Seeing the Old Snow AgainChapter 1
I sold myself to bury my father, and in return, Kingston's playboy, Cassian Aniston, took me into his home.
He offered me a refuge, but it came at a price—one filled with humiliation.
"You're nothing more than my plaything," he often taunted, his tone dripping with disdain.
And all the while, his beloved schemed to see me dead.
It was a dangerous game—one where two dogs strived for a bone, and a third ran away with it.
1
A month ago, I married into the Aniston family. There was no lavish wedding feast, just a place to call home, but it was an act of kindness I'd never forget.
Starving and freezing, with both my parents gone, I sold myself to bury my father.
Thankfully, Cassian came to my rescue, saving me from the cold streets.
But this grand manor was quite different from what I imagined. The flowers and plants were well-kept, frost and snow covering them.
Yet, there was a lack of warmth here. It was rare for the family to dine together, all because of Cassian's reputation as a playboy.
I'd heard the servants whisper about it. The most dissolute son in Kingston belonged to the Marquis' only child—Cassian.
People flattered him as the young Marquis, and his rescue of me was perhaps just a whim, a moment of his pleasure.
On a bitterly cold day, Cassian's mother, Ashley Aniston, summoned me. She held a warming stove, with two maids standing behind her.
The disdain on her face was unmistakable. "Snow, since you've entered the marquis' house, you should know your place. If you don't, let these two girls teach you today."
Indeed, Cassian had given me the name "Snow," and I kept my original surname, "Robinson."
I lowered my head, speaking gently, "Mother, please don't be angry. You can rest, and I'll prepare dinner right away."
She snorted, unwilling to let me off easily. "You two, teach her some manners today!"
I could hear the maids sneering, their laughter cutting through me like a knife.
As the snow fell heavily, Cassian was probably indulging in a palace feast, drinking his fill.
Meanwhile, they forced me to kneel in the snow, my hands turning red and cold.
They only left after half an hour, humming a tune.
"Mrs. Ashley Aniston wants pasty. Don't be late," one of them said.
I struggled to my feet, watching the snowfall intensify.
With my head bowed, I placed the wrapped pasties on a board, watching the boiling water bubble.