I pace quickly, tight circles driven by rage.I want to flip his desk, spit in his face, tell him to go fuck himself, along with Lorenzo and the entire damn empire.
But I don’t.
Because I understand how this world operates.Power doesn’t care how loud you scream.It just waits until you’re out of breath, then breaks your ribs and calls it tradition.
I stand, arms crossed, chin held high, letting the silence stretch until it starts to feel uncomfortable.I already know how this ends.There’s no door wide enough, no road far enough, no fake name that stays in this family long.I could run.But they always catch you.History has made that painfully clear.
The Serranos never lose things.They simply reclaim them.
And they would reclaim me, again.
I swallow the scream that’s burning in my throat.
When I finally speak, my voice is steady.Not because I’m calm, but because I’ve taught myself how to sound calm when my world is collapsing.
“I know I’m not getting out of this,” I say.“I know you’ve already decided.”
I hold his gaze, because I refuse to look away.Refuse to give him the satisfaction.
“I could run,” I say.
My father’s mouth curves just slightly.“And how did that go the last time?”
The words hit harder than any slap ever could.My chest burns, and before I can stop it, tears well up in my eyes.
Ethan.
I don’t say his name out loud, but it echoes through my mind.Ethan with his soft laugh and reckless hope.Ethan who loved me enough to believe we could outrun blood, guns, and men who never forget.
We made plans.God, we made so many fucking plans.Late at night, we talked about cities where no one knew my last name, about mornings without guards and locked gates, about a life where love wasn’t a liability.
I was so in love that I let myself believe it.
I wish every day I had said no to the dream of us because if I had, he’d still be breathing.He’d still be walking this earth instead of living only in the space behind my ribs where grief never shuts the fuck up.
My breath catches.I swallow hard, holding back tears because crying has never changed a damn thing in this house.
“If you’re going to cage me,” I say, voice razor-sharp, “at least have the decency to admit that’s what you’re doing.”
He leans back in his chair, eyes narrowing.“Freedom was never something you were promised, Isabella.You were born into obligation.This is your role.This is the cost.”
His words settle like ice under my skin.No matter how much I plead, there is no stopping this, just like there was no stopping it the night I begged for Ethan’s life.
“Fine,” I breathe, voice tight in my chest.“I’ll wear the ring.But I won’t wear the chains.”
His smile spreads slowly.Cold.Smug.The type of smile that lacks warmth, only the satisfaction of a man who believes he’s won.
If he wants me to do this, I’ll do it on my own terms.I look him straight in the eye, jaw clenched, spine stiff.
"But I want complete control of the wedding."
It’s already forming in my mind.A black wedding dress.Why not?I’m not walking down the aisle, I’m being marched to my own damn funeral.Might as well dress the part.
“No,” he says flatly.“Your aunt will be in control, just like she has been for every Serrano wedding before this one.”
Of course she will.That woman plans weddings like they’re state-funded musicals—gold-trimmed everything, towering cakes no one touches, smile-plastered brides pretending they haven’t been sold like livestock wrapped in silk.
Every detail is exaggerated.Overwhelming.As if marrying into a family of killers should feel like a fucking fairy tale.As if the bride is meant to appear thrilled while her freedom is being buried in diamonds.