Chapter 5 #5
“So, guys, this evening will be a special one.” Gabriel looks directly at me, a proud smile spreading across his aristocratic features that sends terror cascading down my spine like ice water. “In just over two months, Izzy, you’ll be twenty-five. I remember correctly, don’t I?”
“Yes?” My response emerges cautiously. A siren of warning sounds in my mind, my body tensing for impact before I consciously understand why.
Run, my instinct screams, primordial and urgent.
I shift uncomfortably, gaze darting briefly toward the nearest exit, calculating the distance to potential escape.
“Twenty-four years ago, Lucas and I made a pact.” He pauses dramatically, his eyes moving deliberately from me to Nathan and back again.
“It’s not really a pact. More like a tradition, agreement.
It is an ancient form of respect that our family has followed for centuries and therefore must be respected as such. ”
“Without debating it,” Dad interjects, fixing me with the familiar that’s-what-you’ll-do expression I’ve seen throughout my life—when informing me of boarding school, when selecting my university, when directing my career path.
The look that indicates this isn’t a conversation but a pronouncement from which no appeal will be considered.
“I don’t think I like what they have to say,” Nathan mutters, his voice tight with apprehension that mirrors my own mounting dread.
“On the contrary, it’s a wonderful thing,” Grace counters, her voice bright with forced enthusiasm. “Nathan, you and Isabel are going to get married.” The announcement lands like a grenade in the centre of the room.
Silence envelops us, thick and suffocating. A strangled laugh erupts from my throat—a reflex of disbelief rather than amusement. The sound dies abruptly as I register my father’s unwavering seriousness, the hard set of his jaw confirming this isn’t some elaborate, tasteless joke.
“This is a joke, isn’t it?” Nathan asks, his question echoing my thoughts with such precision it’s as though we’ve developed telepathy.
“It is not,” the Duke snaps, irritation flashing across his features at our resistance.
“For generations, our family has found a deserving and perfect wife for our sons. The concept of marriage has changed over the centuries. Usually, the future spouses saw each other for the first time in front of the altar, but you already know each other since you’ve grown up together.
The basis of a marriage is mutual trust and respect… ”
Stupid me thinking it was love too. The bitter thought rises unbidden as I glance sideways at Nathan.
He stares straight ahead, expression carefully blank but betrayed by his hands—clenched into fists so tight the knuckles have gone white.
Instinctively, I place my palm over his, feeling the tension in his tendons, the barely contained fury vibrating through him.
At my touch, some of the rigidity ebbs from his posture, though the anger remains palpable.
The Duke continues his sermon on dynastic marriages and family tradition, but his words blur into indistinct noise as panic builds in my chest, constricting my lungs until each breath becomes laborious.
The walls of the drawing room seem to inch closer, the ornate ceiling lowering incrementally.
Trapped. The word pulses in my consciousness like a distress beacon.
“No, it won’t happen!” I surge to my feet, unable to remain passive another moment.
The crystal tumbler in my hand sloshes dangerously as I set it down with more force than intended.
“How? How could you have thought we could accept such a thing?” My voice rises with each word, indignation burning away the initial shock.
“Isabel, that’s enough!” Dad snarls, his political mask slipping to reveal the iron will beneath. “So it’s decided, and so it will be!”
“I hope you’re kidding!” Heat floods my face, blood pounding in my ears like war drums.
“Isabel!” The warning in his tone would normally quell any resistance—the voice that has silenced parliamentary opponents and intimidated cabinet ministers.
“No, no Isabel! Mom would be so disappointed in you!” The words fly from my lips like weapons, striking with deadly accuracy. Tears sting my eyes, but rage pushes them back, refusing the vulnerability of visible emotion.
Dad rises from his seat, looming large in his fury, and I freeze instinctively, a childhood reflex I despise even as I yield to it. “Don’t you dare mention your mother!” His voice drops to a dangerous whisper that carries more menace than any shout.
“Lucas, Isabel, please calm down,” Grace intervenes, her hand on my father’s arm applying gentle pressure until he reluctantly resumes his seat. The momentary diffusion does nothing to dispel the storm of emotions raging within me.
I’m beyond fury—incandescent with it, the heat of betrayal flooding every cell. My hands tremble with the effort of restraint, of not smashing the priceless ornaments that surround us, physical representations of the oppressive tradition they’re attempting to shackle us with.
“It’s foolish you still think you have a say in our damn lives.”
Nathan’s voice cuts through the heavy silence like a blade—sharp, raw, and utterly unafraid.
The room stills. The Duke rises slowly, his spine straight, chin raised, eyes narrowing like a hawk circling prey.
“Excuse you?” he says, voice low, laced with quiet menace.
I glance at Nathan, heart in my throat. He’s not backing down. Not even close. His jaw is set, fists clenched at his sides, but his stance is straight. My stomach twists. He's furious, but he's in control. For now.
“You heard me.” He doesn’t even blink. Doesn’t look away. “I’ve had enough of you pulling the damn strings. I’m not your puppet, and I sure as hell won’t let you use me to polish your legacy. Is that why you dragged me back? To chain me up again with your bullshit ideas of duty and honor?”
The slap comes like a gunshot. Sudden, jarring, loud.
I flinch, a gasp escaping me before I can stop it.
Nathan doesn’t move. Doesn’t touch his cheek. Doesn’t even react. He just stands there, breathing hard, like he’s spent years waiting for this moment.
“Gabriel!” the Duchess rushes to his side, her voice strained, eyes wide. She places a hand on his arm, whispering something I can’t hear.
Nathan holds his ground. His hands are now tucked behind his back in that classic military position, but I see it—his fingers trembling, knuckles white. He’s not as calm as he looks. He’s holding himself together with sheer willpower.
God, he’s breaking. And I can’t just stand here.
Before I can second-guess myself, I’m moving. I step up beside him and reach for his hand, lacing my fingers through his. His skin is warm and shaking under mine.
He jerks, startled, and turns to look at me.
His eyes are wild—burning with anger, betrayal, pain. But the second he sees me, all of it starts to fade. His breath catches. His shoulders drop just slightly, and he blinks like I just pulled him out of a storm.
And maybe I did.
“You know, Izzy,” Grace continues, her tone calculated to soothe, “when we talked to your parents about our tradition, they were surprised. But they knew that Nathan would be your safe haven, your rock, and so it turned out. Growing up together, your bond strengthened even more.”
I blink rapidly, staring at her in disbelief.
She speaks of this madness as though discussing weekend plans or menu selections, her serenity in the face of our obvious distress so disconnected from reality that I momentarily question my own sanity.
“We had a very unique bond, and I can’t deny it, but we were children.
” The emphasis feels important—a demarcation between then and now, between choice and coercion.
“The bond is still there, Isabel, I know it.” She approaches with the cautious movements one might use with a frightened animal, taking my hand in hers and squeezing gently.
“It can be seen from your complicity, the way you look at each other. How both of you seek for each other.” Her gaze shifts meaningfully toward Nathan, and following her direction, I catch him watching me with an intensity that sends heat flooding my cheeks.
“You decided our future twenty-four years ago!” I whisper, stepping backward to break her hold.
The enormity of their presumption staggers me anew.
“Don’t you think that the choice of whom we want to spend our lives with is up to us?
Who knows, maybe we would get to know more or even date, but all this wasn’t possible because you sent us away.
” My words tumble out with increasing speed, propelled by years of suppressed resentment.
I pace the perimeter of the room, too agitated to remain still. The need for motion, for physical expression of the turmoil within, overwhelms me. Nathan remains oddly silent, his eyes tracking my movement.
“We had to do it. It was right.” Grace’s serene certainty is maddening.
I whirl to face her, hands clenched at my sides.
“Right for whom?” we both ask in unison. Nate’s voice is more of a grunt.
“For you two,” she replies without hesitation, returning to her husband’s side like a queen resuming her throne.
“For us? Are you kidding me?” Incredulity sharpens my voice to a dangerous edge.
“Nathan was the only sure thing I had in this world, and you snatched it from me! So, tell me, where is the justice in making me feel alone and abandoned by everyone?” From the corner of my eye, I notice Nathan moving toward me, but he halts as my father’s temper finally snaps.
“That’s enough, Isabel!” Dad’s command reverberates through the room, crystal figurines trembling on their shelves.
“No, it’s not, because you did worse, Dad!” I point an accusatory finger, years of repressed anger erupting like magma through cracks in the earth’s crust. “After Mom died, you isolated yourself in your perfect world, sending me away!”