003

Isabelle 

 

 

 

 

“Bully?” My father’s words replayed in my head, over and over. *You just don't want me to be happy. You don't want your father to be happy.* He had barked, shocking me to the core.

 

I had never seen my father like that. He was always trying to hear me out, but three days ago at the surprise dinner date, he went berserk.

 

“That’s not true.” I had tried to explain things to him. To tell him things weren’t the way he envisioned them to be.

 

I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to conceal the tears that were now gathering.

 

I wanted him to be happy. I really did. I had watched grief hollow him out for three years, watched the light fade from his eyes, watched him move through life like a man underwater. I knew loneliness when I saw it. I lived with it.

 

But this…

 

This felt like betrayal to me.

 

He still went ahead with the wedding, even when I didn’t want to be a part of all the drama. Lucas didn’t even stop taunting me. It was like the hate had only just begun.

 

And now, I was in their penthouse.

 

How could he? How could he stoop so low as to accept the offer of living in their apartment? He even went as far as selling the house.

 

The apartment that only reminded me of my mom.

 

He did everything without consideration. Without even asking me for my own opinion. Every fucking decision was made whether I cared or not.

 

All I could do now was stay trapped in this enormous bedroom I was fixed into.

 

It was much bigger than the space in my older room.

 

My boxes were stacked in front of me as I folded clothes. My hands moved on autopilot while my mind spiraled somewhere else entirely.

 

So this was it.

 

This was how it happened.

 

I was being packed up and rearranged like furniture to make room for a new family.

 

A new life, the  one that included him. The one person I despised.

 

The thought made bile rise in my throat.

 

I reached for a framed photo on my dresser. Mom and me at the beach, her arm around my shoulders, both of us squinting into the sun. For a second, my fingers trembled.

 

*I don’t know how to do this without you,* I whispered silently in my head. *I know you see every one of my struggles. Struggles to not make Father see me as the problem. With Lucas in it…*

 

My door opened, breaking my thoughts.

 

I turned instantly and saw him — Lucas.

 

I rolled my eyes and turned back to my stack of clothes. He wasn’t worth my time, and of course, I already knew I had lost the privacy I deserved.

 

“Wow,” his voice cut through the room, slow and mocking as he looked around. “Didn’t think the mute girl needed this much space. Given the fact that you’ve always lived in an apartment smaller than this.”

 

My hands curled into fists, but I kept folding.

 

The door shut behind him, but I didn’t look at him. I refused to give him the satisfaction. Instead, I reached for another hanger, sliding a jacket onto it.

 

He laughed quietly. “What, no dramatic screaming this time?” He paused. “Oh right. You can’t. Guess that little outburst was a one-time miracle.”

 

My jaw tightened so hard that it ached.

 

He strolled further into the room without permission, his footsteps filled with arrogance. I could feel his eyes roaming, taking in the high ceilings, the private bathroom, the walk-in closet larger than most bedrooms.

 

“Must be nice,” he muttered. “Living like a spoiled princess.”

 

I slammed the drawer shut, trying to conceal my anger.

 

I grabbed my notepad, flipping it open sharply and scribbling furiously.

 

“GET OUT.”

 

I shoved it toward him without looking.

 

Lucas snorted. “You don’t get to give orders here, little mute. You’re in my territory, remember?”

 

Right.

 

He moved closer, and I felt my skin prickle with irritation.

 

“My mom married your dad,” he continued, his voice flat with disgust. “Which means I don’t need your permission to be anywhere in this house.”

 

I forced myself to breathe.

 

In. Out.

 

I turned away from him and lifted another box, dragging it across the floor while he followed.

 

“I told her it was a bad idea,” he said casually. “This whole thing. Your dad.”

 

My hands stilled, and I looked up at him..

 

His eyes were taunting and he was leaning against the desk beside me like he owned it. 

 

Typical Lucas Graham. Always wanting to shove his things to our face.

 

“What?” he asked. “Did you really think I’d be thrilled? Watching my mom throw herself at some grieving widower with money?”

 

Something snapped inside me. I hated that he was voicing the same ugly thoughts I had about my dad.

 

I wrote again, gripping the pen so tightly it nearly tore the paper.

 

“DON’T TALK ABOUT MY FATHER.”

 

Lucas stepped closer, invading my space. “Why? Hit a nerve?” He tilted his head. “Because from where I’m standing, he looks like a gold digger who saw an easy target.”

 

My eyes blazed with anger.

 

I turned away from him abruptly and headed for the door. I wouldn’t do this. I wouldn’t stand there and let him poison everything.

 

But before I could reach the handle, his hand closed around my wrist.

 

I gasped silently as he pulled me back firmly. 

My back hit the wall, the air rushing from my lungs as his body caged me in.

 

One arm braced beside my head, the other still gripping my wrist.

 

He was so close that I could smell his cologne and see the faint scar near his eyebrow.

 

“Going somewhere?” he murmured.

 

My heart was beating fast. I struggled, pushing against his chest, but he didn’t budge.

 

“Relax,” he said quietly. “I’m not hurting you.”

 

He leaned closer, his voice dropping. “I overheard you, by the way. You, telling your dad about me. About ‘bullying.’ If that’s what you call it.”

 

My lips quivered. 

 

“And you know what he did?” Lucas smirked. “Nothing. He brushed it off. Just like I knew he would.”

 

My eyes burned with tears.

 

“He didn’t even question it,” Lucas continued softly. “Didn’t ask for details. Didn’t ask for answers. Just told you to give it time.”

 

My chest felt like it was collapsing in on itself because he was saying the hurting truths. His words were slicing into my heart. 

 

“That must’ve hurt,” he added mockingly. “Realizing you’re not as important as you thought. Realizing he chose my mother’s money over you!”

 

I shook my head, tears threatening to spill.

 

He tightened his grip just slightly. “Here’s how this is going to work,” he said, his tone suddenly cold. “No one at school finds out our parents got married.”

 

I swallowed hard.

 

“You don’t say my name, or look at me, or even tell anyone we live under the same roof.”

 

He was so close that our foreheads were almost touching. “Because if they do …. if even one person connects those dots ,  I’ll make your life even more miserable than it already is.”

 

My chest rose and fell in panic.

 

Lucas watched in satisfaction. “That’s right,” he whispered. “You can’t.”

 

Then suddenly, a click interrupted us.

 

Lucas stiffened, and I turned sharply toward the door, my stomach dropping. 

 

I yanked my wrist free at last and rushed to the door, fumbling with the handle but it didn’t even budge. 

It was locked?

 

What was going on?

 

Who was playing these games?

 

Behind me, Lucas exhaled slowly.

 

“Well,” he said, almost amused. “Looks like we’re stuck together.”