Chapter 7 Isabella
Chapter seven
Isabella
All you do these days is sigh, Isabella. I scold myself as I let out yet another sigh. When I’m not thinking about the sudden turn of events with my father, my mind seems to be clouded with thoughts of my supposed husband, Dominic. What a vicious cycle.
I shake my head slightly as if to shake away thoughts of him, but they don’t budge. I’m not surprised. That’s how it’s been for the past three days. It still seems beyond me how he pisses me off, yet I find myself raising my ass in the air and screaming his name until I can’t anymore.
How can I show my defiance when I always melt in his presence? How exactly do I show him I won’t bend to his will when I can barely resist his tempting advances?
I don’t know. And maybe that’s why I’ve remained cooped up in this room for the past three days. I feel ashamed and angry at myself. Ugh.
My loose bun unravels on top of my head as I throw weak jabs at the pillow I’m holding.
Silly little ginger girl. My mind drifts to the annoying nickname Elena gave me when we were kids.
I’d liked the nickname, loved it even, but as I grew older and Dad and Melanie opened my eyes to the many supposedly terrible sides of being a ginger, I hated it.
Then I started hearing it. How every conversation always revolved around my appearance. How I was so unattractive and was meant to be the subject of bullying. Dad, Melanie, the students at school, and even some of Elena’s friends in her presence. That’s the one that hurt the most.
Squeezing the pillow tightly against my torso, I clench my eyes shut. Elena and I are the same age; she’s my literal twin, with me being ten minutes older. There was nothing stopping her from defending me, but each time her friends threw backhanded compliments and stupid jabs, she remained quiet.
I used to excuse her silence, blaming it on puberty, hormones, whatever a desperate twin like me could find. I’d bend over backwards to justify her indifference… just to hold onto the glimmer of hope that she cared.
But even when we became adults, and she knew the difference between right and wrong, she never cared to say anything to me.
Whenever she needed me, she just called. If she met me crying, she never consoled me; she just blankly gave orders, and I had to follow.
For the longest time, I wondered why.
Her room was of-limits, her clothes were better looking, and she got everything easy, unlike me. So why couldn’t she at least be a friend to me?
My lips quiver, and I quickly bring my hand to dab at my eyes before the tears spill.
But there was a time when things weren’t as bad as they were before I left.
There was a time I was treated with love and care, although it seems so long ago that I barely have any memory of it.
No, I chose not to have any memory of her…
of Mom…because it deepened the realization that the only person who ever truly loved me was dead.
The thought has barely materialized in my mind before I notice the screen of my phone is lit. I reach for it cautiously and let out a deep sigh when Father’s name pops up on the screen. Here we go again, I mumble to myself before answering the phone.
“My daughter.” His voice resonates out of the receiver in an unusually soft tone. Involuntarily, I shudder. Angel, my daughter, my darling…names he never called me, until recently.
“Father.” My response is curt and without any emotion. No. The emotions are clashing in my chest, but I do my best to abate them.
There’s a brief moment of silence before he speaks up. “I wanted to check on you. We haven’t spoken since the last time we saw each other at the coffee shop.” He couldn’t possibly have been expecting a phone call from me, just after one fleeting moment of apology.
“Okay.” Another one-word response leaves my mouth without any hesitation. Everything in me wants to end this call, because I fear what else I may say.
Give me time to decide whether I forgive you. I’m happy that you finally came to your senses, even though it took Elena running away for that to happen.
The last thing I want is to indulge him. But at the same time, a small part of me wants to reel in this feeling for as long as it’ll stay. The feeling of finally being seen…for the right reasons?
I hear him inhale deeply. “Did you like the bracelet I gave you?” My eyes travel to my bare wrist and then to the table where I had left the bracelet. It’s a pretty piece of silver jewelry, and I like that it is in my favorite jewelry color .
A sigh escapes my lips as I wonder if he deliberately bought it in that shade, or it was just a mere coincidence.
“It’s…a nice piece,” I finally exhale.
“Yes, it is,” he quickly responds.” I had it specifically made for you.”
Tossing the pillow aside, I sit up and foolishly anticipate hearing that he remembered my favorite color and had it specifically made for me. But instead, my heart sinks when he clears his throat and changes the subject.
“…I know you have never had an eye for our family business, but now that you’ve married into such a powerful family, I hope you start taking an interest in it.” He even has a tinge of hope in his voice.
“It might be overwhelming at first,” he continues, causing me to arch a brow in confusion. “But with time, you’ll get the hang of it. You’re smart just like me. I trust you’ll do well. I have to go now. Take care of yourself, Bella.” The next second, the line disconnects.
And I’m left staring at my phone. Of course, he’s interested in the alliance. I can’t mess up his only chance at strengthening his mafia.
Choosing not to dwell on it, I reach for the book on the nightstand, flip to my desired page, and resume reading, only to be interrupted by a buzz from my phone.
I think it’s Father again, but when I see a text message with a video attached from an unknown number, my brows furrow.
Setting the book aside, I open the text, and horror fills me at what I see.
My eyes widen as the camera settles on a man tied to a chair with blood trickling down his face.
Dominic lights a cigar and presses it into an obvious wound on his skin.
The man writhes, visibly in pain, but the video has no sound…
I hiss, my mouth hanging open as recognition hits me. That’s the man I encountered when I went to the library. Suddenly, Dominic grabs a lighter, lights it and steadies it against the man’s eye.
Instinctively, I toss the phone to the far corner of the room, a scream erupting from my lips. Nausea churns in my stomach, images of his skin melting, and his lips tearing open in an inaudible scream, filling my senses. No!
My body quakes, and I start to take deep breaths, but it does nothing to erase the trauma. Another wave of nausea hits me, and I jolt off the bed, rushing to the bathroom as the contents of my stomach come rushing up.
Tears blur my vision, and as I stand hunched against the sink, just one thing replays in my mind.
If you ever try to give another man even a piece of you, I’ll destroy him in ways so deadly even the devil would flinch, and then I’ll make you watch until you understand that both your body and your mind. ..every fucking inch of you, is mine.
Fuck. Just how crazy is this psychopath?