Chapter 12
383words
I would make one final attempt to break the gilded cage that had imprisoned me my entire life.
At the Ashford family dinner, the Victorian table stretched endlessly, silver candlesticks gleaming beneath the blazing crystal chandelier.
I addressed my father at the head of the table, my voice steady:
"I won't marry Dominic. I won't be used to secure an alliance with Grey Pack."
The words had barely left my lips when Father slammed his wine glass down.
"Isabelle! Do you have any idea what you're saying?!"
His fury was palpable. His gaze could have cut diamond.
My siblings fell silent around the table, watching the drama unfold.
Their eyes held a mixture of schadenfreude, sympathy, and most prominently—pity.
The air turned to ice.
Finally, my eldest sister attempted to mediate. "Father, please calm yourself. Isabelle is young. She doesn't understand these matters yet."
My second sister jumped in. "Exactly. If Dominic isn't suitable, there are other options. Many worthy Alphas would be honored by the connection."
Mother observed coolly before speaking with practiced diplomacy. "Isabelle, don't provoke your father unnecessarily. We'll restore your accounts soon. Perhaps a shopping trip to Bond Street would improve your mood."
She dismissed my rebellion as a childish fit.
But I pressed on, my voice quiet but firm. "I love Sebastian. I want to be with him."
The words had barely left my mouth—
"Isabelle Ashford!"
Father surged to his feet, face contorted with rage.
"You've grown far too insolent. It seems you've forgotten the consequences of defying this family!"
"Take her to the confinement room!"
The butler signaled, and servants moved to restrain me.
My second sister leapt up. "Father, stop this!"
She placed herself between us.
Mother rose. "Enough! Have you lost your mind?!"
The dining room erupted into chaos. Crystal shattered. Silver clattered.
In the end, I was still dragged to the manor's confinement room—
A windowless cell with nothing but a narrow bed.
My sisters smuggled themselves in later, tending to my bruised wrists.
The servants' rough handling had left ugly marks.
My eldest sister whispered urgently, "Isabelle, don't provoke him again. Father's always been tyrannical. We understand your pain."
Fighting tears, I embraced her, forcing a smile. "I know. I'll be more careful."
