Twisted Desires: He may never be mine

"Why won't you open the gates?"

Even with the air-conditioning on, the heat outside was becoming unbearable. The car window was already rolled down, letting the scorching heat rush in. My patience was wearing thin. I understood my father's reluctance to see me, but he could at least allow me inside. "Sorry, Miss, but we've been instructed to keep the gates closed unless told otherwise."

"Ughhh!" I exclaimed, frustration boiling inside me like a volcano. "Come on, Dad! You can't just shut me out like this and then avoid me."

Damn it! How does one even escape a situation like this? Google doesn't provide answers for these kinds of dilemmas. If only life were that simple.

I leaned back in the car seat and slowly rolled up the window. I pondered for a good minute on whom I was going to call.

"Calling Aunt won't solve anything; I've burdened her enough," I shook my head. "What I need to do is call Dad. Yes," I reached for my bag on the passenger seat and retrieved my phone. "I'll just ask him to let me in."

You'd think I'd gotten the message by now, but if Dad wants to be stubborn, I don't mind proving that I'm his daughter.

"What do you want, Isabelle?" he said coldly.

"Hi, Dad. It's good to finally hear from you."

"I don't have time for this; speak."

I rolled my eyes. "Come on, a little exchange of pleasantries won't hurt anyone, will it," I said, forcing a smile. "But since you're so eager to hear from me, why don't you let me in so we can chat over tea and biscuits?"

"There'll be plenty of biscuits and snacks at your wedding reception. If you're craving biscuits so badly, just pick a date." He reiterated, confirming my suspicions.

It was as if he could see my smile. Dad couldn't let me be happy, even for a moment. "You know, for someone born in Paris, you'd think you understood the meaning of marriage," I said through clenched teeth.

"And one would think that you, knowing who you're speaking to, would be more respectful." He replied.

Darn it! He really is my father, isn't he? "Dad, please, don't do this. Don't force me to marry that man," I pleaded. Sure, you'd expect me to be defiant, but marriage? I might as well jump off a cliff. "I don't even know his name or what he looks like. Don't you want lovely grandchildren?"

"As I've told you before, you don't need to worry about those things. Just pick a date and show up at the wedding."

"But I—"

"Enough," he commanded. I despised how effortlessly authoritative he sounded. Would my future husband be the same? "I've wasted enough time. Call me back when you have something worthwhile to say." He ended the call.

At least he cut me off before I dwelled on my future husband's behavior.

I glanced out the window. I'd forgotten how beautiful this stubborn man's house was. Even from outside, the Rosecliff mansion exuded elegance. Mom must've been obsessed with princess movies at one point; that's the only explanation for the house being built like this. Two statues of demons with angelic wings flanked the gates. The fence gleamed with gold plating. I could barely make out the rose beds and the patio near the entrance, as well as the figure comfortably seated in one of the chairs. Could've been a rainy day.

Dad always tried to control every aspect of my life, even as a child. Choosing my school, my friends, my meals, and when I ate. With so many restrictions, it's no wonder I rebelled against his rules. Even his fence seemed like a tool for control, towering so high it looked like he kept prisoners in orange jumpsuits trapped inside every day.

Time flies; the last time I stared at my home like this was when I started college. Back then, I was excited to explore life's possibilities. Now? I was scared. Scared to live in this house again without Mom. Scared to embark on another chapter of my life without her. Her death at fifteen robbed her of seeing me live and now she wouldn't witness my marriage.

It was fun defying Dad before, but this time feels different. He's serious. According to Aunt Sofia, Joe Taylor was the closest thing Dad had to family since Uncle's death many years ago. Uncle Joe passed when I was three, so I don't know much about him beyond stories. Supposedly, he wanted to arrange a marriage between his seven-year-old son and Dad's daughter—me—to solidify our families' bond.

"Ughhh! This is ridiculous." I whispered.

"Excuse me, Miss." I was so lost in thought I didn't notice the security guard. I quickly rolled down the window. Had Dad changed his mind? Had my efforts paid off? "I'm sorry, but the Master said you can't stay here for more than a minute," he announced.

"Fine, I'll leave. Tell your master I'll be back next month, same time, same place!" I yelled, pulling out of the driveway without waiting for a response.

Despite my claims of resistance, I'd already given in mostly. Can you blame me? Dad never let me do anything on my own. I wasn't an independent woman; I was spoiled rotten. I sighed, hitting the brakes after leaving the driveway. I checked my purse; unsurprisingly, it was empty. What was I thinking renting the car? Where did it all go wrong?

I used to be a woman who indulged in life's luxuries, anything money could buy. The keyword being 'was'. Since the marriage proposal, I've been losing weight rapidly.

When I left home—more forced than chosen—I thought I'd finally have the chance to explore and be free. Initially, it was fun until he froze my accounts.

Dad won, huh? Well, mystery husband-to-be, you're in for a wild ride. Who says I can't explore through marriage? First, I need to settle unfinished business, then I'll return home. And who knows, maybe I'll agree. It depends on my mood.

I set the car in motion again, heading back to the city.

Your new life awaits, Isa...