HER UNRULY HUSBAND

All my life, people praised and envied the life I had. They looked at me like I was lucky. They wished for what I had, but if they only knew, they would never want to trade places with me. My life was never mine. Every part of it was shaped and dictated by my family, and I carried the weight of their plans whether I wanted to or not. Everyone admired the Fernandez name. I only wanted to spit it out of my mouth and cut myself away from it. I hated it. I hated being born into it. “Of course, I’m going home, Micheal,” I said into the phone, my voice sharp and clipped. I ended the call without waiting for his reply. My jaw was tight as I folded clothes into my luggage, shoving them in with more force than necessary. The room looked empty, but my chest felt heavier with every movement. I knew this time was different. They were not just calling me back. They were ready to take everything from me now that I was of age. They thought they could finally use me fully, like I was some product they invested in. My phone buzzed again. Micheal’s name flashed on the screen. My teeth ground together. I snatched it up. “Micheal, what now?” I snapped. I hated this life. I hated being tied to their rules. Even when I left, even when I tried to breathe on my own, they always pulled me back. My so-called freedom was nothing but borrowed time. “Loriel, I’m sorry,” Micheal said, his voice low and uneasy. “But when exactly are you coming home? Fausto wants you back before the elections. He’s been asking me every day.” My grip on the phone tightened. My nails dug into my palm. “Do you ever get tired of nagging me? I said I’d go home. The election will happen with or without me standing there for the cameras.” “Lor, please don’t be upset. If it were up to me, I wouldn’t call you at all. You know that.” I shut my eyes. He was right, but it didn’t matter. The anger was already rising in me, and I could not control it anymore. “Tell him I’m going home this weekend,” I said through gritted teeth. “He says your presence is non-negotiable. He wants you here for unity, especially now.” I pressed my fingers hard against my temple. “Never mind. Just tell him I’ll call him later.” Micheal hesitated. “Also, the Don insists you return early for the auction. Everyone expects you to be there.” I clenched my jaw so tight it hurt. My voice came out cold. “I have a life here. I’m not just a perfect daughter to parade around. Tell him I’ll be there next week. That’s all I can give.” The line was silent for a moment. Micheal finally spoke, his tone careful. “Be careful what you say to him. He doesn’t know about Craig.” “I know,” I muttered, and hung up before he could continue. I stared at the phone in my hand, my chest burning. Orders disguised as requests. Always the same. My father treated me like I was his property, not his daughter. Every time they spoke of me, it was about appearances, about what I could give to the Fernandez name. Never about me. Never about what I wanted. I threw the phone onto the bed and pressed my hands against my face. My teeth bit down hard on my lip, stopping me from screaming. I hated this life. I hated them for forcing me into it. And if I could, I would have left and never looked back. I tossed the phone onto the bed and covered my eyes. It was always the same, orders disguised as requests, expectations piling up like a mountain I didn’t want to climb. The phone rang once more, but I didn’t bother looking this time. I knew it was Micheal still, trying to get me to commit to something I had no energy for. My father is the governor of our province, and many people admire him. Now he’s running for re-election, and once again I’m dragged into his world whether I want it or not. I told him so many times we should step away from politics, that we should live quietly like normal people. But he never listens. For him, politics is business, and the family is part of the display. He wants me standing beside him, smiling for the cameras, dressed like the perfect daughter he can flaunt during the campaign. I hated it. I hated that my worth to him was measured by how useful I looked to his image. The thought made my chest tighten. I had my own job, and my own life, and yet I was constantly pulled back into his world of power and fantasy. I packed the last of my things and stood in front of the mirror, staring at my reflection. I whispered to myself, "For once, I just want to breathe." Before the night ended, I decided I would take a break from all of it. I wanted my life as mine. I took my time getting ready, slipping into a black skirt that hugged my hips and a red sleeveless crop top. I lined my eyes with dark eyeliner, swiped on bold red lipstick, and smiled at the woman in the mirror. This. This is the real Loriel Chandria Fernandez. This is the life I wanted. This is me, stripped of the shadow my father built for me. He hates this version of me. To him, it’s rebellion. To me, it’s survival. He calls it nonsense. He calls it wasted potential. But I call it freedom. I am tired being his puppet. And I know, the moment I step back into that house, I know exactly what waits for me. The trap will close and a stranger’s ring on my finger. That is the weight pressing against my chest right now—the worst feeling of all.