CHAPTER 6

ISABELLA

"And what happens when he decides those terms are inconvenient? This man has been planning this for years, Izzy. You think he'll just respect your boundaries out of the goodness of his heart?"

Her questions mirrored my own fears,fears I'd pushed aside during my meeting with Blackwood because showing vulnerability in front of him seemed like surrendering even more power.

"I don't know," I admitted. "But I do know that right now, this is my only path forward."

Maya was quiet for a moment. Then, "When's the wedding again?"

"Saturday. Nine AM."

"Where?"

"His estate on the North Shore. It's just going to be a small ceremony,basically the legal minimum."

"I'm coming with you," she said, her tone brooking no argument. "As your witness."

Relief flooded through me. The thought of facing that day alone had been almost as terrifying as the marriage itself.

"Thank you," I whispered. "I was hoping you would."

"No way am I letting you walk into that lion's den alone." Her voice softened. "What about your father? Where does he think you are now?"

"Probably still waiting for me at home. I can't face him yet, Maya. I'm too angry."

"You have every right to be. He lied to you for six years. He put you in this impossible position."

And yet, beneath my anger churned a confusion of other emotions,guilt that I hadn't somehow found a way to save us all, sadness for the father I thought I'd known, even a strange sense of responsibility for the parents whose deaths had set this nightmare in motion.

"I need your help with something else," I said, changing the subject. "Apparently, I'm supposed to have a wedding dress by Saturday."

"Four days' notice for a wedding dress?" Maya's outrage was almost comical. "What are you supposed to do, grab something off the rack at Macy's?"

"I have no idea. Blackwood said his 'team' has been preparing contingencies, whatever that means."

"His team," she repeated flatly. "Of course the man has a team for his revenge wedding. Probably has a wedding planner with a gun to their head."

Despite everything, I found myself smiling at her indignation. This was why I needed Maya,her ability to find the absurd in even the darkest situations.

"Will you help me find something?" I asked. "If I have to do this, I at least want to look like myself."

"Absolutely. We'll go shopping tomorrow. Something elegant but definitely not traditional bridal. Maybe black, just to make a statement."

"I doubt Blackwood would care if I showed up in a garbage bag, as long as I sign the marriage certificate."

But even as I said it, I remembered the way his eyes had lingered on me when I entered his office, the almost imperceptible shift in his expression when he'd placed the ring on my finger. There had been something there beyond cold calculation,something I couldn't quite decipher.

"Trust me, we'll find something that will make even Boston's iciest CEO do a double-take," Maya promised.

We talked for a while longer, making plans for the next day. By the time I hung up, the sun was beginning to set, casting long shadows across the Public Garden. I couldn't avoid going home forever, no matter how much I dreaded facing my father.

The walk back to Beacon Hill was slower than my earlier, panicked flight. With each step, I tried to process the reality of my new future. In less than a week, I would be Isabella Blackwood. I would live in a stranger's home, bear a stranger's name. I would be legally bound to a man whose primary goal was to use me to inflict pain on my father.

Our family home looked eerily peaceful as I approached, its Federal-style facade glowing warmly in the evening light. Once, this house had represented security and heritage. Now it felt like the site of my betrayal.

I unlocked the front door quietly, hoping to slip upstairs without confrontation. But my father was waiting in the foyer, pacing anxiously across the worn Oriental rug.

"Isabella!" He rushed toward me, relief evident on his haggard face. "I've been worried sick. You weren't answering my texts."

"I needed time to think," I said coldly, moving past him toward the stairs.

He caught my arm, then froze as his gaze fell on my left hand. The black pearl gleamed accusingly under the chandelier light.

"You accepted," he whispered, his face draining of color.

"Did you think I wouldn't? Did you think I'd let Mom lose her care? Let you end up destitute?" I pulled my arm from his grasp. "One of us had to take responsibility for your actions."

The words struck him like physical blows. He seemed to age years before my eyes, his shoulders slumping under the weight of guilt finally acknowledged.

"Izzy, please. We can still find another way."

"There is no other way. You made sure of that six years ago when you signed that contract."

"I'll fix this," he promised desperately. "I'll talk to Blackwood myself."

"It's too late." I started up the stairs, then paused, looking back at him. "The wedding is Saturday. Nine AM. I don't expect you to be there."

Pain flashed across his face. "You're my daughter. Of course I'll be there."

"Why? So you can watch the final act of your tragedy play out? No thank you." I continued up the stairs, each step heavy with finality. "You've done enough."

"Isabella, please,"

"It's Izzy," I corrected, the same way I had with Blackwood. "And I need you to leave me alone right now. I have a wedding to prepare for."

I didn't wait for his response, continuing up to my bedroom and closing the door firmly behind me. Only then did I allow myself to sink onto the edge of my bed, the emotional weight of the day crashing over me like a tsunami.

The room around me,my sanctuary since childhood,suddenly felt temporary, already part of my past rather than my present. In four days, I would leave these paint-splattered walls, these shelves of art books and collected treasures. This house that, for all its faults and fading glory, had been home.

My gaze fell on the unfinished canvas still standing on my easel,the commission I'd been working on yesterday when my world imploded. It seemed like a lifetime ago now. I moved to stand before it, studying the half-completed landscape with critical eyes.

Without conscious thought, I reached for my palette and brushes. If I had only four days of freedom left, I would use them doing what I loved most. Art had always been my escape, my way of processing emotions too complex for words.

As darkness fell outside my windows, I lost myself in color and texture, transforming the placid landscape into something wilder, darker, shot through with currents of anger and fear and defiance. By the time exhaustion forced me to set down my brushes, the painting had become something entirely different from what I'd planned,something raw and powerful and unexpectedly beautiful.

Like the black pearl now adorning my finger.

I crawled into bed without bothering to change, too emotionally drained to manage even that small task. Tomorrow would bring wedding dresses and legal documents and the hundred small details of binding myself to Alexander Blackwood.

Tonight, I would allow myself this one last act of rebellion: to create beauty from the chaos he had thrust upon me.

As sleep finally claimed me, I found myself wondering what he was doing at that moment. Whether he was congratulating himself on the success of his plan. Whether he felt even a flicker of doubt about binding himself to a woman who could never love him.

Whether, like me, he lay awake wondering what our lives would become once the revenge he'd spent years orchestrating finally reached its culmination.

In four days, we would both find out.

Morning arrived with brutal promptness, sunlight streaming through windows I'd forgotten to close the night before. I blinked awake, momentarily disoriented until my gaze landed on the black pearl ring. Not a nightmare then,just my new reality.

My phone buzzed on the nightstand with a text from Maya: On my way. Wedding dress hunting starts at 10. Be ready to make Blackwood regret his rushed timeline.

Despite everything, I smiled. At least I wouldn't face this alone.

I showered quickly, washing away the paint that had dried under my fingernails and in my hair,collateral damage from last night's artistic frenzy. The hot water couldn't wash away the leaden weight in my chest, but it at least made me feel human again.

As I dressed in jeans and a simple sweater, I heard the doorbell ring downstairs, followed by Maya's voice greeting our housekeeper Miriam. I grabbed my purse and headed down, relieved when I didn't encounter my father on the way.

Maya waited in the foyer, her bright pink hair and tattooed arms a vibrant contrast to the staid elegance of our fading mansion. She took one look at me and opened her arms without a word. I stepped into her embrace, drawing strength from the unconditional support of fifteen years of friendship.

"You look like hell," she said when we pulled apart, her blunt assessment making me laugh despite everything.

"Thank you for your honesty."

"Always." She looped her arm through mine, guiding me toward the door. "Come on. We have exactly four days to transform you from shellshocked art girl to the kind of bride who strikes fear into the heart of Boston's most terrifying CEO."

As we left the house, I caught a glimpse of my father watching from his study window. The naked grief on his face almost made me falter,almost. Then I remembered his lies, his manipulation, the six years he'd had to find another solution while the clock ticked down on my freedom.

I turned away, stepping into Maya's waiting car without a backward glance.

"So," she said as we pulled away from the curb, "I've made us appointments at three boutiques that might have something suitable on short notice. And I've already called in a favor with Elise at Bergdorf's."

"Maya, I can't afford Bergdorf's," I protested. "Not anymore."

She shot me a sidelong glance. "Did your agreement with Satan include a clothing budget?"

I blinked, realizing I had no idea. "I... don't think so? We discussed some financial independence, but not specifics."

"Then we're charging it to him," she declared. "Consider it your first act of subtle rebellion as Mrs. Blackwood."

The name sent a shiver down my spine. Mrs. Blackwood. In four days, I would no longer be Isabella Caldwell, but Isabella Blackwood. My identity,the very foundation of who I was,would be legally altered to suit a man I barely knew and certainly didn't love.

"Hey." Maya's voice softened as she noticed my expression. "We don't have to do this today if you're not ready."

"No, I need to do something," I replied, straightening my shoulders. "Anything to feel like I have some control over this situation."

She nodded, understanding without my having to explain further. That was the gift of long friendship,the ability to communicate volumes in the spaces between words.

"Then let's find you a dress that makes you feel powerful," she said, turning onto Newbury Street. "Because that's what you're going to need most of all."

Power. It seemed like such a foreign concept when set against the crushing weight of Blackwood's machinations. But perhaps Maya was right. Perhaps in choosing how I would appear before him on Saturday, I could reclaim some small measure of control over my fate.

As we parked in front of the first boutique, my phone buzzed with a text from an unknown number,the same one that had messaged me yesterday about meeting Blackwood.

A stylist will arrive at your home tomorrow at 2 PM with selection options. No need to purchase anything today. - James Hughes, Chief Counsel, Blackwood Enterprises

I showed the message to Maya, who rolled her eyes dramatically.

"Of course. Heaven forbid you choose your own wedding dress without Blackwood's approval." She turned off the engine with unnecessary force. "Come on. We're buying a dress today anyway. If his 'stylist' brings something better tomorrow, fine. But you should have options that you chose for yourself."

She was right. This might be my last opportunity to make a decision about my future without Blackwood's influence or interference.

As we walked into the boutique, I squared my shoulders and lifted my chin. Saturday would come regardless of my preparation. The question was whether I would face it on my terms or his.

I chose mine.