Chapter 7: Behind Locked Doors.

A sharp slap cut across Mirabel’s face, the force whipping Mirabel’s head to the side, and a sickening crack echoed in the quiet room. Her jaw throbbed, and the metallic taste of blood immediately flooded her mouth.”

“You have some nerve Mirabel!” Isabella folded her arms, stalking slowly. “First you ruin my birthday party, and now you seduce the man I've dreamed of marrying my whole life?” She gripped Mirabel's shoulders, her manicured nails digging into her skin like a vice.

“I won't let you have him.” She threatened.

“Isabella, please…”Mirabel pried at her clawing hands.

“Now listen to me carefully.” Isabella gritted out. “You are going to tell Dante that you will not marry him.”

“That's not possible Isabella, I can't…”

Isabella let out a cruel, mocking laugh. “What? Suddenly you have a voice now? Because Dante is backing you up, you think you're someone.” She took two steps back and gestured at Mirabel. “I mean, just look at yourself.”

“Why would someone like him even glance in your direction?” She tucked a perfect, loose curl behind her ears. “He’s only using you to get my attention. It's a classic game, you pathetic fool. Don’t confuse a man's amusement with genuine interest. You will tell him no.”

Mirabel spared her no response, she only lowered her head, letting her hair fall forward to shield her burning cheek.

“Or would you like a repeat of what happened eight years ago?” Isabella whispered, her hand motioned like she was drinking something.

Mirabel's hair stood on edge. Memories of her splayed on the floor as her hives broke out, red and angry. Subjecting her body to vicious waves of assault. Lights–no people's camera's recording her, making her a spectacle in front of the whole banquet. A heavy lump lodged deep in her throat.

Mirabel had always known Isabella had been the one to slip the allergen into her drink when thay were little but it was the first time she was being so bold, so utterly shameless admitting it. It made her blood boil.

“My parents couldn't even look at you that day,” isabella purred, leaning closer. “Why? Because you were a disgusting stain on their reputation.” She raised her hand again and Mirabel squeezed her eyes shut, bracing for the impact…

“What the hell do you think you're doing  Isabella?” Mom stood at the doorway of the room, clearly less than pleased.

“Mom! Thank goodness you're here. Mirabel was saying the most awful things about my birthday, I just... I lost my temper, I'm so sorry!” Isabella’s whole demeanor had changed and she was no longer the vicious woman throwing threats around. She suddenly became the harmless victim.

“Dear sister, you forgive me don't you.” She clasped her hands around Mirabel's feigning remorse. 

“Give us a minute, Isabella.” She told her.

“Surely anything you have to say to her you can say in front of me also, right?” There was a slight tremble in her voice.

“Dont make me repeat myself.” Mom warned.

Isabella's eyes twitched but she quickly masked it with a sweet smile and exited the room, her feet trudging angrily on the floor.

Left alone, Mirabel stood with the same woman who she had learned to call Madam rather than Mother. The woman crossed the soft carpet towards Mirabel, her face holding no semblance of warmth. Then she did the unthinkable—she pulled Mirabel into a hug. 

Mirabel froze, arms rigid at her sides. The scent of expensive perfume filled her nose, familiar yet foreign.

"My poor girl." The woman's hand smoothed down her hair, and for one traitorous second, Mirabel's body remembered what it felt like to be someone's daughter. "You must think I don't see you suffering."

"Madam—"

“Shh, I know this family has been… difficult,” Mom murmured against her hair. “But things can change. Isabella’s just scared dear. If you stay close to home more, she’ll soften. We all will. Dante will see how united we are. He’ll realize where you truly belong.”

Mirabel pulled back, searching her mother’s eyes. “You want me to stay trapped here… so that he’ll pick her?”

Mom’s grip tightened on her arms, gentle but unyielding. “I want what’s best for you. For all of us. Please, just be the bigger person, Mirabel. Don’t force me to choose between the daughter who belongs in society and the one who keeps embarrassing us.”

Mom turned and left the room without an answer, she never needed one.

That night, Isabella’s laughter floated down the hall—musical and fake. She kept bringing Mirabel tea, brushing her hair, calling her “sister” in front of the maids. Each kind word felt like a leash held over her.

Morning came, and still no news from Dante. The feeling of doubt gnawed at her. Maybe Isabella had been right. Maybe he was only playing.

Then the doorbell rang once, loud and clear, like a judgement. Mirabel's heart raced as she heard Dante's voice in the foyer—low and commanding, asking for her.

She smoothed her maids outfit and reached for the kitchen door except it didn’t open. She tried the handle again, harder and this time she heard the scrape of a bolt on the other side. One that definitely wasn't there yesterday. 

“Isabella?” Her voice cracked against the wood. “Isabella open this door!”

“Shh,darling,” Isabella cooed from the other side. “You're not feeling well today. You're down with a terrible flu and you told me yourself that you'd rather stay with your family.”

Mirabel banged her fist against the door, once, twice, the sound swallowed out by the thick mahogany. In the foyer she could hear voices rising to greet him. Her mother's words were dripping with honey. “Dante, darling what a surprise.”

“It's not a surprise. You knew I was coming.” His voice was clipped, cutting straight through the pleasantries. “Where is my wife?”

“About that,” she preened. “She asked us not to say anything, but I think you deserve the truth don’t you?”

“She's had time to think about your offer. About what it would really mean." Her mother's voice thickened with false sorrow. "She loves her family, Dante. She doesn't want to leave us, not even for you. I'm so sorry, I know this isn't what you came to hear.”

“Bullshit.” Dante's voice carried a dangerous edge. “I'd like to hear that from her.” His eyes scanned the hallway in search of Mirabel.

“She's resting.” Dad added. “We're so grateful you considered her, but our girls belong together.”

“I don’t see you pleading the same case for your other daughter over here.” Dante fired back, pinning Isabella with a hard glare.

Isabella stiffened under his gaze but forced her chin up. “That's because I'm a better match for you.”

Mirabel pressed her ear to the crack of the door, breath shallow. “Please,” she whispered, voice breaking. “Please don't leave.”

Isabella's scent drifted under the door as she leaned closer. “He'll forget about you by next week, just like everyone else does.”

“Mirabel?” Footsteps moved across the foyer, and his voice came closer.”

Hope surged in her chest, but before she could scream, the lock clicked again and a heavy hand clamped over her mouth from behind. Isabella’s digits delved into her cheeks, yanking her back into the shadows of the pantry.

“Smile for our guest,” she hissed against her ear. “Or I swear you’ll wish that allergy incident was the worst thing that ever happened to you.” Her fingers dug deeper into her shoulder.

Across the doorway, Dante’s gaze dropped to the bruising hand gripping her and his expression hardened.

“Take your fucking hands off her.”