The party was still in full swing when I stepped back into the grand hall. The music, the chatter, the laughter—it all grated on my nerves now. Every step felt heavier as I scanned the room for my father.

I found him by the bar counter, laughing with his business partners, a cigar in one hand and a glass of whiskey in the other. Marcus De Luca, the untouchable, the feared, the man who took me in and raised me like his own. Or so I thought.

I marched over, ignoring the curious glances from guests who noticed the tension radiating off me.

“Papa, I need to talk to you,” I said firmly, stopping beside him.

He barely glanced at me, too engrossed in his conversation. “Not now, Isabella,” he said dismissively, taking a sip of his drink. “Can’t you see I’m busy?”

“It’s important,” I insisted, my voice shaking despite my best effort to sound calm. “More important than my life.”

That got his attention. His sharp, dark eyes flicked to mine, narrowing slightly. “Gentlemen,” he said to his companions, his tone smooth and practiced. “Excuse me for a moment. My daughter seems to think the world is ending.”

They chuckled politely, and he gestured for me to follow him. We walked in silence to his study, the sound of my heels clicking against the marble floor echoing in the quiet corridor.

Once inside, he shut the door and turned to me, his expression hard. “What is it, Isabella? Speak.”

I stood my ground, even though my heart was racing. “I want to call off the engagement,” I said, my voice steady.

For a moment, he just stared at me, like he couldn’t believe what he’d just heard. Then his expression darkened.

“Are you out of your mind?” he growled.

“No, Papa,” I said, lifting my chin. “I’m finally thinking clearly. Antonio doesn’t love me, and I don’t want to marry someone who—”

He cut me off, his voice booming. “This isn’t about love! This is about loyalty, about family, about power! You think you can just walk away because you don’t feel like it?”

I took a step back, but I didn’t back down. “It’s not just that. Sofia—”

“Don’t you dare bring that woman into this,” he snapped. “Antonio is your fiancé. That’s the end of it.”

I clenched my fists, my frustration boiling over. “Why, Papa? Why are you so desperate to tie me to someone who doesn’t even respect me? I’m not your blood, remember? You’ve made that clear enough times.”

The slap came so fast I didn’t see it coming. The force of it sent me stumbling, my hand flying to my face as a sharp, metallic taste filled my mouth.

“You ungrateful little girl!” he hissed, his voice low and dangerous. “I gave you a life. I gave you my name. And this is how you repay me? By questioning me? By embarrassing me in front of our allies?”

Blood dripped from my nose, staining my dress, but I refused to let the tears fall. I straightened, glaring at him through the pain.

This wasn’t the first time he’d hit me. It wasn’t even the worst. I remembered being fifteen, sprinting home in the rain because I lost track of time at the library. Two minutes late. That’s all it took for him to drag me by my hair into the house and slap me until my cheek swelled.

“Time is respect,” he’d said that night, his voice calm, like he was teaching me a lesson. “And you will respect me.”

Even now, the memory made my stomach churn.

“You’re wrong,” I said quietly, my voice trembling but firm. “You didn’t give me a life. You gave me a role to play in yours. And I’m done.”

His hand twitched like he wanted to hit me again, but he didn’t. Instead, he turned away, running a hand through his hair.

“You’re not calling off the engagement!” his tone was cold and final. “If you try, you’ll regret it. Do you understand me?”

I didn’t answer.

“Do you understand me, Isabella?!”

“Y-yes, Papa,” I said, though my voice was barely above a whisper.

Satisfied, he gestured to the door. “Get out of my sight. And clean yourself up before you embarrass me further!”

I left the study without another word, my chest aching as much as my face. The party was still in full swing, the laughter and music a cruel reminder of the world I was trapped in.

As I passed by a mirror in the hallway, I caught a glimpse of myself—my swollen nose, the blood smeared across my lips, the fire still burning in my eyes.

Marcus De Luca may have raised me, but he didn’t own me.

The next morning came too quickly, dragging me back into the nightmare I couldn’t wake up from. I was still nursing the sting on my face from last night as I stepped out of the house.

Antonio’s sleek black car was parked in the driveway, polished so well it reflected the morning sun. Behind it, two matte-black SUVs sat like silent sentinels, their dark-tinted windows giving nothing away.

He leaned casually against the hood, dressed in a perfectly tailored suit that screamed money and power.

He looked like he’d just stepped out of a magazine—like nothing in the world could touch him.

“Morning, Isabella,” he said with that smooth voice of his, opening the back door for me. “We’re meeting the wedding planner. The wedding’s happening soon. Your father and mine want it finalized.”

I swallowed hard, keeping my face neutral as I approached. “Right. Of course.”

As I climbed into the car, my stomach twisted. Sofia was already in the passenger seat, her long legs crossed, her dress—or lack of one—barely covering anything.

She turned to me with a slow smirk, like she’d been waiting for this moment.

“Good morning, ‘future Mrs. Ricci’.”

I slid into the back seat, keeping my expression blank. “Good morning, Sofia,” I replied, my tone clipped.

“Oh, don’t be so stiff!” she turned around to face me. “We’re practically family now. Isn’t that exciting?”

Antonio climbed into the driver’s seat. He adjusted the rearview mirror and started the car without a word.

“Don’t mind me tagging along,” Sofia continued, “I just couldn’t resist. Weddings are such a beautiful thing, don’t you think?”

I folded my hands in my lap, refusing to take the bait. “They are,” I said simply, staring out the window.

Sofia let out a light laugh. “You’re so composed. I’d be a wreck if I were in your shoes. I mean, marrying a man who doesn’t even love you? That takes strength, Isabella.”

My face tightened, but he didn’t say anything.

“Don’t worry…” Sofia added, her voice dropping to a whisper as she leaned closer. “I’ll make sure Antonio’s still… happy, even after you two are married.”

I met her gaze through the rearview mirror, keeping my expression cold. “I’m sure you will. But you might want to find a better dress for the job. That one looks like it’s falling apart.”

Her smirk faltered for just a second before she leaned back in her seat, pretending to adjust her strap. Antonio’s lips twitched, like he was trying not to react, but he still said nothing.

The tension in the car was suffocating, but I refused to let either of them see how much it bothered me. Let Sofia play her games. Let Antonio sit there in silence. I had my own plans, and they didn’t include sticking around for this circus any longer than I had to.

The car sped down the road, the hum of the engine the only sound as I stared out at the city rushing by.

***

When we arrived at the wedding planner’s office, Sofia practically skipped inside, her heels clicking loudly against the marble floor. The planner, a chic older woman with a clipboard and an air of authority, greeted us with a professional smile.

“You must be the happy couple!” she exclaimed, extending her hand to Sofia and Antonio.

I froze, my eyes widening as Sofia’s grin stretched even further.

“Oh, yes!” Sofia said, slipping her arm through Antonio’s. “We’re so thrilled to be working with you.”

Antonio said nothing, his usual smirk firmly in place, but he didn’t bother correcting her.

The planner beamed, completely missing my stunned silence. “You two look perfect together! Such a striking couple. I can’t wait to hear your vision for the big day.”

I opened my mouth to speak, but Sofia beat me to it.

“I’m thinking classic elegance,” her voice dripping with enthusiasm. “White roses, gold accents, maybe even a live orchestra.”

The planner nodded, scribbling on her clipboard. “That sounds divine! And your dress, dear? Have you found the one?”

“Oh, not yet,” Sofia replied, stealing a quick glance at me. “But I’ve got a few ideas in mind.”

My jaw clenched, but I forced myself to stay calm. “Actually,” I said, cutting in, “I’m the BRIDE!”

The planner blinked, looking between me and Sofia in confusion.

“Oh,” she said, her smile faltering for the first time. “My apologies. I… I just assumed...”

“She gets that a lot,” Sofia interrupted smoothly, “Isabella’s so shy, she doesn’t like all the attention. Isn’t that right?”

I shot her a glare, but before I could respond, Antonio stepped forward, his hand on Sofia’s back. “Let’s just get started,” he said, his voice dismissive.

The planner nodded quickly, eager to move past the awkward moment. “Of course. Right this way.”

Sofia sauntered ahead, still holding onto Antonio like they were the ones getting married. I followed behind them, my frustration bubbling under the surface.

By the time we sat down to discuss the details, it was clear Sofia had no intention of stepping aside. She chimed in on everything—flowers, food, music—making it seem like this was her wedding and I was just a guest.

“And for the first dance,” she said, twirling a lock of her hair, “something romantic but not too slow. Maybe a classic like Fly Me to the Moon.”

The planner nodded, jotting it down. “And you, Isabella? Any preferences?”

I hesitated, feeling all their eyes on me. “I’m fine with whatever,” I said quietly, not wanting to make a scene. I'm so done by the way.

The wedding planner’s pen hovered mid-air, waiting for me to finish, but I didn’t get the chance.

Bang bang bang!

Shouts erupted outside, followed by a loud noise that echoed through the building!