Mistaken Identities

Confused Parents

Angelo’s POV

The room crackled with tension. Dim light filtered through heavy velvet curtains, casting long shadows across the luxurious, yet suffocatingly opulent, space. The scent of expensive leather and fresh flowers intermingled with an underlying sharp tang of fear. The grand chandelier hanging from the ceiling glittered like a thousand tiny stars, but its beauty felt cold, almost mocking. The faint hum of the city outside barely penetrated the thick walls, creating an eerie, insulated silence.

Pulling in a sharp breath, a surge of relief fills me up as I lift my gaze to meet the brown-eyed woman lying through her teeth. Her hair—confusing, stupid white hair—glows faintly in the soft light, an eerie contrast to the dark richness of the room. I expect to see fear and surrender in her eyes, but instead, they're deeply disturbing, leaving me with only one option to clear up this misunderstanding. Her skin, pale and delicate, seems almost translucent under the light, and the faint tremor in her hands betrays her composed exterior.

"Isabella?" Lucas voice pierces the charged silence, calling out from behind his wife and leaving me no choice but to turn away from the lying b***h. Elena, delicate and trembling, turns back to her husband, running into his arms as she tearfully blurts out, "My child, Lucas. My child is here."

Lucas eyes do not leave hers as I observe a flash of disapproval and doubt in his bright, sharp eyes. My gaze flicks to Isabella’s. Her lips are trembling, and her eyes are teary. She isn't rushing to embrace the life out of her father like I imagined she would. Her scent, a mix of lavender and something uniquely hers, fills my nostrils, stirring a confusing blend of anger and something I refuse to acknowledge.

Is this because she is still mad at him for forcing her to walk down the aisle with me? Or is this just one of her ploys to deny being the woman that she is? I cannot deny that she is different—something has changed about her. Almost everything about her, but I won't fall for her stupid trick of claiming to be someone else.

Elena's sobs fill the air while her husband's hand stays by his side instead of patting the woman in consolation. Suddenly, she disengages from him and rushes to Isabella's side. "How dare you?!"

Isabella's eyes bulge open as she begins to shake her head gently at first until a tear drops from her eyes. "I am not Isabella, ma'am," she admits softly. Her voice, usually strong and defiant, is now soft and trembling, barely more than a whisper. The sound sends a shiver down my spine, a foreign and unwelcome sensation.

I am immune to women's tears, but now, seeing a drop of tears makes my stomach churn. Is this guilt, or what the hell is this? Besides, I have never seen Isabella in tears before. She must be faking it. She wants to keep up with this till the end.

"What?!" The woman exclaims sharply, her sobs ceasing and filling me with a sense of peace. I muse darkly, not ready to fall for her tricks as I watch the drama of denial unfold between her and her mother.

"He mistook me for your daughter," she lifts her gaze to meet mine, then turns away quickly, fear consuming her, probably because of my icy stare or because of the anger filling me up at the open denial again. "I am Oliver Carter. I have never been to New York City in my life. My parents have been dead since I was little, and I have lived all my life in Chicago, doing one menial job or another to survive!"

No one interrupts her, not even her father as I thought he would. As for me, the shot of adrenaline running down my spine isn't allowing me to say a word. I fold my arms, trying so hard not to do something rash. The tension in the room is palpable, a living, breathing entity that tightens its grip with every passing second.

With a melodramatic sigh, she continues, her eyes never leaving the woman, who is shocked by the information. "I see no reason why I would deny being Isabella when I could enjoy all of this luxury that I wasn't born with. I am not Isabella, I've been saying this since he abducted me from Chicago, but he wouldn't believe me," she sniffs, and I glare at her coldly.

"Abduct?" I scoff irritably. "Is that the word for what I did?" My voice echoes in the room, harsh and jarring against the otherwise muted atmosphere.

She does not answer. She avoids my gaze. Nobody is saying a word. I have a lot to say to her, but not here. She keeps annoying the s**t out of me with every word that comes out of her mouth. She knows how much I hate pretenders, yet she continues this charade, pretending to be who she isn't. It doesn't suit her personality.

The Isabella I know is one crazy being that would never shed a tear or sound pathetic like this. She has a loud voice too, especially when she is unnerved, but now she is talking too calmly for my liking, perhaps to make me feel guilty. Her voice now, so soft and broken, is a haunting contrast to the fierce woman I remember.

Elena stares back at her husband, whose face is blank. Within a split second, she faces Isabella squarely and begins to roll up the sleeves of her dress as fast as possible. I smirk. That was the exact same thing I did. There is nothing anyone can say or do to convince me that this isn't Isabella. She is the one.

Isabella Marino. And she is going to suffer for her mistakes. The thought fills me with a dark satisfaction, a promise of retribution that I am determined to fulfill.

"We are getting married tomorrow at the registry," I say the moment her mother sets eyes on the baby tattoo on her arm. It's still there. That is the second out of the numerous pieces of evidence that it is Isabella. Isabella can continue to deny it all she wants, but I know the truth, and I am sure her mother knows too.

"What?!" she proclaims, whirling around abruptly to face me. "Why the rush? We haven't even confirmed if what she is saying is the truth or not."

"I don't care," I shrug nonchalantly. I really do not care. "I won't let what happened months ago happen again. She has to remedy the situation and..."

"This isn't Isabella, Angelo," Lucas declares, interrupting me from going further. I sigh angrily before turning to him. I was expecting this, but not from him. I expect Elena to deny her being Isabella, but not him.

"Don't tell me you are falling for her tactics..."

"I know my child, Angelo. This isn't her!" he affirms with confidence, his gaze unwavering. This man has always been afraid of me, but tonight, I can't see that fear. Isabella is the only person in this vicinity who doesn't get scared of me, but now the reverse is the case. She is scared of me, and her father isn't. Isn't this interesting?

"How then," I dip my hands into my pockets and stalk forward toward him with an amusing smile, "will you explain the striking resemblance between this so-called Olivia Carter and Isabella Marino, your supposed daughter? What about the tattoo? Isabella is your only daughter, isn't she?" I stop in front of him, my eyes fixated on him, searching for a weakness to dwell upon.

"Isabella is my only daughter, but she isn't her. You know Isabella so well; she isn't like this. She..."

"Spare me the bullshit!" I shout angrily, my hands flying into the air as he blinks nervously, the fear I have been expecting coming back to take its place in his eyes. "I am not in the mood to bicker words with you, Lucas. I should have known you would do everything possible to protect this crazy daughter of yours from me, but mind you, I am not letting go this time. We are getting married at the registry tomorrow whether you like it or not!"

Without waiting for a reply, I twirl back and walk to where Isabella is standing rigidly like a statue, watching the drama between her father and me. This is one of the reasons why she defies me. Before she agreed to marry me, she made me promise to respect her father after the marriage, and I promised. After the marriage tomorrow, I will begin to fulfill my promise, but for now, he is nothing but a jerk for wanting to protect her from me after all the humiliation she made me go through.

I grab Isabella's cold hands, sending another hint to my mind about her usual warm hands, but I ignore it and practically drag her with me to the door.

"See you at the registry tomorrow, Lucas," I say loudly enough for him to hear without stopping as the man at the door shoves it open to allow Isabella and me out of the house she will never step foot in ever again. The cool night air hits us, a stark contrast to the oppressive heat i

nside, and I breathe in deeply, ready for what comes next.