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If it's him, if it's my father who sold me off to that beast without a second thought, he's going to get a piece of my mind. His betrayal stings more than Jackson’s physical blows. I grip the letter opener so tight that my knuckles turn white. He'd better hope I don't decide to let him feel a fraction of the pain I've been bearing silently.
As my hand pushes the heavy wooden door open, a feeling of shock washes over me. The office, once in picture-perfect order, has been turned into a disaster. The air is thick with the scent of disturbed dust. My father’s desk, a once imposing figure of polished mahogany, is overturned, its drawers opened for all to see.
The sight sends a shiver down my spine. It’s as if a whirlwind had swept through, leaving no regard for the sanctity of this space. The disorder is jarring, a stark contrast to the meticulousness my father maintained. Whoever did this was searching for something. This is a clear violation of the last piece of my past life.
Another noise echoes in the silence, and instinctively, my gaze whips towards the window. A wave of fear rolls over me as I take in the scene. It's open. My heart hammers in my chest as my grip tightens around the letter opener so more. There's no room for fear, not now. I stride over to the window, swallowing the lump of dread in my throat.
Peering out, I catch sight of a figure dressed in all black, scaling down the exterior wall to the ground. The figure is not moving very fast, and their movements are hesitant like the intruder is not used to doing this.
"Hey! Who the hell are you!" I yell, pushing down the chill of fear.
The intruder looks up, but a mask conceals their face, leaving me clueless as to their identity. With a swift movement, the intruder hits the ground and almost falls before taking off running, albeit slowly.
Anger flares in my chest. "Stay the hell away from my house!" I shout after them, my voice echoing off the empty walls of the house. "If you're looking for my father, he isn't here! If you find him, tell him to kiss my ass!"
The intruder pauses and turns to look at me before turning around to run again. Pulling away from the window, I turn back to the chaotic mess the intruder left. An ache forms in my chest as I look at the destroyed office. The intruder didn't just violate my privacy, they tarnished the memories embedded in this room. Memories of my mother, whose laughter used to echo in these halls. Although my father is a bastard, I won't let his mistakes ruin my mother's home.
I begin to pick up the scattered papers, each crumpled sheet feeling like a stab to the heart. Among the wreckage, I notice a pile of shredded documents dumped carelessly on the floor. They must have been in a hurry, looking for whatever it was they needed.
As I continue to clean, something catches my eye. The paper shredder, overturned in the chaos, has a thick stack of papers jammed in the feeder. I reach for it, and my fingers are barely able to grasp the compressed mass. The papers are stubborn, resisting my attempts to dislodge them. I pull harder, but my hand slips. With a final, determined yank, the papers come free.
I carefully smooth out the crumpled, shredded papers, revealing fragments of text and half-visible letterheads. The words 'legal documentation' and 'trust' jump out at me from the top of the page, followed by my own name. It's a document from a law firm, one that faintly rings a bell, but I cannot immediately place it. My mind is a jumbled mess of confusion as I try to piece together the torn sentences, but I can’t make heads or tails of it.
The document speaks of a trust, but it’s frustratingly incomplete, with sentences breaking off just as they seem to be revealing something important.
"...under the condition set forth by the trust established... the sum will be released to Isabella...," my eyes squint, trying to decipher the disjointed phrases. "...on the event of ..."
The rest is lost, shredded into confetti. With a sigh, I sit back, the paper limp in my hand. It must be related to the money my father squandered away. I turn the paper over in my hands, hoping for more clues, but find none. Frustrated, I place the papers on a shelf and force myself to continue cleaning.
Exhausted and mentally drained, I finish cleaning the last of the chaos. The room, though far from its previous state of perfection, looks considerably less like a hurricane hit it. I step out of the room and pull the door closed behind me with a soft click.
As I step outside, the cool evening air hits me. The sky, now a blanket of twinkling stars, brings a hint of peace to the turmoil inside me. Harrison sees me, and he steps out and opens the car door. I take a deep breath, gather my strength, and walk towards the car. As I slide into the backseat, he shuts the door behind me, enclosing me in a cocoon of silence.
"Take me back," I request quietly when he slides back into the driver's seat, with my gaze lingering on the house one last time.
"To Mr. Blackhart's residence," I clarify, never referring to Jackson's house as my own. The mansion was never a home to me, only a gilded cage. Harrison gives a curt nod before pulling away, leaving behind my comfort and solitude and my true home fading into the distance. The noise of the engine is a dull hum in the background, barely registering as I lean back into the seat and close my eyes. I let the rhythm of the journey lull me into a state of dull tranquility.
The ride comes to an abrupt end, and before I know it, I'm back at the mansion. I walk through the ornate front door with my shoes echoing off the marble floor. My heart beats in rhythm with each step I take towards the bedroom. The bedroom I'm forced to share with Jackson. With a deep breath, I push open the door and stand there in complete shock. There's a woman on top of Jackson, and it's clear they're having sex. While Jackson has been bedding women since the day we married, he's never brought them back to the same bed he forces me to sleep in.
Jackson sees me standing in the doorway. "You're home earlier than expected," he says as he grabs the woman's hips and brings her down hard on top of them. The moans of pleasure they both let out make my skin crawl.
The woman turns around, still riding Jackson like a hoarse, and looks at me. "Do you mind? We're in the middle of something, bitch," she says before moaning again and bending down to kiss Jackson.
"I guess she wants to relax in bed," Jackson tells the woman when they finish kissing. He smacks ass her before pulling out of her. "Come on, get up. Let's get this over with so mywifecan relax," he says.
He says wife in a mocking way, making me even angrier. I watch, stunned that, one; the woman doesn't seem to care that his wife is standing in the room, and two; he's so damn obscene about it. Jackson turns her onto her hands and knees, positions himself behind her, and starts hammering her from behind. I turn around and slam the door behind me, effectively muting the disgusting sounds they're making.
I stumble blindly through the maze of hallways with the echoes of their vulgar pleasure haunting me. Each step in this prison reminds me of the stark contrast to the life I'd envisioned. A life I wanted where I was free, now tainted by the cold, gilded cage I find myself in. A spare bedroom emerges up ahead, and I decide to seek refuge from the sickening reality. I step inside, desperate for solitude, and shut the door behind me, hoping to drown out those disturbing sounds. The room is cold and impersonal, but it offers the peace I desperately need.
In the sanctuary of the spare room, my composure crumbles. Anger, hurt, disgust. It’s a maelstrom that threatens to consume me. I wrap my arms around myself, seeking solace in solitude, away from the ugly reality that lies beyond these walls. Slowly, I approach the bed. I slip under the covers and curl my body into a tight ball. The chill of the sheets against my skin is a welcome sensation, grounding me, pulling me away from the nauseating images playing on repeat in my mind.
With a deep, steadying breath, I shut my eyes, forcing the world to fade away. I focus on the silence, the darkness, and the neutral scent of the unfamiliar bedding. Anything that isn't the memory of Jackson, the woman, and their disgusting display. As I try to settle my racing thoughts, I yearn for escape. Not just from this room, this mansion, this life, but from the all-consuming bitterness that's become my constant companion.
5
CHAPTER 5
Isabella
