The morning sunlight streamed gently through the lace curtains, painting delicate golden patterns across Isabella Romano's bedroom. She sat at her little wooden desk, a sketchbook spread open before her. Her pencil traced light, clumsy strokes flowers, mostly, and birds she had seen fluttering around the estate gardens. She was not particularly talented, but she liked how sketching calmed her. The world beyond the high iron gates of her father's mansion rarely touched her, and in this private life , she could almost pretend she lived an ordinary life, so she thought.
She sighed and leaned her cheek against her palm, studying the unfinished rose on the page, trying to mix certain colors to create her masterpiece, which will only be viewed by her of course. She signed…..
At nineteen, Isabella was a woman in years, but in every other way she was untouched by the world. Her father, Antonio Romano, kept her carefully tucked away from the outside world; he was overprotective of her , he said, though she often wondered if it was really a prison disguised as love. She had never been allowed to attend university, not even high school, just private tutors who would undergo proper security checks before daring to come lecture her.
She never walked the city streets without an escort. Books and the occasional visits from her best friend Sophia were her only windows into what life could be.
A soft knock sounded against her door.
"Come in," Isabella called.
The door creaked open and revealed Sophia Langford, all light and mischief, she was the complete opposite of Isabella.
Sophia was the daughter of Antonio's long-time business associate, and though she had freer rein than Isabella, she often sneaked into the Romano estate to spend time with her friend. Her dark hair was tied into a messy bun, and her eyes sparkled with secrets.
"You're already sketching? You're going to turn into an old maid if you keep hiding behind paper and pencils," Sophia teased, flopping onto the bed.
Isabella laughed softly. "I'm hardly hiding. I just like it. It feels… safe."
"Safe," Sophia echoed, rolling her eyes. "Darling, you need excitement. You need love. You need a man to make you blush, not another flower in your sketchbook."
Isabella shook her head, cheeks warming. With her face now red like a tomato "You sound like the novels you read."
"They're not just novels," Sophia insisted dramatically, grabbing a pillow and hugging it to her chest. "They're lessons. One day, a man is going to sweep you off your feet, and you'll think of me when it happens."
"Papa would never allow such a thing," Isabella murmured.
At that, Sophia fell quiet for a moment. Everyone knew Antonio Romano. Wealthy, respected, feared. To the world, he was a successful businessman with real estate and import ties. But whispers , dark whispers hinted at something more. Even Sophia dared not speak of it openly in this house.
Instead, she forced a bright smile and nudged Isabella with her foot. "Then maybe your father will pick a husband for you. Wouldn't that be exciting?"
Isabella shuddered, though she tried to mask it with a laugh. "I hope not. I don't want to marry a stranger."
"You don't always get to choose," Sophia said softly.
And you know that as well..
Later that afternoon, while Sophia napped on her bed, Isabella wandered downstairs for tea. She moved quietly through the long marble corridors, careful not to disturb the staff who bustled about. Her father's voice drifted through the slightly opened door of his study.
"…yes, tomorrow evening. It will be handled. She doesn't know yet."
Isabella froze. Her father's voice was clipped, colder than usual.
"She won't resist," Antonio continued after a pause. "She doesn't have a choice. This alliance is necessary. If he wants her, he'll have her."
Her heart stuttered in her chest. Who was he talking about? What alliance?
The floorboard creaked beneath her slipper, and she panicked, hurrying back to the stairs before she could be discovered. The words echoed in her head all the way back to her room. She doesn't have a choice.
When Sophia woke and suggested sneaking out , Isabella declined, claiming a headache. In truth, her mind spins with thoughts she couldn't name.
By nightfall, Antonio summoned Isabella to his study.
She walked in hesitantly, smoothing the pale pink dress she wore. The room smelled faintly of cigars and leather, shadows stretching across the polished wood shelves. Her father sat behind his desk, hands folded, expression unreadable.
"You called for me, Papa?" she asked quietly.
Antonio gestured for her to sit. "Tomorrow, you will accompany me to an important dinner. It is a matter of business, but your presence is required."
"Yes, Papa," Isabella answered automatically, though her stomach twisted. She wanted to ask questions, to press him about the conversation she had overheard, but the sharpness of his gaze silenced her.
"Wear something suitable," Antonio continued. "We will leave at seven."
"Yes, Papa."
He leaned back, studying her with an intensity that made her shift uncomfortably. For a fleeting moment, his expression softened. "Everything I do is for your future, Isabella. Remember that."
She nodded, forcing a small smile. "I know."
"Good. That's all."
As she rose, her eyes fell on a photograph half-buried under papers on his desk. She hadn't meant to look, but the face staring back at her caught her breath.
A man. Dark hair, sharp jaw, eyes so cold they seemed to pierce through the photograph itself. He wore a tailored black suit, confidence dripping from every line of his body.
"Who is that?" she asked before she could stop herself.
Antonio's eyes narrowed, and he slid the photograph into a drawer. "No one you need to concern yourself with."
But the image was burned into Isabella's mind. Those eyes haunted her long after she left the study, long after she lay in bed staring at the ceiling. She didn't know his name, but something in her bones told her he would change everything.
And tomorrow, she will meet him.