. Oh, and I've kicked it. Several times.

I am, quite literally, talking to a wall. 

The fact that I cannot see a thing in this black darkness only makes my situation more absurd. 

This is my grand act of defiance. 

Sneaking out of the estate—out of my father's suffocating rules and my sister's hypocrisy.

Who would have thought that I, Annalise Cook, the picture of propriety (or so everyone assumes), would be clinging to the rough, cold stone of this massive wall, trying to escape like some rebellious heroine in a romance novel? 

But here I am. 

Because I want to have fun. I want to live my life, not just survive.

I am so sick of everyone in that house. I cannot bear to listen to my father's lectures for another moment or have Clara's quiet judgments weigh down on me like chains. I cannot even begin to fathom having another 'polite discussion' about my future—or lack thereof. 

So, I've decided. 

I'm going into town again. 

My hands fumble on the stone, scraping against the rough edges. The cold bites into my skin, but I grit my teeth and pull myself up, inch by painful inch. My skirts are tangled around my legs, and I can barely breathe in this blasted corset, but I refuse to give up. 

The night air is crisp, carrying the faint scent of dew and distant chimney smoke. Somewhere beyond this wall, life is happening. Real life. Not the polished, suffocating version behind the estate doors. 

Finally, with one last push, I heave myself over the top of the wall and drop unceremoniously to the ground on the other side. 

The impact jolts through me, and I bite back a gasp. Brushing off my dress, I glance around to make sure no one has seen me. 

I smile to myself, victorious and a little breathless. For the first time in what feels like forever, I am free. 

The cobblestone streets of Canterbury stretch out before me, bathed in moonlight. The town is quiet at this hour, the usual bustle of market stalls and merchants replaced by the occasional creak of a shutter or the distant clatter of a carriage. The stillness feels almost sacred, like a secret I've stumbled into. 

I pull my shawl tighter around my shoulders, both to ward off the chill and to blend in. If anyone recognizes me, word will get back to Father, and this little  escape will be the end of me. 

As I step further into town, the air seems to shift. The faint hum of life stirs in the distance—a lantern swinging outside the town bar, the faint strains of laughter drifting from its open door. My feet instinctively lead me in that direction. 

The bar is a modest building, its wooden frame leaning slightly as though it's bearing the weight of years of stories and secrets. Light spills out from the windows, casting warm golden pools onto the street. 

I hesitate. 

Stepping into a place like this is not something a duchess—or a future duchess, as Father insists on reminding me—should ever do. But then again, climbing walls and sneaking out under cover of darkness isn't exactly on the list of acceptable behaviors either.