Novel & Cerita Isabel Magnolia

She smelled like a mixture of Dahlias and roses. The woman carefully examined her for a moment, before taking a step back, “I have waited a thousand years for this moment and had almost lost all hope. It is an honour to be in your presence, your royal majesty,” Isabella was frozen as the woman slightly bowed, "and now that you are here, we know for sure that you will free your people.” Isabella could have laughed if not for the tension hanging in the atmosphere. But right there and then, she became convinced that she had managed to actually stumble upon a group of mad people. Which cannot be good.

He had chosen his two offerings carefully. Isabela, 29, a fiery local Carnival dancer with golden-brown skin, long dark curls, and a body built for sin — full, heavy breasts, narrow waist, and a round, juicy ass. And Camila, 24, her younger cousin — petite, smooth-skinned, with perky breasts and a tight, innocent-looking body that hid a very dirty mind.

"It's time." She turned to face her mother—the woman who had raised her, who had loved her, who had fought for her every step of the way. "I'm ready," she said. The garden was transformed. Flowers bloomed everywhere—roses, lilies, wildflowers that seemed to have sprung up overnight. White chairs lined the grass, filled with family and friends. A canopy of fairy lights and silk draped over the altar, where Damien waited. Isabella walked down the aisle, Lucas on one side, Lily on the other. Her dress was simple, elegant, a cascade of white that flowed behind her like a promise.

No one said no to him. Isabela arrived unhurried, wearing a black dress that clung to her curves—elegant but with the firm presence of a woman who dominated any room she entered. Her loose hair fell over her shoulders, both an invitation and a warning. Her presence mesmerized men like a siren with her voice or like Medusa with her gaze. Rodrigo’s eyes scanned her from head to toe, but it was she who smiled first—with the confidence of someone who knew she held absolute power and control.

Isabella had once told me that I looked exceptionally sweet and gentle in this color. I had even brought her favorite mango mousse cake. It was still sitting in the front passenger seat, along with a bouquet of white roses. I'd even had a whole speech ready in my head so that she'd forgive me and perhaps even smile back at me. But now, I was told that Isabella was dead. "It's impossible…" I growled, gritting my teeth as the metallic taste of blood spread in my mouth. "This is impossible!" It had to be some twisted game Isabella was playing on me! She had done all this to trick me so that she could run away!

My back straightens on the stool. The footsteps get louder. Closer. Then they stop at the kitchen doorway. Isabela walks in. She looks perfect. Hair smooth. Makeup sharp. Dress tight and short, hugging her body like it was sewn onto her skin. She does not look like someone who was “hurt” or “shaken.” She looks bored. Annoyed. Entitled. Her eyes sweep the room. They pause on me for half a second, then move to Nana. Her lips curl.

Michelle was dead, her father had lost the right path and she was treated as if she was a stranger to the person who was genetically build to love her more than anything else in the world. Isabelle started walking slowly along the driveway that was leading her to the main entrance. The air was full of the scent of the roses, Marie's favorite flowers. She stopped and smelled a beautiful white rose, but paid no attention and the sleeve of her shirt got caught between the thorns. She didn't want to damage the little rose bush and she tried to get rid of it very carefully but to no avail. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Shawn's black Ferrari advancing towards her. This was the last thing s

Isabella stood at her door and said, "If I were you, after saying something like that, I wouldn't sleep here tonight. Aren't you afraid I'll kill you in the middle of the night to prevent you from obstructing my plans?" Madeline put on an eye mask and chuckled. Isabella frowned. "You're still laughing." "There's a clump of camellia outside my room, isn't it?" Madeline asked. "They just bloomed," Isabella replied emotionlessly. "Dying next to a blooming camellia is a blessing. If you want to make a move, go ahead," Madeline said. Isabella fell silent. Madeline rolled over and whispered softly, "My mom loved camellia flowers the most. If I die, I can still bring her a bunch."

she pleaded. "No, I can't," Magnus stood his ground. Isabella released him abruptly, as if jerked away. Her somber expression swiftly transformed into a rebellious one. "You can't confine me here! And you have no right to choose who's good for me and who isn't!" Her eyes blazed with fury. Magnus observed her, aware that her previous display was just a diversion. If she didn't get what she wanted, she would try any means necessary. Isabella was relentless.

In the end, they arranged to meet. Two days later, they would meet near the clinic. From there, Magdalena would get into Albert’s car, and together they would drive somewhere private and mysterious. For two days, Magdalena quietly prepared for her meeting. She dyed her hair, gave herself a facial mask, did her nails, and removed the unwanted hair from her body. She tried not to let anyone notice how much effort she was putting into getting ready, although Sara was so troubled that she probably wouldn’t have noticed her mother’s preparations anyway.