The morning sun streamed through the tall windows of Ashwell Mansion, casting golden light over the polished table set with fine china, steaming coffee, and fresh pastries. Yet the warmth of the morning could not mask the cold tension at the table.
Christian sat stiffly, jaw clenched, staring across at Lucien. "I cannot believe she ran off in the middle of the night," he muttered, his voice tight with anger. "Isabella — my own daughter — behaving like this? Unbelievable."
Lucien's eyes were sharp, piercing, as he leaned slightly forward. "Carelessness," he said in a low voice. "Such recklessness could have ruined everything. I never imagined she would act in such a manner."
Isabella felt her stomach twist. She sat rigidly beside her father, silently willing herself to stay composed. I can't defend myself yet, she thought. Not in front of him.
Christian's hands slammed lightly on the table. "I trusted her to behave responsibly, Lucien. And now —"
Lucien raised a hand, cutting him off. "Do not lecture me, Christian. The wedding preparations cannot wait. Every detail must be perfect. The venue, the guest lists, the ceremony itself — nothing can be left unfinished because of a moment of folly."
Elijah, sitting beside Isabella, finally spoke, his voice calm but edged with intensity. "We'll handle it," he said smoothly. He glanced briefly at Isabella, a subtle challenge in his dark eyes. "Everything will proceed as planned."
Isabella shifted uncomfortably, avoiding his gaze. "Planned?" she echoed softly under her breath, but Elijah heard, and his lips curved slightly, almost imperceptibly.
Christian exhaled sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose. "You see, Bella, this is why you cannot act without thinking. You're lucky it's him," he said, nodding toward Elijah. "He's… competent. At least someone here has sense."
Isabella's heart pounded. Competent? Or controlling? she thought.
Lucien's voice cut through the murmurs of the other guests. "Christian, we cannot dwell on her disobedience. She is young, yes, but this wedding —" he paused, eyes flicking toward Isabella and Elijah — "— it must happen. Preparations cannot be postponed. There is no room for hesitation."
Elijah leaned back slightly, his tone measured but firm. "I understand, Father. I will ensure everything is ready. The ceremony, the guests, the arrangements — all will be in place."
Isabella felt a chill run down her spine at the quiet authority in his voice. She clenched her hands around her napkin. "And… what if I'm not ready?" she asked, her voice low but deliberate.
Elijah's eyes met hers, unflinching. "You will be," he said simply. No reassurance, no apology — only certainty.
Christian's voice softened slightly, more to her than anyone else. "Bella, you must understand, some things are bigger than us. This… arrangement has consequences beyond your own feelings."
"I understand consequences!" Isabella snapped, the edge of anger finally breaking through. She pressed her hands flat on the table. "But this isn't just about consequences! It's about me — my life, my choices! And no one asked me! Not you, not Elijah, not anyone!"
Elijah's gaze softened ever so slightly, though his expression remained unreadable. "I did not ask because it was never meant to be questioned," he said quietly. "You'll see why, in time."
Isabella's jaw tightened. "In time?" she whispered, frustration boiling. "I'm not a child to be told to wait. I have a voice. I have… a right to decide!"
Lucien cleared his throat sharply. "Enough," he said, his tone slicing through the tension. "There is no debate here. The wedding will proceed. Everyone will comply. Is that understood?"
"Yes, Father," Elijah replied smoothly, his dark eyes briefly meeting Isabella's, the unspoken challenge hanging between them.
Isabella forced herself to nod, but inside, her thoughts raced. I will not give up. I won't. I won't be trapped.
The rest of the breakfast continued with careful politeness. Guests whispered, glancing at the two seated next to each other — sensing the tension, the unspoken arguments, and the storm brewing quietly between Isabella and Elijah.
Every bite of food felt heavy. Every clink of a cup or plate reminded Isabella of her powerlessness — but also of her determination. She wouldn't submit without a fight.
And Elijah? He observed her quietly, calculating, patient, his certainty unwavering. Whatever games, arguments, or plans awaited them, he was ready. And so was she — whether she admitted it or not.