The Heiress Escape

The servants moved like shadows. Their footsteps were silent as they placed dish after dish of delicacies before the family.

Suzanne Smith sat quietly, her hands folded in her lap. Her heart was heavy with an all-too-familiar tension.

At the head of the table, Beatrice Langford perched like a queen. Her hawk-like eyes scanned Suzanne with barely concealed disdain. Every detail of her appearance, from her perfectly coiffed hair to her pristine pearl necklace, added to her air of superiority.

“And how long has it been now?”

Her voice cut through the air like a blade. Cold. Sharp. Deliberate. She didn’t even look at Suzanne as she spoke, slicing into her roast lamb with clinical precision.

Suzanne stiffened. She knew exactly where this was going.

“Three years,” she said softly. Her voice was steady, but inside, a storm was brewing.

Beatrice’s lips curled into a smirk. She set her knife and fork down with deliberate elegance.

“Three years of marriage and not even a whisper of a child.”

The words hung in the air like a noose.

“Do you know how ridiculous this looks for the Langford family, Suzanne? People are beginning to talk.”

Heat rose to Suzanne’s cheeks, but she kept her gaze on her plate. Across the table, her husband, Charles Langford, remained silent. He scrolled through his phone like this wasn’t his problem.

“I’m doing everything I can,” she said quietly, forcing herself to meet Beatrice’s piercing gaze.

Beatrice scoffed and leaned back in her chair. “Everything you can?”

She shook her head, almost amused.

“You’ve been to the finest doctors money can buy, and yet here we are. Still waiting.” She paused. Then, with a pointed look, she added, “Perhaps the problem isn’t just physical, Suzanne. Perhaps you lack the determination necessary to fulfill your role as a wife in this family.”

The words hit like a slap.

Suzanne’s grip on her fork tightened. She wanted to lash out, to tell Beatrice exactly what she thought of her and her outdated expectations.

But she didn’t.

She had learned long ago that arguing would only make things worse.

“Mother, that’s enough,” Charles finally muttered. His tone was more annoyed than protective. He didn’t even glance up from his phone.

Beatrice waved a dismissive hand. “Don’t interrupt me, Charles.”

Her eyes remained locked on Suzanne. “If she isn’t going to take her duties seriously, then someone needs to hold her accountable.”

Suzanne clenched her jaw. Duties. That was all she was to them. A means to produce an heir and secure the Langford legacy.

The door to the dining room opened. A servant entered with a bottle of wine.

Suzanne seized the moment, pushing her chair back and standing abruptly. “Excuse me,” she said. Her voice trembled despite her best efforts to sound composed.

“Sit down, Suzanne,” Beatrice commanded. Her tone was icy.

Suzanne hesitated. Her chest tightened as her instincts screamed for her to leave. But years of conditioning forced her to obey.

She sank back into her chair, her head bowed.

Beatrice leaned forward. Her expression softened into something that resembled pity, though Suzanne knew it was anything but.

“Suzanne, dear, I know this isn’t easy for you. But you must understand how important this is for our family. The Langfords have a legacy to uphold. Charles deserves an heir, and you’re running out of time.”

The words echoed in Suzanne’s mind, each one a weight dragging her deeper into despair.

She wanted to scream.

She wanted to tell Beatrice that she wasn’t some broodmare whose sole purpose was to bear a child.

But she couldn’t.

Not here. Not now.

Charles finally put his phone down. He rubbed his temples as if the entire conversation was an inconvenience.

“Mother, can we please just drop this for tonight? I’ve had a long day.”

Beatrice sighed, clearly annoyed. “Fine. But this discussion isn’t over.”

She picked up her fork and knife, resuming her meal as if nothing had happened.

Suzanne’s appetite was long gone. She stared at her untouched plate, her mind racing.

How had her life come to this?

Three years ago, she had been so sure of her decision to marry Charles. She had believed in their love, believed that they could build a life together.

Now, sitting in this cold, oppressive dining room, she felt like a stranger in her own life.