“You have to leave that place,” Seraphina’s voice crackles through the phone coated with worry.
She’s my best friend, and we grew up together. She was in a mansion with more rooms than days of the month, and I was a little less wealthy but still wealthy, nonetheless. Despite the gap in our family's wealth, she never flaunted her silver-spoon upbringing. Instead, she'd scuff her designer shoes, playing tag in the mud with me.
She’s down to earth and takes no shit from anybody. She relaxes at home, watching TV or reading a book, and loves shopping as much as the next person, but she’s not doing it to show off her wealth. Seraphina has a keen fashion sense, and she loves clothes.
She's always been this way. Unfazed by the façades and the facelifts. Nor the expectations to primp and parade around like a show pony. She’s always been there for me. My rock when life got hard.
“I know,” I sigh, feeling the familiar knot of disappointment and frustration in my stomach. “It’s just... it’s getting harder each time. Dad’s slipping further away, and I’m always caught in the middle.”
“You can’t keep bailing his ass out of trouble, Isabella,” she insists. “It’s not your burden to carry.”
“Isabella!” Dad shouts from downstairs. I hear the door slam shut and his brisk footsteps as he heads toward his office.
I sigh in agitation. Usually, when he storms into the house like this, it’s because he’s gotten himself into trouble. I come from a wealthy family, and our lives used to be great. Then, my mother died from cancer, and I realized it was my mom who kept everything together.
A knot of disappointment forms in my stomach. It’s a familiar sensation that's been nestled there ever since Mom passed away. My father would rather be out making terrible decisions than be a father to his only child. He's not the man I thought he was, and each day, that realization stings more than the last.
“Is that your dad?” Seraphina asks. “He sounds angry, and I don’t like it.”
I wonder what trouble he's gotten himself into this time. My mind drifts back to a time when I was thrust into a pit of chaos. A vivid image of my father, his hands bandaged and immobilized, flashes before me. I can still hear the roar of his voice when he barged into my room, panic-stricken, admitting he'd squandered away the fortune my mother left us and he owes people money.
His reckless obsession with gambling had finally caught up to him. I shudder, recalling the cold, merciless eyes of the thugs who had broken his fingers as a warning. Their threatening words echoed in my ears, promising a snapped neck if the money wasn't produced within twenty-four hours.
It was the first time I'd been forced to pick up the pieces of his mess. I remember the desperation in my voice as I pleaded with these faceless criminals for more time. The account I had wisely hidden from my father was my secret lifeline.
It wasn't easy to access, but the imminent threat to my father's life had propelled me forward. When I finally managed to unlock the funds, it was a painful relief to find just enough to pay off his debts. The memory of handing over my money to those criminals still leaves a bitter taste in my mouth.
Pulling myself back from the haunting memories, I focus on the present commotion. I can hear his pacing figure, which brings me back to the pressing crisis at hand. It's a pattern, a cycle of chaos and desperation, and now it's spiraling into something far more terrifying.
“He sounds panicked,” I tell Seraphina. “I refuse to bail him out of trouble this time.”
“You can always stay here if you need to. I’ll come by right now and pick you up. I don’t want to see you get hurt,” she says, and I can hear her gathering her things.
I glance towards the door as Dad’s voice booms from below once again, his tone laced with panic and agitation.
“Now, Isabella!” he shouts.
“No, don’t. I have to go,” I say quickly and hang up the phone before I make my way downstairs, each step heavy with a mix of dread and anxiety.
I never thought I’d still live at home at twenty-four. I wanted to go to college, have my own apartment, and have a nice job. Unfortunately, my dad’s life choices derailed my future. Despite all the shitty things he’s done, I can’t leave him. He’s all the family I have left.
“Yes, Dad?” I ask as I walk into his office.
“I’ve really done it this time,” he says as I watch him pace back and forth. “I’ve done something terrible.”
I sigh heavily before stepping closer. “What have you done this time?”
“I stole money from the Blackharts,” he replies as he stops pacing to look at me.
“You stole money from the Blackharts, Dad!” I shriek. “They’re not known for being forgiving.”
They’re a family that truly lives up to their name. Their hearts are as black as can be, stained with the blood of their crimes. It may never have been proven, but no one messes with them for a reason.
Anger crosses his face, and he takes a step closer. “Watch your tone with me, little girl. I don’t need you to tell me who they are.”
“Clearly you do,” I say with a snort. “I don’t have any money, Dad. I can’t pay whatever debt you owe, assuming all they want is for you to pay them back.”
I stare at him, my chest tightening as I recall the countless times I've bailed him out of situations like this. The world we live in is a cruel and unforgiving place. Once you owe, you're owned. It's an unspoken rule among the elite and the wealthy. You borrow, you return, and if you can't, they have ways to make sure you do. Ways that often involve pain and fear.
It's a dangerous game of power, wealth and control, and my father, he's played it one too many times. Those who can't pay their debts end up as examples. Their fates are whispered in hushed tones at elite gatherings. Family empires crumble, reputations are ruined, and lives are lost. It's a gamble, and this time, he’s taken a bet against the Blackharts, a family notorious for their ruthlessness.
“I’ve handled it,” he says.
I suck in a sharp breath, not liking the tone in his voice. There are unspoken laws that govern our world. A world where the elite's power plays and hidden agendas shape our lives more than any public laws ever could. In our circle, reputation is more than a social currency. It's a lifeline.
The façades of affluence and propriety mask a world rife with silent battles for dominance. Here, debts aren't just financial. They're personal bonds of power and control. To owe someone is to be ensnared in their grasp, subject to their whims and mercy. It’s a high-stakes game among the privileged.
“How did you handle it?” I question. “Please tell me you did do something reckless.”
“I gave you to Jackson Blackhart and he accepted as payment for the debt,” Dad tells me as if it’s no big deal.
“You did what?” I shout. “You can’t be serious? I am not a piece of meat you can sell to settle your debts.”
The hand comes so fast that I don’t have time to block it. My head whips back from the force of his slap. My cheek stings, and I rub it before turning back to look at him with anger in my eyes.
“Mind your tongue, little girl,” he snaps. “I had no choice. Jackson would have killed me. Marriage was the only way.”
I reel from the sharp sting of his slap, with a bitter taste creeping up my throat. A rush of anger swells within me, hot and wild and fierce, yet there's also a chilling realization that spreads through my veins. This is not the father I once knew. This is not the man who held me when I cried, who taught me to ride a bike, who showed me the stars and made me believe in magic.
That man is a ghost, replaced by this monster of desperation and greed. Sorrow for my once happy family is replaced with a burning resolve. I will not be a pawn in his game of debts. I will not let my life be dictated by his mistakes. I am not his to barter.
“So, I have to marry that monster because you got greedy?” I scream, not caring if he hits me again.
My dad has done a lot of fucked up things, and I’ve forgiven him for it. However, this takes the cake. I’ve not once used my body to get him out of trouble, and he offers me up on a silver platter to save his own ass like it's nothing.
“It’s a good deal,” he says. “Jackson’s reputation is all rumors. The Blackharts are upstanding people.”
“Yet, he’s willing to accept an unwilling woman as his bride?” I snort. “Yes, really fucking upstanding.”
Jackson Blackhart is a name whispered with a mixture of fear and respect in our circles. Rumors of his ruthlessness are as dark as they are numerous, but there are also whispers of a different kind. Some say he's not just the cold-hearted villain he's made out to be. I don't know what to believe, but I do know one thing. Being bound to Jackson Blackhart might be more complicated and dangerous than I could ever imagine.
“Look at me, Dad,” I implore, trying to hold back the tears that threaten to spill from my eyes.
I see him glance at me, and it's a look I've seen far too often. It's not one of guilt or remorse but of desperation, a wild fear that he's been cornered without an escape.
“I know you're scared,” I say as calmly as I can manage. “But this...this isn't the way. You can't just trade my life away to save your own.”
"I can and I will," he replies without remorse.
“I refuse to do this!” I snap, angry that he can be so careless with my life.
Dad’s arm whips out quickly, and his clammy hand wraps around my throat. He tugs me closer until we’re nose to nose.
“The wedding is in three days. You will walk down the aisle, marry Jackson, and you will do it with a fucking smile on your face. Understood?” he growls.
I grab his hand, trying to pull away from him. “I will never sell my body to pay your debts. You’ll have to find some other way. I won’t do it.”
“You will, or I will sell all of your mother’s possessions and sell this house,” he growls.
He knows how much I miss my mom and how I love my childhood home. However, I don’t think I love it enough to trade my life away to a monster. I don’t think Mom would want me to, either.
“I won’t do it,” I say, defiance clear in my tone and eyes.
He releases my throat, and I sigh in relief. Until his meaty hand wraps around my hair and tugs.
“You don’t have a choice,” he replies as he pulls me from his office by my hair. “You will do this. I’ll keep you locked up and monitored until you’re officially Mrs. Jackson Blackhart. After that, you’ll never have to see me again. Do your year and leave him.”
I kick and scream all the way to the cellar, where he tosses me on the ground. He turns around and storms out before shutting the door behind him. I scramble up as quickly as I can and bang on the door.
“Let me out of here!” I yell. “If you make me do this, you better hope I never see your sorry ass again!”
In the dim light of the cellar, I think back on everything my father has done. I refuse to be passive, to let my spirit be crushed by the weight of my father's sins. No matter how hard I try or how much I scream, Dad ignores my pleas.
He keeps me in the cellar, bringing by food and water. He escorts me to the bathroom to relieve myself and then back to the cellar. I put up a fight the entire way. I don’t care about the hits, but he doesn’t listen. As the three days draw to an end, I’m taken out of the cellar, told to shower, walked out to a car, and driven to a church. The city blurs past as I inch closer to the church. I never thought that living in Henderson City, home of the world’s elite, would make me feel trapped.
Upon arrival, I’m ushered into a room where a woman greets me and tells me to put on a wedding dress. It isn’t just her in here. There room is filled with guards to make sure I don’t bolt out the door.
“I’m not putting it on,” I tell the woman defiantly.
The woman gives one look at the guards, and they stomp forward with determination in their eyes. One grabs me by the arms while the other starts ripping off my clothes.
“Let go of me, asshole!” I scream. “Get your filthy hands off me.”
It’s no use. They don’t listen, but I fight them every step of the way. Unfortunately for me, I lost the battle. Soon, my father has a death grip on me as we walk down the aisle. I spot Jackson standing in the front, and his gaze makes my skin crawl. The way he’s leering at me makes me want to puke.
He’s tall with golden locks and piercing blue eyes. I’m short with long, curly brown hair and eyes like emeralds. To anyone looking, we’d make a beautiful couple. However, there is no love between us. This is no fairytale. There’s no one here but me, my father, Jackson and his thugs, and the priest.
I'm walking toward the precipice of my worst nightmare as the organ plays the haunting melody of the wedding march. The fabric of the gown feels heavy. An unwanted burden, and the eyes watching me feel even heavier. I have no choice but to do this because as much as I hate my father at this moment, he’s all the family I have left. The pit of my stomach is churning with a whirlpool of dread and fear, yet my mind is strangely clear.
As I inch towards Jackson, my mind is not on the man waiting for me at the altar or on the vows that they expect me to make. Instead, it's on the promise that I make to myself, a solemn vow echoing within the confines of my soul.
“I will not let this break me,” I tell myself, steeling my heart against the horrible fate that awaits.
I will not be a damsel in distress, and this is not my end. I refuse to let it be my end. I will fight. I will resist, and one day, I will break free from this prison, from the shackles of this forced marriage. Jackson Blackhart may think he owns me, but I swear he will never own my spirit.