Isabella sat stiffly in the leather chair across from Adrian, her eyes locked on her father's face. She didn't blink, though her throat tightened. Every word he had spoken since she entered the office felt like a chain tightening around her chest.
She wasn't scared of Adrian's authority, not entirely. She was scared of something much worse: living without Ava. Every thought, every heartbeat, every dream circled back to her. And now, with the talk of a Catholic school looming over her, Isabella's world seemed on the edge of collapse. Four years away. Four years without Ava. It was a prison sentence.
Her lips trembled, but she forced her voice steady.
"What do you want from me?"
Adrian leaned forward from behind his mahogany desk, his tone sharp but not cruel, he loved her, but in his way, love came dressed in control.
"I want you to quit this nonsense. Stop this childish pretending. Go upstairs and clear out those boy's clothes from your closet. All of them. Burn them if you have to. You'll never wear them again."
The words fell heavy between them, making Isabella's stomach twist.
Adrian's voice grew firmer, almost commanding now
"Get back into who you really are. My daughter is not some lost boy in baggy jeans. You're a lady, Isabella. And I won't watch you throw your life away. You have a piano competition next week. That is what you are going to think of, your music, your talent, your future. Not… all this."
He slid a folder aside and gestured toward her.
"Your custom outfit will be delivered tomorrow. Tailored perfectly. You'll look like who you are meant to be."
Isabella's hands curled tightly on her lap. The rebellion inside her chest fought to rise, but his piercing gaze pinned her to the chair. She wanted to scream, to tell him she wasn't confused, to say she was already exactly who she wanted to be. But the weight of his expectations, and the fear of losing everything, held her tongue.
For the first time, she felt the sharp divide between her father's love and her own truth.
Without a word, Isabella rose from the chair. Her father's orders still hung in the air, echoing in her chest like thunder. She didn't look back at Adrian or Claire. If she did, she knew her tears would betray her. She walked out of the office quickly, her jaw tight, her fists clenched.
Just outside the heavy oak door, Ruth had been waiting. She had heard every word, every threat, every ounce of disappointment dripping from Adrian's voice. The moment Isabella stepped out, Ruth's eyes softened, but before she could speak, Isabella broke.
She bolted toward her bedroom, pushed the door open, and collapsed onto the floor, her back against the bedframe. The sob tore out of her, loud and raw, the kind of cry that came from deep inside,the kind she had been holding in since childhood.
Ruth quietly shut the door and locked it. She didn't rush to her. She stood by the wall, watching, knowing Isabella didn't want to be touched just yet.
"Are you going to do that?" Ruth asked.
Her voice was low, careful.
Isabella buried her face against the edge of the bed, her tears soaking the sheets. Her voice cracked when she finally spoke.
"I'll choose not being myself over living without Ava for four years."
She lifted her head, her swollen eyes finding Ruth's.
"Change everything in the room, Ruth. Hide the clothes. Burn them if you have to. Make it look like I've listened."
Ruth studied her for a moment. She wanted to protest, to tell her not to give in, but she knew Isabella's heart wasn't bending out of weakness—it was bending out of love. And Ruth had never seen her so desperate before. She nodded silently and moved toward the closet, already knowing what needed to be done.
Isabella pushed herself up, wiped her face roughly with her sleeve, and stood. Her steps were heavy but determined as she left the room. She wasn't about to let anyone, least of all Ava, see her broken. By the time she reached the back of the house, her face was dry, her expression calm, almost unreadable.
The sound of rushing water greeted her before the sight did. The waterfall glittered in the morning light, spraying mist across the rocks. There, sitting at the edge, Ava was still talking to the boy Isabella recognized from school.
Her chest tightened instantly.
She walked straight toward them, her voice light but edged with something sharp.
"Hey… done talking to your friend?"
The boy glanced up. Even from a distance, he looked nervous. Everyone at school knew Isabella wasn't someone you crossed—not because she was violent, but because she carried herself like someone who could not be broken. He shifted uncomfortably, edging a little away from Ava.
Ava blinked in surprise, about to answer, but Isabella didn't give her the chance. She tilted her head slightly, her smile too polite to be genuine.
"I think you're done here. You can go back home now, right?"
The boy stood immediately, fumbling to gather his bag.
"Y-Yes. I just came to check up on her… since you guys were suspended for three days."
"We're doing fine. Thanks for the visit."
Her tone made it sound like a dismissal, and when she gave a subtle gesture with her hand, the boy understood. He nodded quickly.
"See you in school… after the suspension."
And with that, he hurried off, disappearing down the garden path.
From Adrian's office window upstairs, he had been watching. He couldn't hear a single word, but his eyes had been fixed on his daughter the entire time. He saw the way she walked up with confidence, the way the boy retreated without protest, the way Ava's eyes followed Isabella even when she wasn't speaking. Something twisted uneasily in his chest.
Back by the waterfall, Isabella turned to Ava.
"If you weren't done talking, you could have said so."
Ava gave a small laugh, shaking her head. Her smile was soft, not mocking, just familiar.
"You didn't give me the chance to say a word."
"I didn't tell him to go."
Ava tilted her head, her smile deepening as if she could see right through her. She shook her head again, amused, then reached out and took Isabella's hand. That simple gesture made Isabella's chest tighten with something she couldn't put into words.
Without another word, Ava gently pulled her along, slowly walking her back toward the house.
Upstairs, Adrian's eyes followed them until they were out of sight. He was troubled. His daughter's stubbornness was one thing, but this, this closeness, this protectiveness, this intensity toward Ava—it unsettled him in ways he didn't want to admit.
He turned from the window, finding Claire standing near the bookshelf, watching him carefully.
"Claire… is there anything more I need to know about my daughter?"
Claire frowned, caught off guard.
"What do you mean?"
Adrian exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. His eyes were still dark with suspicion.
"She's overly protective of that girl. Too much. It's not just friendship I'm seeing."
Claire stepped forward, her voice calm but firm.
"Adrian, they've grown up together. Ava is like family to her. If Isabella is protective, it's because she doesn't want her friend hurt by bad people. That's all it is."
But Adrian wasn't convinced. He didn't argue further, though. Instead, he fell silent, turning away as if hiding the storm of thoughts he couldn't quite say aloud.
Claire, however, could feel it. She knew what he was beginning to suspect, and the thought made her heart race. Because if Adrian ever truly believed Isabella's feelings for Ava were more than friendship… it would not end well.
Ava's room was dimly lit, the soft golden glow from the bedside lamp brushing against her face as she lay half turned toward Isabella.
She wanted to tell Ava what happened but she didn't know where to start from. The words pressed against her throat like stones, heavy and sharp, but none of them would come out. Isabella sat on the edge of Ava's bed, fingers twisting into the sheets, her eyes flicking to Ava who leaned back against the headboard with her phone in hand.
The shrill vibration of Ava's phone broke the silence. She glanced at the screen, hesitated, then slowly picked up.