Chapter 2
1530 Words
There it was.
Not that she wasn't expecting it.
Mario was behind a woman, thrusting into her like an animal, hands gripping her hips, breath ragged, pants bunched around his thighs.
And when the door creaked open, he paused only for a second.
His eyes met Isla's.
No shame.
No guilt.
No words.
Just a blank stare. As if she wasn't even there.
And then... he continued.
Isla stood frozen for a heartbeat longer, her stomach twisting in revulsion.
This....this...was the man her father wanted her to marry.
She wasn't surprised.
But now more than ever... she knew she couldn't do this.
Not with him.
She closed the door silently and turned away, her heart pounding but her face unreadable. She walked back to the main room of the boutique with the calmness of someone too tired to scream.
Rita looked up and smiled. "There you are, Are you ready to continue? "
Isla nodded, forcing a smile. "I'll go with that one."
She pointed at the most plain, uninspiring gown on the rack-an off-white, shapeless dress that lacked even a single embellishment.
Rita paused, surprise flickering in her expression. But she nodded. "Simple choice. But... if that's what you want."
Isla smiled again, thinner this time. "It fits the event perfectly."
Mario returned minutes later, looking completely unbothered. He walked over and stood beside Isla, as if she hadn't just caught him banging another woman in a public bathroom.
"I want to see her in the dress," he said, voice flat and demanding.
Isla blinked, caught off guard. Her body tensed.
"I've already tried it. It fits," she lied, her voice calm, her heart anything but.
Mario rolled his eyes. "I don't want to repeat myself."
His tone was sharp, full of irritation, like she was the problem.
Isla looked at him for a long second, then sighed deeply, every part of her resisting the urge to throw the dress in his face.
But she said nothing.
Instead, she took the gown and turned toward the fitting room, the weight of it in her arms heavier than it should've been.
Just a few more steps into the cage.
Inside the fitting room, Isla stared at her reflection as she slipped into the dress.
It hung on her body like defeat.
No sparkle. No lace. No joy.
Just a pale, lifeless thing that clung to her frame like a ghost of the woman she used to be.
Her fingers trembled slightly as she adjusted the straps. Her eyes met her reflection and for a moment, she didn't recognize the girl staring back.
Empty eyes.
Tight jaw.
A bride-to-be who wanted nothing more than to vanish.
Is this really my life?
A soft knock interrupted her thoughts.
"Is everything okay in there?" Rita's voice called gently.
"Yes," Isla managed. "Coming out now."
She stepped out of the fitting room, holding herself together like fragile glass. Rita gave her a polite nod, but her eyes lingered-curious, almost concerned.
Mario didn't even look at her fully. He just glanced once, then looked back at his phone.
"No shape," he muttered. "Get another one."
"I like this one," Isla said firmly, her voice steadier than she expected.
Mario slowly looked up. And this time, he moved.
He walked toward her with cold purpose in his eyes, every step measured. Before she could react, his hand clamped tightly around her arm-his fingers pressing into her skin with just enough force to make her flinch.
He leaned in close, his breath hot against her ear.
"Don't ever talk back to me again, Isla," he whispered, voice low and venomous. "You'll wear what I say, speak when I allow it, and smile when I need you to. No more arguing. No more attitude. Not now, not ever."
His grip tightened for just a second longer before he stepped back, his face a blank mask of charm again.
Rita froze where she stood. She had seen everything-and though she tried to keep her expression neutral, the nervous shift in her eyes gave her away.
Isla didn't look at her. She kept her face still, refusing to give Mario the satisfaction of seeing fear.
Mario turned to Rita, his voice sharp and unbothered.
"Get her another dress."
Rita hesitated, her eyes flicking between Isla and the bruising grip Mario had just left on her arm.
"I... I thought she-"
His gaze cut to her, silencing whatever she was about to say.
Rita swallowed hard, then nodded quickly. "Of course. I'll bring some other options."
She turned and hurried away, the tension in the air so thick it made Isla's skin crawl.
Isla stood there in the plain gown, her arms wrapped tightly around herself as if trying to keep from unraveling completely. Her heart pounded against her ribs, but her face remained unreadable.
Mario didn't say another word.
He just picked up his phone again, casually scrolling through his messages like nothing had happened.
Moments later, Rita returned, arms full of sleek, sparkling dresses, mermaid cuts, A-lines, sweetheart necklines, all things Isla had no interest in. She knew exactly what Mario wanted now: control. And humiliation.
But Rita wouldn't meet her eyes anymore. She just smiled tightly and hung the dresses on the nearby rack.
"Would you like to try one of these, Miss Navarro?"
Isla looked at the dresses... then at Rita... then back at Mario.
And then, with the most perfect mask of a smile she could muster, she said,
"Sure. Let's try them all."
If she was going to walk through hell, she might as well make them watch.
~~
A slap was the first thing she received the moment she stepped into the house.
The sharp crack echoed in the hallway, her face snapping to the side from the force. Her cheek burned, and the taste of blood touched her tongue.
It came from her father.
Not that it was the first time.
But this time... it caught her completely off guard.
She stared at him in stunned silence, her hand slowly rising to press against the stinging skin.
Her mother stood beside him, saying nothing. Not even flinching. Just watching.
"You shameless b***h," her father spat, his voice shaking with rage. "The least you could do for this family is behave, but no, you always find a way to disgrace us."
Isla blinked, confusion tightening in her chest. "What are you talking about?"
"You caused a scene at the boutique," he snapped. "You defied your fiancé in public. We got a call."
Of course they did.
Mario had gone straight to him. Probably twisted the story into something vile and humiliating.
"You think you can disrespect a man like that and walk back into this house like nothing happened?"
Isla said nothing. She was tired. Tired of explaining herself. Tired of defending herself against lies no one cared to question.
Her silence only seemed to enrage him further.
"You ungrateful child," he snarled. "Everything we've done for you, and this is how you repay us? You think you're better than your sisters now, is that it? Just because he picked you?"
She swallowed hard, willing her voice not to shake.
"He didn't pick me," she said softly. "You sold me to him."
Her mother finally looked up, her expression tight. "Enough, Isla."
But her father wasn't finished. He stepped closer, towering over her like a shadow.
"You will marry that man. You will smile at that altar. You will be the obedient wife you were raised to be. Or so help me, I'll drag you down that aisle myself."
Isla didn't move. Didn't flinch.
Her cheek still burned, her chest hollow.
But her eyes, her eyes were filled with quiet fire.
She was done fighting to be loved.
But she wasn't done fighting for herself.
Not yet.
She turned without another word and walked up the stairs slowly, her father still shouting behind her, but the noise was already fading.
She entered her room, shut the door quietly, and locked it.
Leaning against the door, she closed her eyes.
She wasn't crying.
She was thinking.
Because now, it wasn't just about not wanting this marriage.
It was about getting out, before it was too late.
With trembling fingers, Isla grabbed her phone and scrolled through her contacts, searching for the one name that still meant safety.
Francesca.
She tapped the call button, heart pounding.
Her sister picked up almost immediately. "Hello?"
"Can we talk?" Isla asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
"Of course," Francesca said without hesitation. "I'm coming now."
The line went dead. Isla hugged the phone to her chest and closed her eyes.
Less than five minutes later, a soft knock came at the door.
She rushed over and opened it.
Francesca stepped in, her brows drawn with concern.
"I can't do this," Isla said, her voice cracking.
Francesca's face softened. "I know."
Isla stepped back and slowly raised her sleeve. Faint bruises marked her arm, still fresh from Mario's grip at the boutique.
Francesca's eyes widened. "He did this to you?"
Isla nodded once, her throat tight.
"I need to leave," she said. "And I want you to help me."
- Writer
