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"You incompetent wench!"
Isabelle winces, looking away. Charlotte is on her knees, begging.
"Please, Pa. I can help you gain shares, I just need some time." Charlotte cries, pressing her hands together.
Mattias Cross. Isabelle's maternal grandfather, a ruthless businessman who bows to no one. Whenever Charlotte would disobey, he would make Isabelle and Jake watch.
"Take her to the classroom."
Grandfather would take undeserving fools, as he would say, to the classroom, which is just a dimly lit basement, and beat them senseless. If Isabelle or Jake were to interfere, they would be subject to the same treatment. Her older brother would take it, screaming at him to stop hurting their mother.
Isabelle isn't that brave. Matthew, their father, is a coward too.
"Grandfather, it'd be easier to discipline my father instead of my mother. She's doing what she can, please stop wasting your energy." Isabelle said, coating her words with a sweet tone to mask her the crippling fear.
Mattias rolls his eyes, shoves Charlotte onto the floor and walks away.
Isabelle immediately helps her mother up, holding her by the waist.
"Mom? Are you okay?"
Charlotte shoves her off, an expression of pure fury in her eyes. Isabelle bites her lip.
If she could help it, she'd rather not ever get married. It's a commitment that is a total chore. All her parents seem interested in doing is fight, these days. From what she observed from her parents, a marriage is all about money and showing off wealth.
Isabelle walks outside, allowing the smell of earth and soil to fill her lungs. She reclines on the bench outside, listening to the birds sing to one another in the trees.
Love? Oh, please. Only children have such daydreams. That's why over-the-top romance flicks sell so well, because everyone knows it's not real.
The sound of footsteps against dry leaves make her muscles tense. She feigns a small smile, welcoming him to sit.
Mattias has aged, his skin more saggy and he doesn't have the same energy he used to have. As more tempermental and impatient as ever, even with his declining sight.
"I discipline your mother out of love. I didn't raise her to be so weak." Mattias crosses his arms, a disappointed sigh escaping his lips.
It isn't her place to join in on their arguement. Whatever problems they have with each other don't include her.
"I'm thankful you don't take after my useless daughter, Isabelle." He chuckles.
She'd get beaten if she tries to butt in, anyway.
The next day would repeat, nothing new. From a simple wallet design mother claims she never bought for him to a long apology later for being forgetful. Isabelle bites her lip, keeping a smile at bay.
She engages with small talk and quietly excusing herself. It's only polite to do so, getting on his bad side would be terrible. Isabelle passes by the obnoxious display of trophies near the door and runs into the curious stares of the house staff.
"Could you bring my meal upstairs? Thank you."
"Right away, miss." The staff bow. Even with her door closed, she can hear Charlotte yelling at her husband.
Isabelle sprays some perfume and applies lotion, blocking out their voices to the sound of music.
As she scrolls through her phone she receives a sudden barrage of texts. Isabelle narrows her eyes, her heartbeat stuck in her throat. It's a painful sensation, making it difficult to breath.
What?
She slides the brightness to the highest setting.
A picture of a barely dressed woman beside her father, with a rose in her hand. The following texts were screenshots of a conversation and an infant. Isabelle massages her temples, the peace she enjoys now shatters into pieces.
She walks downstairs, where her parents were still arguing. Upon seeing their daughter, the couple quiet down, shooting one another dirty looks.
Charlotte sounds as if she wasn't beaten moments a few hours ago.
Her voice seems to be lost in a pit, unable to claw itself out. Does her mother know? Her eyes sting as her vision turns blurry. She brings her phone to her chest and hangs her head. Isabelle bites her lip and tastes iron.
Why do these women always reach out to her? Grandfather won't be pleased. Isabelle would be blamed, killed by his hands and that'd be the end.
A sob escapes her lips.
"What's wrong, sweetie?" Matthew asked.
His voice chases away the sadness and replaces it with a slow, burning fury. This is all his fault. Isabelle glares at her father with everything she has. Matthew glances at her phone and looks away. Charlotte gently pries the gadget from her hands. Upon reading, she sets the phone aside.
"I'm sorry, dear. He-" Charlotte exchanges a look with her husband, having a silent conversation with expressions and hand gestures.
"Why are you sorry!?" She snaps. The tears roll down her face and she wraps her arms around herself.
Fuck this.
"Don't talk to your mother that way."
Isabelle's body moves before she could think. She slaps him, leaving a mark on his cheek. Her mother and the staff gasp. She yanks his necktie towards the floor, allowing her anger to do as it pleases. Matthew retaliates and slaps her hand away. She slams her elbow into the corner of his jaw. Through hot tears, she clenches her fists.
This is all his fault.
Matthew cries out in pain. Charlotte hugs her daughter from behind, pulling her away. She gently pat her head and sobs.
"Enough, dear! Please."
Isabelle screams. She shakes off her mothers arms and bolts out the door; ignoring their calls.
It's all her fathers fault.
She runs off, not having a destination in mind. The mansion is far from the city proper, at this rate she wouldn't reach it before sunrise.
Where she is going doesn't matter, Isabelle just needed to get out. Away from the cage called home and the shackles of expectations.
Bare, soft feet on damp soil. The rocks and smell of the earth fill her senses.
Is it his fault?
Isabelle leans on a tree, hungrily taking in air as she looks around. She's surrounded by little patches of plants and flowers she can't name. The smell of sweet nectar and grass welcome her, a subtle distraction from the sorrow in her heart.
She stops walking and lies down on the empty road. Isabelle stares at the sky, trying to drown out her worries to the sound of crickets. No family drama to worry about, no nightmares of her presumably dead brother and the threat of losing her ill-natured wealth at any moment.
Why?
The love she feels for her father eats away at her, at war with the bubbling fury in her veins.
Is this her fault?
The sound of an engine makes her look up for a moment. Bright, blaring headlights coming straight at her. Isabelle sighs and stands up, taking her sweet time.
The car door swings open as men clad in black approach. She whips her head around. They encircle her, awaiting silently. Isabelle screams, fed up with everything. What perfect timing! One of the men holds her by the neck and presses her against the car.
Isabelle stomps on his foot hard and slams her palm onto his neck. He merely takes a step back and she grits her teeth.
Were these the men who shot at her before? Isabelle crouches and hugs her knees.
She's pulled up by the collar and thrown into the vehicle. A sickly sweet smell floods her nose and her limbs become unresponsive. As dark spots dance in her vision, she vaguely sees a man in a suit.
It's a beautiful day to die young.
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Isabelle's eyes flutter open, coming into focus. She stares at a crystal chandelier on the ceiling.
Mother bought another tasteless design? No, the design is too tacky even for her mother.
From the sheets alone, this is not her room. An unfamiliar softness of silk pillows and sweet vanilla in the air. Isabelle carefully walks around, inspecting everything. Nothing she can use to whack anyone when they came in, unfortunately.
What can she do, pillow someone unconscious? A dry laugh escapes her lips. She's aa good as dead.
The theme for this room seems to be elaborately decorated for a young girl, with stuffed animals and a color theme of pastel colors. Isabelle likes it but she won't admit it out loud.
The furniture is brand new, from how the wood smells of lemon and it's subtle shine.
Does it matter what happens to her, now?
She thought of the true crime documentaries Chloe told her about. She has a bone to pick with her father, anyway. Death can go fuck off until she settles things with her parents.
She taps on the window glass, trying to force it open but it doesn't budge. The bathroom window was too small to even fit her head through, even if she could it had grills outside.
Where did those men take her?
Isabelle thought of using the bedsheets as a rope, but without a window that's a dream. As if she could tell how high up she was to begin with.
She checks the wardrobe and finds one outfit. It is cheeky and sweet, best suited for a self-important teenager. Ah, whatever. Beggars can't be choosy.
Isabelle holds the dress in one hand. Forest green isn't her favorite color, but the style suits her well. She put it on along with the simple white heels. Quite strange they know her measurements.
Is that a red flag?
She hears footsteps outside. Isabelle slides off her shoe, ready to strike.
The door opens with a soft click and immediately she slams the heel to whomever is there. She hears a cry and a hand on her shoulder.
A man she's never met before.
"Quite strong, even for a young lady." He commented.
The young man wore a white shirt and black slacks. He had thick curly black hair and vivid green eyes. With the dim lighting in her room, his pale skin made him have a strange glow.
Kind of like a vampire but not in a sexy way. More of I'm about to kill you, come to me.
Isabelle would need to get creative to knock him out. If not a tiny heel, a whole closet. Problem is, she isn't strong to push it fast enough.
Isabelle takes a step back and grabs a perfume bottle off her dresser, raising it.
Was he the man she saw before fainting? He approaches her and she narrows her eyes in response.
One step closer and she'd throw.
"Ah, do excuse my manners. I'm sorry we met like this, but it's out of my control." He smiles and stretches out his hand.
"Excuse the fact that you kidnapped me?"
Isabelle grits her teeth and crosses her arms. The man chuckles. He didn't even introduce himself. What is he playing at? From the way he carries himself, he is after something more.
"You are Matthew Cross' only daughter, yes? Our parents have a rather, huge misunderstanding." He said.
Again, with her fathers name. From her classmates back in school to her internship at an office, prior to the bakery, her father always seems to cause trouble for her somehow. Isabelle clenches her fists.
"What does their problem have to do with me?"
Isabelle takes a step forward, staring right at him. He is much taller but one knee jerk and she may make a run for it.
"Assurance." He pats her head and she slaps it away.
"Come, Isabelle. They'd like to talk to you."
Isabelle inches away from him. What a creep. Handsome, yes, but a total creep. She has little to no good reason to believe what he said.
"I won't harm you. I'm merely doing as I am told."
Isabelle refuses to look at him. She'd rather take her chances with the window in this case. What's important is what he doesn't say.
"Santiago."
She looks up. What would Tristan do, if caught in this situation? Isabelle smiles sweetly at him.
Her cocky, arrogant best friend would flirt and try to get on their good side.
Isabelle channels her inner frivolous, arrogant blonde self.
"Well, Santiago. If we meet again under different circumstances, you owe me a date. Your face is totally my type." Isabelle pecks his cheek and walks past him.
The array of luxurious decorations and household items are so off-putting. She has to be consistent, earn trust and get out. If these people were in league with her father, chances were they spoke the same language, business-wise.
Worse case scenario, they have a bone to pick with Mattias. In other words, they'd resort to despicable methods to get what they want.
Isabelle slowly descends the staircase, followed by Santiago. If she disobeys them, she can forget about seeing the light of day again.
An array of family portraits and paintings on the walls. There is one face that seemed familiar. Isabelle sits on the couch, facing Santiago and two people whom she assumes are his parents.
The resemblance is crystal clear, though they both have blue eyes rather than green.
"Are you comfortable?" The woman asked. She has a genuine aura around her, compared to her husband.
Yes, comfortable despite the fact she was taken against her will. Lovely. The wine is magnificent, such a deep red color that reminds her of blood.
Isabelle should refrain from getting on their bad side, but her conscience said otherwise.
"I'm Sofia Valdez and this is my husband, Antonio." Sofia explained. She has an impressive display of jewelry on her neck. It was something her mother would comment on, saying it was over the top.
Valdez? Were they related to Aaron and Samuel, somehow?
She didn't see their faces in the family portraits. Or did she? Maybe they merely had the same name. Isabelle glances at Santiago. No point worrying about it, not having much information to work with.
Her mother must be worried sick and Aaron would be losing his mind by now. Tristan would either laugh or break the front doors, there's simply no inbetween with him.
That's what she adores about him. His complete disregard for consequences and his rebellious nature.
"What do you want with me?" Isabelle asked, not touching the display of food before her. This is nothing but a stage.
Only an idiot would willingly eat. A simple test to see if she's worthy to stay alive.
"Your father stole something of ours."
Again, what did that have to do with her!? Isabelle's blood pressure rises and she's suddenly eager to throw hands. They should've taken him instead and not her, a clueless individual.
"Why should the child be held responsible for what their parent did?" She raises her voice. Antonio and his wife exchange a look.
That does it, she'd be dead within a day.
Santiago mouths a warning to Isabelle. She raises her eyebrows in response. Whatever he was trying to say, she couldn't catch it.
"Dear, we don't want to kill you. Please, don't try anything funny." Sofia warns. Her sickeningly sweet tone reminded her of her own mother, somehow. Isabelle blinks. She looks around and saw the pairs of eyes watching her from almost any angle.
Maybe the weapons mounted to the wall weren't just decorations after all.
She swallows. Until her father would fix this, she'd be stuck here.
What had her father dragged her into, exactly?
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"This is our second time seeing one another, but I've heard so much about you."
"Flattery won't win me over, Santiago. Cut it out." She said.
"You aren't as kind as Tristan said you are. I feel deceived."
Isabelle turns away from him, enjoying her iced coffee. They were watching shows in their private theatre, having the entire area to themselves.
She'd rather not know about her friends sex life, please.
Santiago scoffs, enjoying his share of biscuits and carbonated drinks. He wouldn't keep quiet about his relationship with Tristan, if it can be called that.
Were they dating? Did they have a label? She asked those questions and a barrage of stories came out.
From what he told her, they were childhood friends. The calm, warm sunlight of each day and spending time together. Regardless of how far, they continued to see one another. Each of them sneaked out from time to time, having secret dates and little getaways around the world. But then Tristan broke it off and they stayed as friends.
"I loved the time we spent in Italy best. We took the time we had for granted and spent as if there was no tomorrow."
He reclines on the outdoor furniture, his focus on a ring on his finger. He toys with it, rubbing it in-between his fingers and picking at the design.
The kind of friends that slept together on occasion.
Her hot-headed bestfriend needs a good whack on the head, maybe just a little harder than usual. The way his green, gentle eyes change when he tells her about past events makes her heart ache. It wasn't the happy, nostalgic kind but a bitter sadness. If Isabelle were to aggravate him, one wrong push into the pool and she'd be history.
She'd rather not meet the Creator so young, thanks.
"The flowers we planted together have grown. If he came by, he'd enjoy seeing them." He said and runs a hand through his hair.
He picks a rose.
It's a sorry state, wilting and barely holding on. It's petals have changed color and is no longer upright. Santiago holds it in his hands for a few seconds and tosses it into the fire hearth. The flames engulf the plant, helpless as it turns to ash.
"Why can't you just go see him, then?"
"It's not that simple."
Isabelle frowns. She gets up and wraps her blanket around him. The tone of his voice reminds her of herself. A nice, calm hug does wonders. Teardrops fall onto her shoulder and she rubs his back, silently comforting him as he lets it all out. He'd get salty tears all over her dress, but it's fine. Green isn't a favorite color of hers anyway.
He pulls away, clearly embarrassed. She smiles. Crying isn't something to be ashamed of.
Isabelle mentally fist bumps herself. First brownie points! Maybe she won't die so soon.
The sound of rustling leaves and distant thunder envelop them. It would rain soon, Isabelle is familiar with this sound quite well. If she wasn't brought to their estate under such, for the lack of a better word, circumstances, she would appreciate the design. A nice walkway out of white stones and flora from around the world.
"Hey, Santiago. I'd like to show you something."
He looks up with a silent question on his face. Isabelle fights the urge to smile, trying to keep the mood serious. She takes his hands and traces his palms. The smell of rain, ever so subtle and evening breeze bring back fond memories.
"Now, think of flower petals. Be honest with the first colors you think of and how many. They have a meaning."
"White, only two."
Isabelle pauses. Well, that's new. She thought of blue. This is what Jake taught her before when she had nothing to do, if not play video games.
"That's interesting. Anyway, lets get to the meaning later. Firstly, this should trigger a memory,"
Isabelle demonstrates, holding his hands up to his face. She makes him sit down and straighten his back, mirroring him.
"Do you smell anything? The closer to your nose the better. And close your eyes!"
Santiago doesn't look fully convinced, but he humors her. She giggles. After some silence, she takes a peek. He has his eyes closed and has a relaxed expression.
Almost there.
"Not quite. What exactly am I--"
Isabelle slaps his hands, making him hit his own face. She laughs wholeheartedly and claps, content. He actually fell for it. It always works, like a charm.
"You!" He has a funny look on his face, unsure about whether to laugh or scold her for it. She makes a run for it, making a beeline for the greenhouse.
"Catch me if you can, lover boy!"
She can hear him following her in hot pursuit. One wrong move and he'd catch her. As she ducks behind pillars and stays hidden, a smile crawls onto her face. Santiago comes into view, panting and out of breath. He leans on the fountain and eventually sits down. She slowly moves out of her spot and taps his shoulder.
She laughs and squeals as he tries to reach her. Santiago loses his balance and she grabs him without thinking. Not good!
They fall into the fountain, getting soaked head to toe.
"Draw?"
"Draw."
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