Chapter 3
1039 Words
Isabella’s POV
Elena stormed into my room, her designer heels clicking against the tiled floor like a countdown to misery. "You’re such a waste of time and resources," she sneered, arms crossed as she leaned against the doorframe, her disdain cutting sharper than any blade.
I didn’t bother replying. What was the point? Instead, I stared at my reflection in the mirror, barely recognizing the face staring back. For the first time, professionals surrounded me, carefully transforming my hollow features into something presentable—pretty, even. A wig hugged my bald scalp so perfectly no one would suspect my head was devoid of the long hair that had once reached my waist. Not that it mattered. The memory of my hair being cut off, strands pooling on the floor like a funeral for my dignity, still stung. All because of Elena's lies.
My throat tightened as tears welled in my eyes. But I blinked them back. I wouldn’t let her see me cry. Not again.
"Look at you," Elena spat, her voice dripping with venom. "Getting dolled up like a discount mannequin. At least you’re useful for once." She laughed bitterly, turning to the makeup artists. "Don't bother too much; she’s only headed for a life of misery. Did you know she’s marrying a wrinkly old man? Bet he’s a total creep. If he’s keeping up with these outdated traditions, he must be some kind of pedophile."
Her words clawed at my chest, but I kept my face neutral. "Anywhere is better than here," I finally replied, my voice steady despite the storm inside me. Her smirk faltered, and I almost smiled at the flicker of frustration in her eyes.
Our escalating argument was cut short when my father’s voice rang out. "It’s time to leave. We can’t be late for the dinner."
I clutched my first-ever purse tightly as we headed out—a simple bag, devoid of a phone, filled only with the medications keeping me alive. Pain throbbed in my jaw from a recently pulled tooth, and my head ached, but I kept quiet. No one cared about my discomfort, anyway.
The car was sleek, a symbol of my family’s wealth—a wealth I’d never felt a part of. As the engine purred to life, I gazed out the window, taking in the blur of city lights. It was my first car ride; I’d spent my life confined to my room, homeschooled and isolated. I knew the world only through books and distant daydreams. Conversation felt foreign to me—an impossible skill I never had the chance to master.
The Ashford mansion loomed before us, a palace straight out of a fairy tale. The intricate iron gates swung open to reveal perfectly manicured gardens and fountains that seemed to whisper secrets of old money. Marble columns framed the massive entrance, and golden light poured from the windows, casting a warm glow against the night.
As we stepped inside, my breath caught. Ornate chandeliers hung from the ceiling, their crystals reflecting rainbows against the polished floors. My gaze fell on an artifact displayed in the center of the room—a German ceremonial chalice, its intricate carvings etched with a history I’d read about in a forgotten book.
"That’s a 16th-century Meisterstück," I whispered, mesmerized. My fingers itched to touch it, to feel the weight of its legacy.
A sharp slap stung the back of my hand. "Don’t embarrass us," my mother hissed, her voice low but cutting.
"It’s ugly, anyway," Elena muttered, tossing her hair dismissively. But to me, it was beautiful—a piece of history that deserved reverence.
"You wouldn’t call it ugly if you knew its value." A deep, gravelly voice pulled my attention. An elderly man approached, his eyes kind but piercing. "That piece is priceless," he said with a smile.
"Millions of euros," I added softly, unable to stop myself. "And its history dates back to—"
He laughed, a genuine sound that filled the room. "Finally, someone who appreciates it as much as I do!" He extended a hand. "I’m Leonard. You can call me Leo."
I blushed under the weight of his praise, but the moment was ruined by the heavy stares of my family. I didn’t need to look to know Elena was fuming, her jealousy palpable. My parents’ faces were unreadable masks, though I knew the truth—they hated the attention on me.
"Would you like to have it?" Leo asked, his smile widening.
I froze, my heart leaping. "I… No, I couldn’t."
Before we could continue, my father interjected, his tone formal. "Mr. Ashford, thank you for honoring the agreement. We’re grateful."
The words twisted in my gut. Grateful? He might as well have said, Thank you for taking this burden off our hands.
"We don’t want a large wedding," my mother added quickly. "Something simple will do."
"Nonsense," Leo replied, his brows furrowing. "If I’m giving away my grandson’s future bride, it will be nothing short of grand."
The horror flashing across my parents’ faces was almost comical. They scrambled to cover their discomfort, spewing lies about my health. "She’s… delicate," my father said. "We don’t want to burden you."
"Delicate," I thought bitterly. Healthy, but trafficked. Healthy, but incomplete.
Leo’s expression darkened. "Health is no reason to discriminate against your own child." His words struck like a whip, and for the first time, I felt a flicker of hope—quickly extinguished by the cold reality of my situation.
Before anyone could respond, a deep, commanding voice echoed from behind me. "Excellent choice, Old Man."
I turned, and the air left my lungs. He stood tall, every feature chiseled to perfection. His dark eyes locked onto mine, and my heart raced as though it had never beaten before. My sister’s dreamy sigh beside me only confirmed what I already knew—this man was dangerously handsome, the kind of man who could make you forget everything, including the pain of a ruined life.
But as his smirk tilted into something sharper, I knew the truth. He wasn’t a prince come to save me. He was the villain in my story, and I was the damsel no one would ever rescue.
- Writer
