Chapter 33 Not every hate necessary
Isla’s POV.
The road stretched ahead of me, dark and busy.
Streetlights slid past the windshield slowly. My hands were steady on the wheel, but my mind was lost in my own thoughts.
I left the office later than usual. Not because I was busy. I just didn’t want to go home.
The car ahead of me suddenly slowed down, and I reacted a second too late. My tire screeched.
My heart raced hard against my rips as I swerved just enough to miss the bumper in front of me.
I pulled over immediately, heart pounding, my palms slick against the steering wheel.
“That was close,” I whispered to myself.
I parked there for a moment, letting the panic in me ease. And then I drove on, slower this time, more careful, forcing myself to focus.
The gates opened as I approached the mansion.
Entering the mansion didn’t give me any breath of relief, it only reminded me of living between walls and manipulation.
Inside, the house was warm and quiet as usual.
I stepped inside, slipping off my heels. Trying to walk my way in, I saw him around the dining table.
My husband. He had already changed out of his working clothes, sleeves rolled, tie gone, his posture straight than usual.
“You’re back,” he said.
“Yes. And so are you.”
“You’re late today, is everything okay?”
“I just needed to be alone.”
He looked at me for a moment too long.
“Dinner’s ready. Do you care to join me?”
He sounded normal. Almost affectionate, like the way couples talk to each other.
“Okay,” I replied.
I went upstairs first, had a hot shower, letting the water run down my body. I stood there with my eyes closed, letting it drown down everything in my head.
When I came down, he was already seated, waiting for me at the table.
The food smelled good, home cooked and familiar.
I sat across from him and picked up a fork.
We ate in silence for a while, just quiet like we had something we wanted to talk about but didn't want to.
“You’ve been more distant,” he finally said.
“I’m fine.”
“That’s what you’re always saying.”
I nodded, pushing the food around my plate more than I was eating it.
He kept his gaze at me. Like he wanted to say something but was held back.
“Is everything going well at work?” He asked.
“Yes,” I muttered.
“You look so distracted.” He said.
I forced a smile on my face. “Maybe I overworked myself.”
He didn’t say anything again. He just sat silent on his food.
The sound of cutlery filled the space between us. I stared down at my food, and then I was lost in my thoughts again.
My memory went back to my mother’s room. The way my father stood at the door, instead of the bedside.
I blinked at my fork and froze mid-air.
“She’s already dead,” my father’s voice echoed in my head. “We have to move forward.”
I swallowed hard.
“Are you okay?” My husband asked.
“Yes,” I said quickly, nodding. “Just… distracted.”
He didn’t push for more answers, and that made it worse.
I finished eating without tasting anything and stood.
“I’m going to rest,” I murmured.
“Isla,” I paused. “If you need anything,” he said, voice quiet. “You can talk to me.”
I nodded again and walked away.
In my room, I sat at the edge of the bed, hands folded in my lap, as the chaos inside my head pressed harder.
That was when my mind fully flashed back.
It hadn’t been a year since I lost my mother when my father brought her into the house.
She looked polite, rich, and composed.
“From this moment forward, she will be your mother,” my father said, like he was announcing an award.
I hated her immediately. I didn’t really need a reason to. And I hated him more.
She looked like she was trying too hard.
She forced a smile on me, as if she wanted some approval.
She’d ask about my day. Touch my arm gently and carefully, like she was afraid I’d break.
“You don’t have to like me,” she’d once said to me. “But I want us to get along.”
I didn’t say a word to her.
I just watched her instead. How she moved around the house as if she belonged to it.
I watched how my father looked at her like she mattered so much to him.
And I hated him more for that. But then she got pregnant, and the house changed again.
And when Josie was born, things changed again. But this time, I wasn’t expecting it.
She looked tiny, loud, and fragile.
I didn’t want to love her. But she fit perfectly in my arms.
Everything changed the night her mother died.
The way she had shielded us. The way she didn’t scream or think twice about her actions.
The way her eyes found mine, calm even while everything was in chaos.
“Protect her,” that was her last words to me before she breathed her last.
I nodded without hesitation. And didn’t think about how much that promise would cost me.
I lay back on the bed now, staring at the ceiling, my chest tight.
My phone buzzed beside me.
It was Josie. I answered without hesitation.
“Did he call you?” She asked, voice steady. “He keeps asking questions about who I talk to and where I go..”
“Don’t respond to him,” I said. “Just stay quiet.”
“I’m scared,” she whispered.
“I know little bean,” I said, voice comforting. “I’ve got you okay.”
After the call ended, I sat up slowly. Nothing had changed.
I just learned how to hide it better.
Downstairs, I heard movements. My husband walking, and the door closing.
I just stayed where I was.
Because if I let myself think too much about the past, about Josie, about Dante, about the way care felt when it wasn’t demanded, something inside me would give away.
And I wasn’t ready for that… at least not yet.