Fake Destiny

Chapter7: wishes

Isabella's POV

When I stepped into the penthouse, I couldn’t believe my eyes. The place was nothing like I had imagined. I’d expected a sterile, cold space with just enough luxury to remind me of my place. But this, it felt like something out of a dream. There was a pool, sparkling blue and pristine, visible through the large windows. The room was decorated with soft, inviting furniture and modern games scattered across the floor; ping-pong, foosball, and a pool table that looked way too expensive for someone like me to even think of touching.

I stood frozen, unsure of how to react. For a moment, I felt like I was someone else, someone who wasn’t stuck in this nightmare, someone who wasn’t being sold and used and tossed aside. This was... freedom, in a way, wasn’t it? I could do whatever I wanted for an entire day.

I wandered slowly, almost afraid to touch anything, as if everything in this place was too good for me. The smell of food reached my nose: exotic fruits, fresh pastries, meats, and the richest, creamiest dishes that my stomach growled at. I could barely believe it. It was as though I had walked into an entirely different world. One where it wasn’t just a thing to use, one where I didn’t have to keep my head down and obey.

I felt a wave of happiness I hadn’t experienced in so long.

What would it be like if it could always be like this? I thought to myself, as I explored every corner of the massive penthouse. It was stunning. But just as quickly as the happiness bloomed, a knot formed in my stomach.

Why did he do this?

I was still unsure of why Young Master had given me this day. Why did he grant me freedom, even if it was only temporary? What was his game here? What did he want from me?

But, as I stood there, the realization came crashing down: I had nothing left to lose.

He could hurt me, abuse me, use me again whenever he wished. I wasn’t stupid enough to think this would last. It was one day, a single day in which I was allowed to do as I pleased. The moment it ended, I would be back to the same cycle of pain and humiliation.

But, for now, I allowed myself to enjoy it.

I headed to the pool first. The water was refreshing, cool against my bruised skin. The feeling of floating, even for a brief moment, took my mind off the pain. It didn’t completely erase it, but it helped.

I tried swimming laps, but it was harder than I imagined. Every movement was slow and cautious, careful not to aggravate the soreness that clung to me from last night. I felt as though I was gasping for air with each stroke, the bruises tightening across my body as if reminding me that I didn’t truly belong here, this wasn’t meant for someone like me.

I gave up on swimming after a while, my body too exhausted from the pain. That’s when I noticed the pool table. I had seen it in movies and in magazines, but I had never played it. I didn’t know how. Still, I walked over to it, curious, and grabbed the cue stick. The balls were all neatly arranged, but I couldn’t figure out how to start the game. I hit the cue ball and watched it bounce off the others, missing the shot completely.

A sigh escaped my lips. I wasn’t good at this.

I left the pool table behind and decided to try something else. A few minutes later, I found myself on the TV. The remote was in my hand before I could even think about it. I scrolled through the options until I found something, something that caught my eye. A movie. A love story.

Maybe it would help me forget.

I plopped down on the couch, pulling the soft blanket around me as I pressed play.

The movie started, and at first, I thought it was a silly romantic drama, the kind of thing that could never happen in real life. It was too perfect, too idealistic. The main characters were deeply in love, two souls destined to be together despite their differences. They seemed happy, carefree.

But the plot quickly took a dark turn.

The man, the love interest, had to leave the woman he loved due to family pressure, and she was heartbroken. I could feel the pain of the scene wash over me as the woman stood by the window, watching him leave without turning back. She was begging him to stay, but he kept walking, his back turned to her as he disappeared into the night.

Why does this hurt so much?

I couldn’t help it. My own pain, my own broken heart, flooded in, and I was suddenly crying, shouting at the screen.

“Don’t go!” I yelled, my voice breaking as I stared at the screen. "Don’t leave her!"

But it was too late. The man was gone, and the woman collapsed to the floor, sobbing.

I couldn’t stop the tears from coming. The loneliness, the sense of abandonment, struck a chord deep within me. I knew that feeling all too well. My father had abandoned me, sold me away like I was nothing. And now, here I was, caught in a twisted game of power, used and discarded like the women in the movie.

But it wasn’t just the abandonment that hit me. It was the hopelessness. The belief that no one would ever love me, that no one would ever stay.

The film continued, and so did the heartbreak.

In the next scene, the woman tried to move on, but the man came back, years later, only to find her engaged to another man. She had moved on, or so it seemed. The tension in the scene grew as the two locked eyes again. There was still love between them, but there was also anger, bitterness. He had left her when she needed him most, and now she was with someone else, someone who wasn’t him.

I couldn’t stop my tears. My sobs became louder.

“Why didn’t you stay?” I shouted at the screen. “Why didn’t you fight for her?”

I felt the sharp sting of betrayal in my chest. It mirrored the pain I had inside. I had no one to fight for me. No one cared enough to stay.

The final scene of the movie was almost unbearable. The woman, after all those years, finally confronted the man, angry and broken. She let him know how much he had hurt her, how he had destroyed her trust.

But even though she had every right to be angry, she still loved him. And when they kissed, it was filled with longing, but it wasn’t a happy ending. It was a bittersweet one.

I broke down completely then. The final words of the woman echoed in my mind: “You left me when I needed you the most. But you’re back, and it doesn’t change anything. I’ll never be the same again.”

I shouted at the TV, though I knew the characters couldn’t hear me. "You can’t fix it now! You can’t just come back and say everything’s okay! It’s too late!"

The pain from the movie bled into my own heart, and I cried like I hadn’t in years. I let all the hurt, the sorrow, the emptiness flood through me. It wasn’t just the movie; it was everything.

The movie ended, but I didn’t stop crying. I couldn’t. The emptiness, the hurt, it felt like it would never end. I wanted to feel something else, anything else, but there was no way out.

As I wiped away my tears, I realized something. I was just like her. Broken. Alone. And no one would come to save me.

Not even Young Master.

But somehow, I found myself wishing that maybe, just maybe, there was someone out there who could.

And I somehow wish my own man would be the young master. What a crazy and ironic thought indeed.