chapter 1

Chapter One — The Marriage

Isabella knew something was wrong the moment her father asked her to sit down.

Her father never asked her to sit down.

Usually, he simply called her name from across the enormous dining room and expected her to come running.

Tonight, however, he was sitting at the head of the table with both hands folded together, his expression unusually serious.

Her mother sat beside him.

Neither of them was eating.

Isabella stopped halfway into the room.

“Papa?”

Her father looked up.

“Come here, Isabella.”

She slowly approached the table.

“Did I do something?”

Her mother immediately looked away.

That made Isabella even more nervous.

She pulled out a chair and sat down.

Her father took a deep breath.

“You're eighteen now.”

Isabella blinked.

“Yes.”

“And you're no longer a child.”

She frowned.

“I know.”

Her father looked at her for a long moment.

Then he said the words that would change her life forever.

“You're getting married.”

Silence.

Isabella stared at him.

Then she laughed.

A small, confused laugh.

“That's not funny, Papa.”

“I wasn't joking.”

Her smile disappeared.

“What?”

Her mother reached for her hand.

“Sweetheart…”

Isabella pulled her hand back.

“No.”

Her heart began beating faster.

“No, no, no. What do you mean I'm getting married?”

Her father remained calm.

“You'll marry Lucas.”

“Lucas who?”

He said the surname.

Isabella's face went pale.

Everyone knew that name.

Lucas was thirty years old and the heir to one of the most powerful families in their fictional kingdom. His family controlled businesses, politicians, security companies—and things nobody discussed aloud.

People feared him.

Some called him ruthless.

Others called him a monster.

Isabella had never met him.

And now she was apparently supposed to marry him.

“I can't.”

Her father frowned.

“You can.”

“No, Papa. I mean I can't.”

She stood so quickly that her chair scraped loudly across the floor.

“I don't know him!”

“You will.”

“I don't love him!”

Her father's expression hardened.

“This marriage was never about love.”

Those words hurt more than she expected.

Isabella looked at her mother.

“Mom?”

Her mother's eyes filled with tears.

“I’m sorry.”

Isabella felt something crack inside her.

“You agreed to this?”

Her mother said nothing.

That was answer enough.

Isabella stepped backward.

“This isn't fair.”

Her father stood.

“Fair has nothing to do with it.”

“Then what does?”

“Survival.”

The word silenced her.

Her father's voice became quieter.

“Our families have enemies. Serious ones. This marriage will create an alliance strong enough to protect both families.”

Isabella shook her head.

“Then marry him yourself.”

Her mother gasped.

Her father stared at her.

For one terrifying second, Isabella thought she had gone too far.

Then her father sighed.

“You have until Saturday.”

“Saturday?”

“Yes.”

“That's four days!”

“I know.”

Isabella stared at him in disbelief.

“You're giving me four days to prepare for the rest of my life?”

Her father didn't answer.

She turned toward the door.

“Isabella.”

She stopped.

Her father spoke again.

“Lucas will come tomorrow.”

She slowly looked back.

“Why?”

“To meet his future wife.”

Isabella swallowed.

She wanted to scream.

She wanted to cry.

Instead, she whispered,

“I don't want a husband.”

Her mother finally stood and walked toward her.

“Oh, sweetheart…”

Isabella stepped away.

“I want my life.”

Then she ran.

---

She didn't stop until she reached her bedroom.

The door slammed behind her.

Isabella leaned against it, breathing heavily.

“This is a nightmare.”

She walked toward the mirror.

Her reflection looked exactly the same as it had that morning.

Same long hair.

Same innocent eyes.

Same pink pajamas.

But everything felt different now.

She was going to be somebody's wife.

Lucas's wife.

She had heard stories about him.

He was cold.

Dangerous.

Impossible to read.

And apparently terrifying when angry.

Isabella hugged herself.

“What am I supposed to say to a man like that?”

A knock came at the door.

She ignored it.

Another knock.

“Isabella?”

Her mother's voice.

“I don't want to talk.”

The door opened anyway.

Her mother entered quietly.

She sat beside Isabella on the bed.

For several moments, neither spoke.

Then her mother whispered,

“I'm sorry.”

Isabella looked at her.

“Are you?”

“Yes.”

“Then stop it.”

Her mother frowned.

“Stop what?”

“Looking at me like I'm already dead.”

Her mother's eyes filled with tears.

“Oh, Isabella.”

Isabella looked away.

“I’m scared.”

Her mother pulled her into a hug.

“I know.”

“What if he hates me?”

“He won't.”

“You don't know that.”

“No,” her mother admitted. “I don't.”

Isabella sighed.

“What if he's cruel?”

Her mother hesitated.

Then she said something that Isabella would remember for years.

“Lucas is a dangerous man.”

Isabella's stomach dropped.

“But,” her mother continued, “I've never heard anyone say that he is cruel to the people he considers his own.”

Isabella frowned.

“What does that mean?”

Her mother smiled sadly.

“You'll find out.”

---

The next afternoon, Isabella was standing in the garden when she heard cars approaching.

Not one.

Several.

She froze.

Black cars entered through the gates.

Her heart began pounding.

“Isabella.”

She turned.

Her father stood behind her.

“He's here.”

Isabella looked at the cars.

“Oh.”

Her palms became sweaty.

“Do I look okay?”

Her father raised an eyebrow.

“You're wearing a yellow dress.”

“Is that bad?”

“No.”

“Does it make me look childish?”

“No.”

“Should I change?”

“Isabella.”

“What?”

“You're going to make yourself sick.”

She exhaled.

“I'm nervous.”

“I know.”

The first car stopped.

A man stepped out.

Then another.

Then another.

Finally, the rear door opened.

Lucas emerged.

Isabella had expected someone frightening.

She had expected scars.

A cruel smile.

Something that would immediately tell her he was dangerous.

Instead, she saw a tall man dressed in a perfectly tailored black suit.

Dark hair.

Sharp features.

Cold eyes.

He didn't look like a monster.

That somehow made him more intimidating.

Lucas looked toward her.

Their eyes met.

Isabella forgot how to breathe.

His expression didn't change.

He simply studied her.

As if trying to understand exactly what kind of woman he had been promised.

Isabella suddenly became painfully aware that she was clutching the edge of her dress.

Lucas walked toward them.

Her father extended his hand.

“Lucas.”

“Mr. Romano.”

They shook hands.

Then Lucas looked at Isabella.

Her father cleared his throat.

“Lucas, this is my daughter, Isabella.”

Lucas's gaze remained on her.

Isabella swallowed.

“Hello.”

He said nothing.

She shifted awkwardly.

“Are you always this talkative?”

One of the men behind Lucas suddenly looked at the ground.

Her father stared at her.

Isabella immediately regretted speaking.

But then—

Lucas's lips twitched.

Barely.

Almost a smile.

“No,” he said.

His voice was deep and calm.

“Only when necessary.”

Isabella blinked.

“That wasn't very nice.”

Lucas raised an eyebrow.

“You asked.”

“I was being polite.”

“You weren't.”

She stared at him.

He stared back.

And for the first time that day, Isabella realized something.

Maybe marrying Lucas wasn't going to be as terrifying as she had imagined.

Maybe it was going to be much worse.

Because somehow, she already wanted to know what was hidden behind those cold eyes.

And she had no idea that Lucas was thinking the exact same thing.

This girl is going to be trouble.

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