ISABELLA

Some houses feel like home, the kind where you can just exist without thinking too much. This house isn’t like that. The Cruz estate is perfect, too perfect. Everything is clean, expensive, quiet in a way that makes you uncomfortable. From the outside, it looks beautiful, like something you’d see in a magazine, but inside, it’s different. You don’t relax here, you don’t breathe freely, you just stay careful. I’ve lived here for eleven years, and it has never felt like mine.

“Isabella.”

My name stops me before I even fully walk into the dining room. Mrs. Beatrice Cruz doesn’t shout, she doesn’t need to. The way she says my name is enough, calm and sharp, like I’ve already done something wrong. I pause for a second, then fix my face and walk in.

“Good evening, ma’am.”

Her eyes move over me slowly, like she’s checking for mistakes, my hair, my dress, the way I’m standing.

“You’re late.”

“I’m sorry, I was—”

“Sit.”

Of course. I swallow the rest of my words and sit down quietly. Everything is already set, plates, cutlery, glasses, all arranged perfectly. Nothing in this house is ever out of place, not even people. Mr. Cruz isn’t around tonight, and that usually makes things worse.

Across from me, Darius Cruz is watching me. He leans back like he has nothing to worry about, one arm hanging loosely, his eyes staying on me a second too long like they always do. I’ve never really figured out what that look means.

“Running late again?” he says. “You’d think you’d learn by now.”

I don’t answer because it’s easier that way. Mrs. Cruz takes a sip from her glass and tells me to fix my posture. I straighten immediately, then adjust again when she says to sit properly, shoulders back, head up. I don’t even think about it anymore, my body just knows, but it’s still not enough.

“You slouch too much,” she says. “It doesn’t look good. No one respects a woman who carries herself like that.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Darius lets out a quiet breath that almost sounds like a laugh.

“Respect?” he says. “That’s a bit much, don’t you think?”

I keep my eyes on my plate. The food looks good, it always does, but eating here has never really been about food. It’s more like surviving the moment.

“You should be grateful we chose you,” Mrs. Cruz says.

The words aren’t new and they aren’t surprising, but they still feel heavy.

“I am grateful,” I say, and I think I mean it. This house gave me things I didn’t have before, school, stability, a name, even if that name never really feels like mine.

Darius leans forward a little.

“Are you?” he asks.

“Yes.”

He hums like he doesn’t believe me.

“I wonder.”

Mrs. Cruz continues eating like that ends it, and dinner goes on. Or at least, they eat while I just move food around my plate carefully, not too slow, not too fast. There’s a rhythm to this house, and I’ve learned not to break it.

“You’ve been quiet lately,” Mrs. Cruz says.

“I’ve been focusing on my work.”

“What work?”

“My design projects.”

She raises a brow.

“That small hobby?”

My grip tightens a little, but I keep my voice steady.

“It’s not a hobby. I’ve been getting offers.”

“Offers?” Darius cuts in.

I nod and tell him yes.

“From who?”

“Small firms. Independent clients.”

There’s a short silence before Mrs. Cruz sighs.

“I don’t understand why you keep wasting your time on things like that,” she says. “You live here. You carry our name. There are expectations.”

I already know what she means, and when she adds that there are more important things I should be thinking about, I understand without her saying the word. Marriage is there, unspoken but obvious.

“I understand,” I say.

“Do you?” Darius asks quietly.

I look up for a second and our eyes meet. There’s something in his, something sharp, like he’s trying to see through me.

“I do.”

He watches me for a moment, then leans back again. Dinner feels long like it always does, stretching in a way that makes every second noticeable. When I’m done, I set my fork down and wait.

Mrs. Cruz wipes her lips neatly.

“You may go.”

Relief settles in my chest.

“Thank you, ma’am.”

I stand up and turn to leave.

“Isabella.”

I stop and turn back.

“Yes?”

“There’s going to be a business meeting soon,” she says. “Important people will be there. You’ll attend.”

My chest tightens a little, but I nod.

“Alright.”

“Make sure you present yourself properly this time. No mistakes.”

“I understand.”

Darius watches like it’s all entertainment and adds that we wouldn’t want to embarrass the family. I ignore him.

“Good,” Mrs. Cruz says, and this time I leave.

The hallway feels quieter, or maybe I can just breathe again. I walk slowly past paintings I’ve seen a hundred times but never really looked at. Everything here is beautiful, and none of it feels like mine. When I get to my room, I close the door gently and the soft click fills the silence.

I stand there for a moment before letting out a breath and feeling my shoulders drop slightly. This room is different, not warm, but not as cold either. It’s the closest thing I have to mine.

I walk to my desk by the window where my sketchbook is open, half-finished designs staring back at me. I sit down and run my fingers over the page because this is mine. No one tells me what to do here, no one watches, no one judges, it’s just me.

For a few minutes, I get lost in it until my phone rings and pulls me out. I pick it up and look at the screen.

Unknown number.

I hesitate for a second, then answer.

“Hello?”

There’s a pause before a calm, professional voice speaks.

“Good evening. Am I speaking to Isabella Cruz?”

“Yes, this is she.”

“I’m calling from the Steele Group.”

My hand stills and everything else fades for a second.

“The Steele Group?” I repeat.

“Yes.”

There’s another pause before they say they would like to request a meeting. Something shifts inside me then, and I don’t know why. Maybe it’s the name, maybe it’s just a feeling, but something about this doesn’t feel normal. It feels important, like something is about to change.

I tighten my grip on the phone.

“Alright,” I say.

It’s just one word, but it doesn’t feel small. I don’t know it yet, but that one decision is going to change everything, maybe ruin everything I’ve tried to manage all these years or maybe finally give me a way out.

For the first time in a long time, I feel something different, not fear, not pressure, just something new, and I don’t know yet if I should be scared of it or ready for it.