We Meet Again So Soon

I quickly searched for my clothes with shaky hands, putting them on, but it was a short, sleeveless dress, so it wouldn’t cover these marks. Panic was beginning to kick in, my body shaking. 

I…I couldn’t go out like this. I was covered with marks; bite marks, hand marks. I was covered with it, my skin red and bruised. What kind of animal is he? How could he do this?

I was a married woman. People couldn’t see me like this. I didn’t even want to see myself like this. I didn’t want to think about what I’d just done or what it meant for my marriage. 

While I was panicking, someone entered the room, and I froze, thinking it was the bastard, ready to throw my rage at him, but I paused when I saw an older man. He looked to be around sixty, wearing a well-ironed uniform, his gray hair slicked back. 

“Good morning, ma’am,” he greeted with a bow of his head, looking totally unbothered at the mess that was me. “The master has entrusted me to provide you with anything you may need.”

“The master,” I repeated with bitterness in my voice. “Where is he now?”

“At work, ma’am.”

I tried not to scoff. Of course. He had a one-night stand with a stranger, and now he was back to reality. 

“I need something to cover up. And my car.”

He nodded and left. 

Five minutes later, I stormed out of the penthouse, covering the marks of shame, and about to face my reality, hungover, and wishing the headache would just go away. 

***

I didn’t think he would be at home. It was a Thursday morning, and he was supposed to be at work, but when I stepped inside the house, he stood up from the couch, his hands shoved into his pockets. 

I paused when I saw him, my eyes burning, but I refused to let a single tear fall. 

“What are you doing here?” I asked, my voice hard. 

“It’s my house, isn't it?” he said, his head tilted. His eyes trailed over me, at the large sweater that was wrapped around me, at my ruined makeup and wrinkled dress. His face hardened. “Where were you last night?”

I scoffed harshly, going up the stairs. “Why do you care?”

“Because I’m your husband!” he barked, and I paused, turning back to him. 

I climbed down and back to him, this time standing close to him.

“Are you?” I asked softly. “When was the last time you were a husband to me?”

When he said nothing and just stared at me with his mouth open, I turned and went up the stairs. 

Thirty minutes later, I was already done packing what I needed, and when I went downstairs, he was… he was gone. 

I nodded to myself as I left the place I’ve called home for three years, and to my father’s house. 

***

Three days… Three days, I’ve been at my father’s house, and I haven't seen a single glimpse of the man. 

That was William Carter, alright. If he didn’t want to see you, nothing would make you see him. 

Finally, on day five, he called for me. 

I stood outside his study with the door closed, trying to get my nerves under control. Finally, I knocked, and his cool voice ushered me in. 

I opened the door. 

He was exactly as I remembered. The same way he was three years ago; his sandpaper hair perfectly styled back, his suit free of any wrinkles, his tie perfect, his back straight. 

“Father,” I said as I closed the door, standing in front of the desk. 

He didn’t acknowledge me; instead, he kept writing, the sound of the pen scratching on paper filling the tense silence. Finally, he put down the pen and then looked at me with his hands folded and resting on the desk. 

“Isabella,” he said, gesturing to the chair in front of him. “Sit.”

I sat, keeping my back straight.

He wasted no time getting to business. 

“I heard your husband–the ungrateful fool, that he is–cheated.”

I swallowed, my hands tight on my lap. “He did.”

“And why haven't I heard anything about a divorce, and why is he still called your husband?”

My eyes went wide. “W-what?”

He raised his eyebrow. “What? Are you still going to stay after he cheated? After he broke your vows and made a mockery of you?”

“He’s–”

“The answer is no, Isabella,” he cut me off, his voice still calm, the look on his face maddeningly calm. “If you do not feel shame and have any self-respect, I do. Our family name does, and I will not let you drag it through the mud.”

“But… but this isn’t about the family! It’s about me!”

His calm mask finally cracked, just a bit, just a clench of his jaw. “Everything is about the family, Isabella. I let you disgrace us once, but I’ll be a damn fool if I let you do it twice.”

Just then, the telephone on his desk rang. He picked it up, didn't say a single word, and ended it. 

“Now listen to me, Isabella.” Oh, now, his voice was hard. “You will divorce that boy.” I opened my mouth to argue. He didn’t give me the chance. “Or I will take everything from him. Everything he’s gotten with our name. And when that is gone, what will remain?” He leaned back on his chair. “Nothing.”

My lips were glued together, and I couldn’t say a single word, because my father wasn’t one to make idle threats. 

“Good,” he said when I said nothing. “Now you will finally do right by your family and get married. But not into a family like the Ashfords, but richer, better.”

The words didn’t register at first, and when they did, my eyes went wide, and I shot up to my feet. 

“What?” I asked in a loud whisper. “You want me to get married after I just got divorced?”

“Yes,” he answered calmly as he stood up and picked up his jacket. “I gave you a chance to marry who you wanted, now that chance is gone, and you don't have a second one. Come.”

He walked to the door, opened it, and waited. I stared at him, my chest tight, before I moved to the door and left the study. He followed and walked beside me. 

“Where are we going?” I asked, trying not to pout. 

“To see your future husband.”

I stopped walking, my eyes wide, but my father kept walking. 

I followed him, once again trying to keep my nerve under control. 

We moved downstairs, and there were three guests already waiting, but one stood out. He was taller, broader, and when he raised his head, his eyes landed on mine, and I froze. 

Green eyes, so bright and vibrant. Eyes that looked familiar. No… it can’t be. 

He stood up and shook my father's hand, and my father just nodded at him. 

He turned and walked towards me while I was still frozen. 

When he got close to me, I caught a wisp of his cologne, and my eyes went wide because he smelled familiar, too. 

No, no, no. 

He got close to me, took my hand in his, and raised it to his lips. 

Then, he spoke. 

“We meet again so soon, Isabella.”