cedric bridgerton, district one | fin

There's a part of Cedric that feels trapped, a prisoner within the walls of his own name.

"I'm Cedric," he pauses, "Bridgerton." He almost chokes back the word. Even speaking the two syllables makes him feel like he's suffocating underneath the weight of his family name. He hides his pain behind a wide, unassuming smile. Though, behind his mask of gaiety, he winces.

Like a puppet tethered to a string, he pirouettes to the tune of his puppeteers.

His life had been decided the day he took his first breath in this unforgiving world. His name put down for the most distinguished academia and a diamond of a girl expected to be swathed around his arm. Most would say he should be grateful, indebted even, to be born into a family of opulence and grandeur. Cedric would say nothing and just force a smile, telling himself that punching them in the face wouldn't be worth hearing the chagrin dripping from his mother's shrill voice. It always reminded him of his father.

His father had such a polished path paved for Cedric, obliquely engraining that feeling of confinement within him that he could never shake. He didn't want to have his nose shoved in the creases of books for the rest of his life, studying for something he never wanted. After his father died, it felt like more of an obligation to live up to what he wanted. To be the gentleman and scholar he raised him to be, to know nothing but grace and eloquence.

So he continues to paint a picturesque smile on his face each morning but on the inside, he winces.