The sprawling Knight mansion was abuzz with activity. Dante had decided to throw a grand party to celebrate Amara’s return, a decision that left Isla seething with a mix of anger and disbelief. Despite everything that had happened, he had chosen to flaunt his joy in public, while ignoring the deep wounds he’d inflicted on Isla.
Isla stood in her room, looking at her reflection in the mirror. Dark circles under her eyes betrayed sleepless nights, and her lips tightened as she tried to compose herself. She could hear the laughter and chatter of the arriving guests from the hallway.
“A party for Amara,” she muttered bitterly to herself, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “As if this is about her and not his ego.”
The door opened suddenly, and Marco stepped inside, his expression wary.
“Dante wants you downstairs,” he said, avoiding her gaze.
“Of course, he does,” Isla said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “To parade me around like I’m part of his perfect little picture.”
Marco sighed. “It’s not like that, Isla.”
She turned to face him, her eyes flashing. “Then what is it like, Marco? Because from where I’m standing, it’s all about control. About him pretending everything is fine while I’m suffocating in this prison he calls a home.”
Marco opened his mouth to respond but thought better of it. Instead, he said quietly, “Just come downstairs. It’ll be easier for everyone if you don’t fight him tonight.”
—
The Party Begins
The grand ballroom shimmered under the glow of crystal chandeliers. Guests in designer dresses and sharp suits mingled, their laughter filling the air. In the center of it all stood Dante, holding Amara in his arms.
He looked every bit the proud father, his smile wide as he greeted his guests. But Isla could see through the facade. He wasn’t celebrating Amara; he was celebrating his dominance, his victory in keeping Isla under his thumb.
As she descended the staircase, heads turned. Whispers followed her, but Isla held her chin high, refusing to show any weakness.
Dante’s eyes locked on hers, and his smile faltered for a brief moment. He handed Amara to one of the nannies and approached her.
“You look stunning,” he said, his tone casual, as though they were a happily married couple hosting a joyous event.
“Is that what this is about?” Isla replied coolly. “Looking good for your guests?”
His jaw tightened, but he kept his voice low. “Let’s not make a scene tonight.”
“Why not? You’ve already made a spectacle of everything else,” she said, her voice sharp.
Before he could respond, a guest approached, interrupting their tense exchange. Isla took the opportunity to slip away, finding a quiet corner of the room where she could observe from a distance.
—
A Hollow Celebration
As the evening wore on, Isla watched Dante charm his way through the crowd. He was in his element, shaking hands and exchanging pleasantries, completely ignoring her presence.
Amara, meanwhile, was passed from one pair of hands to another, cooed over like a prized possession. Isla’s heart ached as she saw her daughter used as a prop in Dante’s show.
Marco approached her again, holding a glass of water.
“You should drink something,” he said softly.
Isla took the glass but didn’t drink. “Is this how it’s going to be, Marco? Him pretending we’re a family while I’m nothing more than a shadow in the background?”
Marco hesitated, then said, “Dante cares about you, Isla. He just doesn’t know how to show it.”
She let out a bitter laugh. “Cares about me? He doesn’t even see me.”
—
The Breaking Point
As the party began to wind down, Isla decided she couldn’t stay silent any longer. She approached Dante, who was speaking with a group of influential businessmen.
“Dante,” she said, her voice steady but laced with tension.
He turned, his smile fading when he saw her expression. “Isla, this isn’t the time-”
“When is the time?” she interrupted, her voice rising. “When do I get to be more than just a decoration in your life? When do I get to be Amara’s mother without you controlling every aspect of our lives?”
The room fell silent as guests turned to watch the unfolding drama.
Dante’s eyes narrowed. “We’ll talk about this later.”
“No, we won’t,” Isla said firmly. “Because every time I try to talk, you shut me down. You keep me locked up, isolated, while you live your life as if nothing has changed.”
One of the businessmen cleared his throat awkwardly. “Perhaps we should give you two some privacy.”
Dante nodded, his expression icy. “Yes, that would be best.”
As the group dispersed, he grabbed Isla’s arm and pulled her aside.
“What are you trying to prove?” he hissed.
She yanked her arm free, her eyes blazing. “That I’m not invisible. That I won’t be silenced anymore.”
—
A Mother’s Plea
Isla’s voice softened, but the pain in her words cut deep.
“I gave up everything for you, Dante. My freedom, my dignity. And what have you given me in return? A life of loneliness and fear.”
Dante’s expression flickered, as though her words had struck a chord.
“I’ve given you safety,” he said, his tone defensive. “I’ve given Amara a future.”
“Safety?” Isla repeated, her voice breaking. “You think this is safety? Being locked away, cut off from the world, while you ignore us both?”
Dante ran a hand through his hair, his frustration evident. “I’m doing what I have to, Isla. For you. For Amara.”
“No,” she said, shaking her head. “You’re doing it for you. For your control. But I won’t live like this anymore.”
—
The Unspoken Truth
Before Dante could respond, Amara’s cry broke the tension. Isla turned, rushing to her daughter’s side. She picked up the baby, holding her close as tears streamed down her face.
“You deserve better than this,” she whispered to Amara. “I’ll make sure you get it.”
Dante watched them, his expression unreadable. For the first time, he seemed at a loss for words.
“We’ll talk about this tomorrow,” he said finally, his voice softer than before.
Isla didn’t respond. She carried Amara upstairs, her mind already racing with plans for what she would do next.
—
The Aftermath
As the last guests left and the mansion fell silent, Dante stood alone in the ballroom, staring at the empty space where Isla had confronted him.
Marco approached cautiously. “That could’ve gone better,” he said.
Dante didn’t respond, his mind replaying Isla’s words. For the first time, he wondered if he had pushed her too far-and whether he could ever bring her back.