Like a fish forced to live in the desert for the crime she had committed, Isabella's prison days wove a bleak tapestry of monotony and despair. The cold, unforgiving reality of prison life left her yearning for freedom, with each passing moment feeling like an eternity. The absence of familiar faces and the pervasive loneliness created a profound sense of desolation that permeated every aspect of her existence.Most especially, the daily beatings from her tormentor, Elara Whitewind, resembled an unrelenting storm, leaving Isabella's spirit battered and broken, akin to a shipwreck in the tempest of her despair. This was the reason she wished she had never set foot in the prison yard, mess hall, or communal bathroom ever again.However, whether she wished to visit those places or not, prison protocol had to be followed, leaving her no choice but to be present even in the devil's face if the protocol demanded it.In the dimly lit mess hall, clattering trays and hushed conversations fille
As Isabella saw her mother through the glass panel, her eyes first peered at her face, which was fresh and glowing like a sun-kissing morning, radiating warmth and vitality. Similarly, she observed her hair, cascading strands of silk, flowing effortlessly, resembling a gentle waterfall gracing a serene landscape.But if that were all, it would be a lie. She also noticed her dress, which was as beautiful as a field of blooming flowers, each petal a vibrant hue, creating a tapestry of elegance. Likewise, her neck, ears, and wrists were adorned with jewelry, resembling constellations adorning the night sky, each piece a sparkling star in the galaxy of her elegance.Taking in this perfect image of her mother, the thought immediately struck Isabella that her mother's current appearance was the complete inverse of hers—a mess in a uniform and in a confined space, akin to a wildflower struggling to bloom in a cramped garden bed."Been a while," Victoria Sinclair said again, immediately as Is
Pushing her back into her prison cell like a reluctant pawn being returned to its square on a chessboard, Isabella fell on the prison floor, resembling a fragile autumn leaf descending with a surrender to the inevitable embrace of the cold, hard ground. No matter how her voice had risen in anger towards her mother in the meeting room, she knew very well that she wanted to read the contents of the letter in the envelope and discover the help Ethan Mark had promised her. "Would he file for my release?" "Has he bought me a home as a sign of my forgiveness?" "Would he take me back as his wife?" Different questions rushed through her mind like a tumultuous river, each query cascading over the other. As she held the envelope in her hand, she sat at the corner of her cell and stared at it much more closely. In this way, she saw that the surface of the envelope bore a faint trace of handling, like a blank canvas marked only by the weight of the untold. She also observed the edges, crisp
Ethan was covered in beads of sweat like a runner after a several days of marathon. Likely so, his breathing was so heavy that his nose alone couldn't handle the task. He had received a phone call about his daughter being involved in a ghastly car accident and had sprinted from his workplace to the hospital. All the information Ethan had about the accident was from the phone call. When he arrived at the hospital, he found his wife, Isabella, already drenched in tears. Immediately after he walked in, Isabella sighted him from a distance and hurriedly walked towards him. Suddenly, she raised her fingers, and what landed on Ethan’s face was a wide slap that resounded throughout the hospital. "Where the hell have you been?" she yelled, tears streaming down her face like a waterfall and mucus escaping her nose like wisps of steam. Still filled with anger, she threw a punch at Ethan's chest and pushed him so forcefully backwards that Ethan almost fell to the ground. "Our daughter has be
The same evening, as soon as Ethan saw the bills on the document, which were handed over to Isabella by the doctor, he exited the hospital. He must find a way to come up with money to pay the bills, even if he has to reach out to various bank to secure a loan. His daughter's life was paramount to him, and he could not afford to lose her.Isabella, on the other hand, crawled to her parents' feet and begged them for money, only so that her daughter would not die, as she was now ready to do everything they wanted."I already told you, the pauper has nothing to offer you. He will only make you go through hell with him," said Alexander Rosewood behind his desk as he puffed out smoke from his mouth like a wealthy tycoon exhaling the success that he was."I’m sorry, Dad. You are right. I should have listened to you," Isabella pleaded, standing at the front of her father’s desk, consumed by guilt for not listening to them all these years."So, tell me, how much are we talking about?" Alexande
The night came too early, and Isabella was fully dressed for dinner at the beach house. One thing paramount to the Rosewood family was that they never dressed shabbily. Isabella's mom hated it with so much passion, like an inferno consuming everything in its path.Victoria Sinclair was Isabella's mother, who was in her early 50s. She was the epitome of sophistication and refined elegance. Her perfectly coiffed blond hair and flawlessly applied makeup always added to her polished appearance. And she was indeed the one whom Isabella took after in terms of beauty.Isabella arrived at the beach house, knowing full well that it had been a while since she had been there due to how her parents had disciplined her for disobeying them. She took in a deep sigh, as if she had gulped down a large portion of a sophisticated drink. It was time to see her mother after such a long time, and she could not explain why she was nervous at this moment.The beach house was indeed a house by the large, wavi
"Hello, young master, it is I, Jackson Smith. Please look to your front," said Jackson Smith, Augustus Markwood's personal assistant. He had been working for Ethan’s father since he was in his 20s, and now he was a 57-year-old man standing under an umbrella a little distance away. Though Ethan had left home angrily over ten years ago, Mr. Smith still treated him with respect and asked for permission before coming close to him."Can I walk close to you, sir?" he asked, as it was starting to rain and the weather was cold and breezy, like a melancholic symphony played by the elements.Jackson Smith, dressed in a black suit and a charcoal gray morning coat that cascaded down his knees, gracefully accentuating his tail and commanding presence, was still on the phone with Ethan and waiting for him to give permission before taking a step forward.Ethan was obviously confused. As he looked ahead, as Mr. Smith had requested, he recognized who Mr. Smith was and was taken aback. Thoughts raced t
Throughout the night, Ethan couldn't get a peaceful sleep. Every time he closed his eyes to slumber, he would jolt awake, as if he had just had a terrible dream.Two things troubled his mind. First, he doubted whether Mr. Smith would fulfill his promise to send him the money. Despite knowing Mr. Smith as a man of his word since childhood, Ethan found it hard to believe that he would receive the money before morning.Secondly, he was worried about his wife's whereabouts. It was past midnight, and she hadn't returned home. This was out of character for Isabella, and Ethan wondered if she was still upset with him and chose not to come back.Restless as a bird returning to its nest, Ethan repeatedly checked his phone for any notifications."It's 5 a.m. He should have made the transfer by now," Ethan muttered, standing up from the sofa where he had been sitting all night and grabbing a glass of water.As he took a sip from the glass, his phone's distinct chime, reminiscent of a delicate ch