Strong-willed, badass and bounded by the chains of an arranged marriage, Isabela Arias dreams of the freedom to live and love as she chooses.
Being sold to the Italian mafia wasn't exactly on Isabela's to do list...
As she's forced to navigate the r...
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Ever since I could remember, I spent all my nights devouring fairytale stories like it was my favorite drink. Peeking out my bedroom window with a heart full of hope for my sweet prince to climb up my tower. Every night, I fell asleep in my bay window, waiting and waiting. I woke up to nothing every single time.
No charming prince.
No true love kiss.
Around age ten, I gave up on fairytales. Sure, I still dabbled in passionate, heartfelt romances here and there, but I didn't believe in them anymore. They were fiction, and my life wasn't anything close to a worthy story. Nothing is interesting about being the invisible daughter in a family of five. Daddy only gave me attention during the nights when my siblings were asleep. Our evenings remain secret.
Only my teddy bears knew the truth underneath the bedsheets.
If not having a prince wasn't enough to shatter the illusion of a fantasy, late nights with Daddy did. Why is my misery never-ending? I ran away from my influential family to build a better life on my terms. Without the shackles of my daddy, I thought for a milli-second-- maybe I could be a doctor, perhaps I could find my prince after all.
My eyes squint as my blindfold slips down my face, exposing me to the fluorescent lights. I shift an inch, digging the shackles on my wrist further into my raw, bare skin. It takes a few seconds for my eyes to adjust and land on his sinister, dazzling smile. If I'm being honest, I rather wear the blindfold than stare at him.
Damien sits on the dungeon's filthy floors in his spotless dark-blue Armani suit, his blonde hair tousled on his head. My frame shudders as his touch wavers on my chin. Damien's touch is suffocating, blistering like I'm directly under the sun. My outfit from Paris consumes my body, appearing five sizes too big.
"It's your special day, tesoro," Damien says, revealing the pink frosting cupcake in his hands with the number eighteen in it. "You know what this means."
My breathing accelerates, spilling in and out of my nose as he scoots closer, gliding his finger across the flit for an orange flame to emerge. He hovers the spark over the candle and secures the lighter in his pocket. I don't say a word. My throat is too dry to mutter anything.
Damien's fingers comb through my knotty hair, yanking my head downward. "You're legally allowed to be mine now. The date is set. Mamma is already planning the perfect beach wedding."
I sigh.
Great.
This is my prince.
This is my fairytale ending? To be forced into an arrangement with a flipping sociopath. I always thought I would enjoy turning eighteen, but now all I wanted was to live another day as a minor. While Damien was psychotic, he wouldn't cross the sacred line with a youngster. He's been itching for me to turn eighteen since we met three years ago.
