After our Christmas supper, I slipped quietly beneath the antique bed, planning to surprise my fiancé. The guest room in the old Wycliffe family manor filled with the gentle scent of lavender sachets and a trace of old wood polish. Outside, a proper English frost dusted the lawns of Surrey, flakes drifting down beneath the glow of the lanterns. Inside, the house was warm, alight with the aroma of roast goose and the sounds of laughter trailing from the drawing room.
Charlotte Fairfax, heiress to the renowned Fairfax Shipping Company, lay stretched beneath the grand four-poster bed.
She felt more than a little foolish. She was twenty-four, clad in a crimson silk dress worth more than the entire house, her cheek pressing against uneven planks. But she was giddy in love, and love, she supposed, made fools of us all.
Her hand clutched a velvet box. Nestled inside was a classic 1952 Rolexpainstakingly sourced over three months. It was her Christmas gift for James, her fiancé. James adored vintage treasures. He claimed they had character, unlike the impersonal wealth Charlotte always knew.
Hell be thrilled, Charlotte thought, grinning in the shadows.
Shed excused herself, pretending to need the loo, and sneaked away to the guest room. Her plan was simple: hide, jump out when James came to change, shout Surprise!and bask in the sight of his delighted face.
Footsteps came down the hall. Heavy, deliberate. Not James’ light tread.
The doorknob turned. Click.
Charlotte held her breath, poised to leap.
Instead of James’ brogues, a pair of worn cream heels crossed the threshold. They belonged to James mother, Mrs Wycliffe, followed by his fathers practical loafers.
The door shut with a solid clunk.
Finally, hissed Mrs Wycliffe, her voice suddenly low and sharp, nothing like her usual treacly sweetness. I thought that silly girl would never leave. My cheeks ache from grinning like a fool.
Charlotte froze, the velvet box biting into her palm.
Steady on, Mother, James repliedbut his tone was chilled, businesslike, foreign. Weve got barely ten minutes before she comes looking for me. Did you telephone Dr Harris?
Yes, Mrs Wycliffe snapped, pacing the floor, her heels rapping inches from Charlottes nose. Hes all set. Are you certain about this? Shes so attached. Looks at me like Im some saintits nauseating.
Endure it, James said. Just two months till the wedding.
Under the bed, Charlottes heart thudded in her chest like a trapped bird. What were they plotting?
I cant bear her, Mrs Wycliffe spat. The way she glanced at my tableclothlike something picked up at a jumble sale. Spoilt, superior little madam. I nearly slapped the Rolex grin off her face.
Mother, James sighed, a shirt sliding free of his collar. Dont take it so personally. Shes not a person. Shes a cash machine. A very, very wealthy cash machine.
Charlotte bit her wrist, desperate to silence the scream rising in her throat.
So, still doing it on the honeymoon? asked Mrs Wycliffe, her voice hushed.
Yes, James replied. Maldives. Secluded island. Well say shes had a breakdown. Paranoia. Hallucinations. Ive already told her friends shes been stressed, forgetful. Dr Harris will sign the forms for the psychiatric hospital. Ill get power of attorney once were married, sell off everythingand shell spend her days locked up.
And shell never get out?
Not on those pills Harris will prescribe, James chuckled. Shell never see daylight again.
The mattress creaked as James sat down to tie his laces, pinning Charlottes hair to the floor.
Lets return, James said, rising. Time to kiss my precious piggybank goodnight. Think she bought me a watch. Hope it fetches a good pricefor the Aston Martin deposit.
They left. The door clicked behind them.
Charlotte lay trembling, the velvet box now a stone in her hand.
Part 2: The Unveiling
Charlotte remained hidden. She didnt expose their treachery. For half an hour, she shook beneath the bed, teeth chattering.
She had once been naïve, cocooned by her fathers millions, believing in peoples kindness. But she was never stupid.
What if she confronted them here, so far from London? James was strong, his mother ruthlessand now, after overhearing plans for her confinement and their fraud, if they realised she knew, she might not even make it to the hospital. A tumble down the stairs, an accidentno one would ever question it.
Charlotte dried her tears and crawled out from under the bed. She saw herself in the mirror: red-eyed, dusty, defeated.
No, not defeated.
She found her phone in her clutch purse, switched on a voice memo, and whispered into the microphone, My names Charlotte Fairfax. If anything happens to me, James Wycliffe and his mother are responsible. Heres what I heard
She recounted everything, saved the file to a secret cloud, and emailed it to her fathers chief of security, set with a timed release.
She straightened her dress, dusted away evidence of her crying, and fixed a brittle smile in the mirror.
Time to act.
Downstairs, the festivities continued.
There you are! James beamed, standing by the fireplace, glass of brandy in hand. Was worried youd got lost.
He wrapped her in his armsarms that plotted to see her locked awayand she battled the urge to recoil.
Instead, she hugged him.
Just topping up my powder, Charlotte sang out, her voice feather-light. Wanting to look my very best for you.
You always do, James murmured, kissing her brow.
Oh! I nearly forgot.
She handed him the velvet box.
James opened it, his eyes gleaming. A Rolex? Charlotte, its magnificent.
Do you love it? she asked, watching greed flicker in his eyes.
I love it, he purred. Youre wonderful.
Im glad, Charlotte replied. Id do anything for you, James. Anything.
Including your undoing, she thought.
Over the next two months, Charlotte played the role of devoted fiancée flawlessly. Secretly, she did her own detective work.
She hired an investigator. Dug up Dr Harrisa disgraced psychiatrist, his debts paid by James. She discovered their secret emails with the Swiss clinic. She built a file thick enough to lock them away for life.
Prison wouldnt be enough. They wanted her money? Her embarrassment? Shed give them both.
A week before the wedding, Charlotte met with Englands most exclusive wedding planner. The estimated total: £400,000.
Goodness, thats steep! James said, feigning concern. Perhaps we should pare things back?
Nonsense! Charlotte laughed. Father insists on the very best. But She looked down, feigning shyness. He does want your side to contribute, at least on paper. Says it looks odd otherwise.
What do you mean? Mrs Wycliffe snapped.
Just the paperwork. If youd sign as hosttechnicallyit keeps up appearances. On the morning of the wedding, Ill transfer the full amountplus a little bonus for you, Mrs Wycliffestraight into your account. You pay the bills, everyones happy.
James and his mother eyed each other. Their greed transparent.
Youll send it by 8:00 am? James confirmed.
On my word, Charlotte nodded.
James signed. Catering. Venue. Flowers. Band. All on him, courtesy of his desperate signature.
Sorted, he said.
Perfect, Charlotte smiled.
Part 3: The Trap
The wedding day dawned crisp and bright at The Langham in London.
Charlotte sat in the brides suite, her silk gown a froth of fabric about her. Her phone buzzed.
James: Waiting on the transfer, darling. Venue managers asking.
She wrote quickly: Banks confirming international transfertakes a while on a Saturday! Tell them its on its way. Love you!
She set down her phone. The money was never coming. That morning, shed moved her assets to a trust, untouchable by anyone but her father.
She picked up a small USB. Called in the DJ.
Could you do me a favour? she smiled, offering a £500 note. Play this at the ceremony, after the vicar says, If anyone knows a reason speak now Its a special message from James late grandmother.
The DJ looked sceptical. During the objections? Odd choice.
In-joke, Charlotte said, tucking the note into his hand. Give me a nod when youre ready.
He shrugged. As you like.
The ceremony began. The sun shone through stained glass. Three hundred guests stared in anticipation. James, resplendent in his morning suit, fidgeted at the altar. Charlottes father sat in the front, stern and watchful.
The vicar reached the pivotal moment.
If any man here knows of any lawful impediment
Charlotte grazed her necklace.
From the speakers, static burst, then
Part 4: The Truth Revealed
Mrs Wycliffes voice blared: Cant stand her. That simpering, spoilt little princess.
Gasps rippled through the pews.
James voice followed: Shes just a cash machine, Mum. A very rich one.
Whispers raced among the guests. Charlottes father rose, crimson-faced.
James rushed for the microphone. Switch it off! Stop!
The DJ, panicking, fumbled with the desk.
James voice didnt stop: Well stage her breakdown push for the psychiatric clinic Shell never see the outside world again.
The room froze.
Charlotte stood tall, serene. James blanched, stuttering, Charlotte, love, its AImust be deepfake!
Charlotte calmly took the mic. Its not. Christmas Eve. Under the bed. Id planned a surprise but the surprise was yours.
She levelled her gaze at the crowd. You called me a princess. Maybe I am. But Im not the one wholl be locked up.
James mask slipped, fury twisting his features. He seized her arm. You conniving
Unhand her!
Charlottes father vaulted the rail. Security, hired by Charlotte herself, pounced on James. Mrs Wycliffe made for the exit, but the bridesmaids blocked her path, arms folded.
Charlotte watched as James was pinned, his silk tie askew.
I never said I do, she announced. I said, I know.
She let the microphone fall. It crashed to the tiles.
She lifted her skirts and swept back down the aisle.
But she wasnt finished.
Part 5: Debt to Pay
At the ballroom doors, Charlotte paused.
Barricading her path stood the Events Manager, Head Caterer, and Florist.
Miss Fairfax! barked the Manager. Where are you going? Theres £400,000 outstandingyou must pay now!
Charlotte smiled serenely and pointed. Youll want to speak to my would-be groom. He signed every contracthis mother too. They owe the lot.
The Manager checked the paperwork. James Wycliffes signature. Mrs Wycliffes, too.
Buthe said you were wiring the money!
He lies, Charlotte replied. I suggest you find his wallet quicklyhe fancied a new Aston Martin, so check his pockets.
She strode past as outrage mounted behind her.
Vendors rushed James and Mrs Wycliffe.
Sir, you need to settle up!
Im calling the bailiffs!
Thats £20,000 in flowers alone!
Mrs Wycliffe wailed, We dont have itshe promised! Check her account!
Charlotte pulled out her phone as she exited. She texted Jamesan evidence record for the police.
Charlotte: Didnt take your money, James. I gave it away. The £400,000 is now with the Mind Mental Health Trust, in your name. Congratulationsyoure a philanthropist at last.
Blue lights flashed outside.
Charlottes father intercepted her. He took in the chaos, then looked at his daughter.
You knew all along?
I had to, Father, Charlotte said. Its not easy to prove conspiracy without evidence. And bankruptcy is a rather fitting touch.
He laughed, half-proud, half-shocked. Remind me never to cross you, darling.
A wise idea, she replied.
Police stormed the doors. Charlotte climbed into the waiting Rolls-Royce.
To Heathrow, please.
Part 6: Checkmate
Three Hours Later
The private jet slipped through clouds at thirty thousand feet. Inside, gleaming leather and the gentle clink of champagne glasses.
Charlotte gazed out the window. Alone, finally. No groom. No in-laws. Only peace.
She was on her way to the Maldivesthe island James had intended for her recovery. But now, she intended only to recover her tan.
From her hand luggage she retrieved the velvet box. The old Rolex.
She fastened it on her own wrista little heavy, a little grand, but strong.
You were right, Mrs Wycliffe, Charlotte whispered into the empty seat. I am spoilt.
She looked at the watch, then sipped her champagne.
And rich English girls, she mused, can always afford the very best solicitors. Youll find yourself not in a Swiss cell with a view, but in one in Holloway sharing with strangers.
She opened her phone. Selected James Wycliffe. Mrs Wycliffe. Deleted them both.
Then her photos: all the smiling faces, the engagement, every lie. All gone.
She closed her eyes and listened to the jets humthe soundtrack of a new beginning.
She hadnt been a victim. Nor a mere princess. She was the one who saw through the gameand in England, as in chess, only the queen can end it on her own terms.
Sometimes, the best revenge is choosing your own freedomand never losing sight of who you are, no matter who tries to steal it.
