April, 15th, 1912 - The RMS Carpathia

Cal's heart thudded anxiously in his chest as he made his way down the stairwell to the steerage deck. He had to get away from Ruth and her hysterical crying; her whimpers of guilt and mourning. Politely excusing himself he set off to get some air; to run away from the fact that he too was feeling something unpleasant.

He could feel the eyes of confused lower-class passengers on him as he meandered around slowly, his step heavy and his eyes bloodshot while he halfheartedly gazed around him for a flame of red hair. The crowd gawked at him with an awe he could not comprehend. To them, he was royalty; a king who had simply misplaced his crown. Little did they know he hadn't lost it like some careless child, it had been stripped from him for treasons he would never admit to.

Cal shuddered.

He didn't know what he would do if she wasn't here and, for once in his life, it seemed that failure was to be an option. A sinking feeling settled itself into Cal's stomach as he began to head back the way he came, his mind already concocting his darling fiance's eulogy. He pictured himself at the funeral, managing to keep a brave face whilst explaining to the masses of Philadelphia high society how such a rare, young beauty such as Rose DeWitt Bukater managed to perish so terribly in the greatest maritime disaster ever recorded - the sinking of the RMS Titanic.

The irony of the situation managed a flicker of a smirk to appear on Cal's face even in his exhausted state. Turning his eyes upward to the sky, he silently wondered to himself if all of this had been some sort of sick joke. Chuckling darkly, he hoped that Rose had gotten what she deserved. Perhaps she was dead, rotting away on the bottom of the Atlantic along with her precious gutter rat and "The Ship of Dreams". Perhaps that was where she belonged.

Turning to the stairwell again, Cal sighed. He would learn to forget her… He would somehow erase from his mind the rare sight of how her blue eyes would sparkle like precious sapphires when she was happy; her laugh obnoxious and her smile as radiant as the sun, a warmth he suddenly realized he had not felt in weeks, months... How she always brought the smell of French lavender into every room, how much she loved to dance and how she admired those God awful paintings of hers, spending hours just staring at the lines and colors, searching for a meaning… Her fiery spirit had branded him, she had left scars no other woman could ever heal… Yes, he would forget. But it wouldn't be until his dying breath if he could help it.

But then, a stranger wrapped in a checkered blanket caught his eye as he began to climb back to the upper decks. Her face wasn't visible to him, but he could see strands of scraggly, auburn hair poking out from beneath the layers cocooning her. He knew it could be anyone but still his breath hitched in his throat, his palms suddenly slick with sweat as he paused and slowly stepped towards the mysterious woman.

If it wasn't her he would look like a fool.

But if it was her… He would have to drag her back home, kicking and screaming, to trap her into a marriage that would fall to the mercy of misery.

He didn't know if it was worth it.

Taking a breath, he decided to call out to the stranger.

"Rose?"

His voice cracked with emotion as he spoke. It seemed he was making himself look foolish after all.

A moment passed. Then another. He was growing impatient. He wondered if the woman was deaf.

"Rose?" he repeated louder.

Finally, she turned to face him. Cal felt as if he'd been punched in the stomach.

"What do you want from me?"

He could feel the bile rising in his throat.

"Y-You're alive…"

"Yes."

He wondered if she had anything else to say to him.

Looking around them, Cal could find no sign of Dawson.

"Where is - " he began despite the obvious conclusion, watching Rose's eyes cloud up momentarily with tears. He could see that she was willing herself not to cry on his account.

"I see…" Cal chuckled. This would be more entertaining than he had anticipated.

Rose turned back away from him, not wishing to give him the satisfaction of seeing her so tired, so vulnerable. She had already lost enough - she would not lose her dignity.

"I'm not going back; don't ask me to." she whispered as she felt Cal's dark, cynical eyes on her back, his gaze sending shivers to her core.

"And what is it that you plan to do instead?" he sneered, "I'm sure there are plenty of dark street corners in the city where you could whore yourself…"

Rose felt her body numb. In the back of her mind she knew she wouldn't survive a single day on her own. She had no money, no connections, no experience… Any man would be ignoring his animal instinct to refuse the opportunity to defile such a young, beautiful woman alone in the city - all for the setback of just a couple of dollars.

He had a point.

I'd rather be his whore than your wife!

God, she'd been naive…

Turning back to meet his gaze Rose felt as if she was going to be sick. Cal offered her his hand with a satisfied smirk. Taking it, she shuddered, his cold skin against hers reminding her of the bleak future ahead.

xXx

Four days later: April 19th, 1912

Philadelphia, Pennsylvania - The Dewitt Bukater estate

It had been days since Rose had had the luxury to be alone. She'd been given dry clothes, a warm bed, hot meals… But never a moment to breathe. Ever since Cal had trapped her in his grasp once again, she had been under the watchful eyes of him and her mother. They were always there, lurking in the corner, observing her every move, just daring her to try to escape again. There were no loose bars in her cage - not this time.

Slipping into the hot bath that had been prepared for her, she sighed blissfully as the warm water encapsulated her tired body. Closing her eyes, she leaned her head against the wall of the tub, enjoying the fleeting moments she had to herself. But before she could think of anything else, images flooded her memory. Frozen, lifeless bodies bobbed around her in the frigid, black night, their faces ghastly. She could feel the ice on her skin, burning, tearing at her flesh… She saw Jack sinking to the bottom of the Atlantic, his handsome face vanishing from ever seeing the light of day...

Snapping her eyes open again, Rose felt hot tears on her cheeks, her shoulders hunched over as she sobbed…

Jack

If only he could see her now: shot down and hung on the wall like a hunter's trophy…

She had broken his promise and now she would die here, her fire burned out, stuck in this suffocating world of glittering diamonds and facades… She would spend her days trotting at Cal's heels while he was branded the genius, a master of his realm while she was simply his wife, something else he had managed to conquer, brainwash into the ever submissive subject.

She had to get out. She would die here, perhaps driving herself mad. She'd jump off of a balcony, impale herself with a hatpin… Or better yet maybe Cal would lock her away, unwilling to have his pristine reputation tied to tragedy.

Climbing out of the tub she knew that he was the only one she had to fool. Her mother would only show her distress until she was handed over the right amount of money to make her forget her darling daughter all together. But Cal… He was smarter than she gave him credit for…

He had manipulated her from the moment he set eyes on her; charming her with his serpent tongue, the dark pieces of the puzzle stashed away... He was the perfect human weapon, a ticking time bomb waiting to explode. If she got caught? He would destroy her. If she didn't? A shiver snaked its way up her spine. He would eventually.

She would have to be careful.

xXx

Cal could see that the stars were beginning to vanish, the sky creeping closer to another day… It had to be at least four in the morning… He was still awake, lying on his bed, his shirt half-open, nursing a bottle of whiskey - stolen from the private stash of his late father-in-law, Mr. Theodore Dewitt Bukater. He had to admit, the man had good taste. Such a pity he had been a horrible businessman and an even worse gambler. Cal smirked to himself, too tired to muster a frown at his drunken musings.

He sighed heavily, the room spinning around him in a chaotic blur. He couldn't sleep. Of course he never could but tonight was… different. He couldn't stop thinking about her… With Dawson… The name made his mind feel rotten… Holding back the bile rising in his throat Cal couldn't get it out of his head how that scum had put his hands on her, kissed her lips, drawn her the vile way he had… Cal could feel his anger burning again, his temples pounding and his hands trembling with rage as he pictured the way her eyes had taunted him through the paper, her seductive curves a prize that was to be out of reach, never to be won…

I always win, Jack, one way or another…

Cal took another swig from the bottle. Nothing came out. It was empty.

"Goddammit!" he cursed as he threw it down, watching it crash onto the floor in a million pieces.

Burying his face in his hands, he sighed. Sitting upright from the bed, he tripped over his feet as he lazily made his way out of the room, his mouth dry for more liquor. One bottle wasn't going to be enough for him; not for tonight.

xXx

Rose crept quietly along the wall as she made her way down the back stairs only the servants used, her heart pounding. She had seen the light under Cal's door as she had passed by. He was awake.

She entered the kitchen, grabbing some fresh fruit and loaf of bread still in its wrapping. She placed them gently in the carpet bag she clutched in her sweating palm and started for the door that would finally lead her to her freedom that she had always craved.

"Going somewhere, sweetpea?" a voice behind her crooned into the quiet night.

Rose froze in her tracks, her blood running cold, her breath suddenly caught in her throat. She was as good as dead. Frozen, her gaze landed on the butcher knife lying on the counter only feet away…

Turning around, she faced Cal. A smirk played on his lips, a decanter of brandy gripped in his hand. A typical sight.

"If you're going to run away, at least don't make it so obvious…" he continued, stepping forward, his dark eyes glistening with malice, his angular features saturated in the moonlight cascading in through the window. Her heart thundered with fear in her chest.

"I-I'm not running away…"

"God, you're so stupid, Rose… You think that you can just leave? And that you'll survive?" Cal mocked in his drunken stupor as he approached her, "You don't have any money or connections. I know that you'll come crawling back. But don't expect me to be so charitable the next time around, you ungrateful bitch…"

"I wouldn't be so sure of that, Cal." she snapped with defiance as she cleared her throat, reaching into her bag and pulling out the Heart of the Ocean, its dazzling, blue facets glittering on the walls around them.

Cal's eyes widened, his gaze a little unfocused as he lunged for it. Rose moved away, causing him to spill the amber liquor onto his freshly cleaned shirt.

"Why you little…" he muttered angrily, glaring daggers at Rose who had already stashed away the necklace. "Aren't you going to give me back what's rightfully mine?"

"Why should I return a gift that was given to me?"

Chuckling to himself, Cal leaned against a nearby doorframe, examining his fiance closely as if her standing in front of him was all part of a strange dream and if he looked away she would vanish any second.

But he did look away. And Rose remained, crossing her arms over her chest in a pathetic excuse to look threatening. Cal couldn't help but sneer.

"Go back to bed, Rose." he sighed, his head throbbing knowing that she wouldn't listen to him.

"You don't control me, Cal…" Rose whispered, narrowing her eyes as she stalked past him, back to her prison, grasping at the last of her dignity.

"Clearly I do!" Cal shouted back, his booming voice even surprising him in the sudden stillness surrounding him.

He stood for awhile, waiting for Rose to return and further challenge him, occasionally sipping on the brandy in his hand, feeling it burn down his throat as he swallowed in hurried gulps, desperate for the comfort of unconsciousness. He didn't know how long he waited, but the liquor disappeared from the decanter. And so had Rose, slipping through his fingertips into the bleariness of the night.