Titanic [STEFAN SALVATORE]

Chapter One

BOARDING the Titanic signified all of the things she was leaving behind, although unknowingly to her she wouldn't just be leaving her old life, she'd be leaving more than that. Boarding the ship signified the things she would gain now that she was moving away from home: a husband, a large estate and not much more.

She was going to marry her wealthy childhood friend Thomas Douglas. She always liked Thomas. He was nice. Handsome. Polite. And at times when Margaret wasn't, he was rational and diplomatic. But it didn't matter they had years of friendship. Or that Thomas had been the first to plant a sloppy kiss on her lips. Because she didn't care much for him. And frankly, it was surprising to know he cared at all too.

The news he wanted to court her came to much shock to Margaret. It didn't come to a surprise to her family however. Her father, a peaceful and warm man, had told her she could deny Thomas' wishes for courtship. She could say no, provided she was kind. Because as her father had said, hearts were fragile and thus must be treated with care.

But her mother on the other hand....her mother. She was the exact opposite of her father. She was cold—calculative, every move not made without a few dozen analysis beforehand. Her mother told her she couldn't say no. If she didn't, her family would be in ruins. They were in debt, news Margaret hadn't learned until a few weeks ago. If she ignored her mother and went against her wishes, they'd be living in the streets in less than a few weeks.

Margaret searched for a way to prove her mother was wrong. Desperately searched for a loophole, something she could hold on to. But in the end, she reached a single conclusion: her mother was right. Yet again, always right. Margaret didn't want to marry Thomas. Didn't want to even be courted by him. She didn't want to leave London to travel to Southampton. She didn't want to board the Titanic.

And yet here she was, watching as people went on board the ship. And yet here she was, herself, going on board the ship. Frankly, she wished the ship would wreck. So she wouldn't have to do this. So that her life wouldn't end before it began. And it was true really, her life was over. She hadn't even fallen in love. And now she would never have the chance to.

She wasn't as well traveled as she liked to be. She'd been out of the UK only a few times as a child. She didn't want to do this. She wanted to be a doctor. She wanted to travel, to unseen places, to far places. To places no one had seen before. She didn't want to stop. She didn't want to settle. And still, she'd done very little to stop her fate.

She watched as her bags where taken away to her room. She watched as a man stood in the distance, not yet going aboard the ship. His eyes said he was somewhere else, lost, where there weren't noises of children running around or of mothers scolding them. For a moment Margaret was there too, a place where people weren't chattering loudly, a place which was anywhere but here.

He was handsome, Margaret noted. He had a sharp jawline, forest green eyes (or perhaps they were brown, Margaret couldn't decide) and well-formed lips. His brown hair was slicked away from his forehead. And for a moment as Margaret stared on, he looked up, their eyes meeting for a split of a second, a chill running down her spine before someone called out her name.

"Margaret!" Her father called out again. She snapped from her thoughts, turning away from the man in the distance to face her father. When she turned around again, the man was gone. Her father offered her a warm smile, titling his head towards the entrance, urging him to join her. She followed, her pace much slower than her father's. "Don't you think its lovely, Margaret?"

His eyes were locked on the stairwell. It was one of the shiniest stairwells she'd ever seen. So clean and shinny, Margaret thought she might slip if she took one step. It parted in the middle, one side leading to the left corridor and the other side to the right. There was a small statute of an angel holding what appeared to be a torch, in the middle of the stairwell, where it parted.