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.

His constant boners and non-discreet glances were all the evidence I needed. I'm afraid of how much worse this could get. What will Damien do once I sign my name on those pretty white papers, giving my life away? How many different ways can he torture me? Would he be worse than Daddy?

"Make a wish, tesoro," Damien says, with a hint of command in his tone. "Birthday wishes always come true."

I roll my eyes, blowing the slightest breath.

Damien's face hardens like a sculpture as his jaw flexes. "Fine. I guess someone isn't in the party mood. I'll make the wish then." His intense blue eyes flutter closed and blow the smoke into my face. "For a happy, long marriage."

Damien sets the cupcake beside my right hip and dusts his extravagant suit. "Slegala."

(Untie her.)

A sense of relaxation surge through my body like a flying arrow as his men unlock the chains on my hands and legs. I still couldn't do much. Any movement irritates the raw, bloody skin on my wrists and legs. An older lady strolls in, adorned with kitchen attire and a platter full of delicious snacks. My stomach violently grumbles, desperate for a meal. Damien only ever feeds me plain brown rice. It's almost too good to be true.

Now, I'm being spoiled with cereal, oatmeal, pancakes, french toast bites, crepes, bacon, eggs, and one tall glass of orange juice. I'm like an animal, grabbing onto anything I can get and shoving it into my mouth. My eyes roll back in satisfaction. Food never tasted better. The crunchy bacon mix with the sweet flavor of maple syrup is heavenly.

I'm like Augustus Goose when he entered Willy Wonka's factory and ate everything. Anything. Syrup, milk, and globs of oatmeal sit on my cheek like decorations.

With no warning, Damien latches onto my fragile wrists, digging his nails into my damaged skin as he grinds his teeth. My chewing peters out, and my breaths go shallow as his beady irises burn into my weakened soul.

"Be careful, tesoro," he hisses, glancing at oatmeal-covered fingers. "I still expect you to fit a size two on our wedding day. You wouldn't want to disappoint me, right?" I fail to answer fast enough, so he grips my wrist tighter. "Right?"

I force the mouthful of dry pancakes down my throat. "Y-Yes."

"Good," he sports a closed-lipped smile as he drops my wrist. "You had enough for the day. Emilia, can you help prepare my fiance?"

"Of course, sir," Emilia replies, grabbing my arm and yanking me towards her as if I was a rag doll. "She will be a pretty little daisy with my help. I'll have her prepared by five o'clock."

Emilia doesn't stick around for Damien's response and drags me into the all-too-familiar household. She pushes the bathroom door open and starts running the bath, filling it with bubbles. I nearly stumble backward when I glance at myself in the mirror. I look like a flipping zombie; deep rings under my eyes, hollow cheeks, protruding collarbones. Deep lacertions around my neck and wrists from the handcuffs.

They're embled in my skin to always remind me of Damien, even when I grow old and gray.

This can't be healthy.

My eyes widen in terror when Emilia yanks down my skirt and stockings. My anxiety heightens, instantly clutching my leather skirt. I refuse to get naked in front of someone. Trust or no trust. Not again. I can't.

Not unless it's my own choice.

Emilia puts her hands up in defense. "It's okay, Isabela. You don't have to be afraid of me. All I want to do is help you get clean. That's it." My silence causes her green eyes to soften. "Pinky promise."

I'm breathing as if I ran a marathon. "O-Okay." I clear my throat. "Just let me do it. Please."

Emilia bobs her head, the friction causing the bun on her head to bounce. "Of course, dear. I'm just trying to help. A happy husband, a happy life. Try to remember that."

A heavy sigh rolls through me as I unhook the clip on my leather skirt and let the fabric form a pool by my feet. My graphic tee-shirt, adorned with a vintage print of cars, comes off next. My panties practically slip off without much help, and I unclip my bra clasp. I don't spare another glance in the mirror.

Emilia waits, seated by the bathtub, dipping her hand to check the temperature. "It's lukewarm. Perfect for a nice, relaxing bath. Go on, now. It's going to take a while to get all that rubbish off your hair."

I don't protest. If anything, I've been itching to shower since I've been kept in that room. Leg by leg, I plunge into the exhilarating, relieving water and close my irises. For a split second, I imagine I'm somewhere else-- anywhere but here. A hint of a smile sneaks on my lips until my eyes burst open from the water cascading down my back.

I'm being treated like a baby.

Emilia digs her fingers into my scalp, rubbing the shampoo until it drips into my eyes. I inch forward for a second before Emilia pulls me back and straightens my posture. She squeezes a glob of soap into my hands, and I use it to wipe down my intimate areas. It takes another twenty minutes for Emilia to condition and brushes my incredibly long hair.

The process isn't over yet. Emilia brings over a robe and sits me in a chair to blow dry my hair. My lips twitch in frustration with every tug on my hair. She nearly torches my scalp multiple times by getting too close with the blow dryer. My hands curl tighter around the armrest as she uses elastic bands to tie two petite pigtails on my head. My misery is finally over after Emilia removes the front strands to frame my face.

"Stand on the podium, dear." Emilia points at the podium, facing the full-sized mirror. "I'm going to go fetch your birthday gown."

Birthday gown? A sheepish laugh sneaks out of my lips. I shouldn't be surprised. Of course, Damien would arrange an extravagant party for his fiance's eighteen birthday. Nothing better than a pedophile being praised for keeping it in his pants all these years. I am the trophy, after all-- just a pretty, shiny toy.

Damien would make me the star of the party.

Something for all his fudge-up mob friends to grow envious over.

When you can obtain everything in the world with a snap of a finger, you go for something impossible to take-- a girl's virginity. It's disgusting and downright inhumane. I'm being treated as a piece of meat, all because I obtain something he desires.

Emilia hands me a matching light pink garment set to put on. At least Damien isn't forcing me to wear a thong. I seriously cannot stand them. It's impossible to walk without the thong getting wedged between my butt cheeks. Once I cover my private parts, Emilia kneels down to provide access to put my legs in the dress.

The champagne-colored chiffon dress tampers around my body like an oversized sweater. It's a size two, but the lack of nutrients I've been receiving might as well make it a size four. Somehow, Emilia used her magic powers to tailor it to fit my body like a glove. The only problem was the sleeves, which kept falling every time I moved my arms.

She exits the room for a split second before bursting through with a pink ribbon-like choker and matching ribbon cuffs for my wrists.

"Almost forgot," she laughs, making sure to cover the scar tissue left from the handcuffs. "Scars taint our worth and you're too beautiful to have these."

My constant resistance almost causes Emilia to stab my eye with the pen liner. She squeezes my jaw to hold it still as she works on my eye makeup. I cough like I have bronchitis from all the powder she lathers on my face. By the time she's done, I'm unrecognizable.

The childish hairdo, the innocent, conservative princess gown, and the youthful makeup look. He's molding me into his definition of perfection, and I'm given another reason to be concerned about this marriage. Damien doesn't have a type. His type is anything with a living pulse. I remember how he would ogle at Mika when she walked in, and that girl doesn't know the word discreet if it could bite her in the tush.

I guess it all comes down to the image.

It's okay to sleep with whores, but never to marry one. The big, bad, dangerous Damien Moltisanti could never enter holy matrimony with a whore. No, he has to have the purest out of all, and sadly, I fit the bill.

My shoulder jerks in fear when a knock breaks through the silence to reveal Damien leaning on the door frame, his starving eyes lingering slowly from top to bottom. Vomit threatens to come out. My heart thumps in my ears as Damien strides forward, clenching my shoulders. I hold my breath as I feel his grimy, wet lips trail from my shoulder to my neck. It's repulsive. I desperately want to take another shower.

His hot breath raises the goosebumps on my skin. "I've never felt more attractive to you, tesoro." Damien's arm coils around my waist. "Our wedding night will be a night to remember. I can't wait to finally have my way with you."

"Oh."

"The party is still being set up as we speak, and lucky for you, you caught me on a good day," Damien mumbles into my skin. "What about you go shopping for your birthday gift? How does that sound?"

Instantly, I split from his hold and overload, with a ripple of excitement coursing through my veins. "I-I would love that."

Just like that, a glimmer of hope flashes in front of my eyes. This is my opportunity to disappear off the face of the earth. This might be my last chance before I'm bound to his shackles by marriage. Maybe the world isn't so cruel after all. Damien drags his fingers down my forearm, causing my skin to shiver beneath him.

"Rocco." Damien's voice is enriched with deep, dark amusement. A man shorter than Damien, but ampler in scope stands behind him like a ghost. Rocco's features run deep with grooves and wrinkles designed from his lifestyle as Damien's personal lapdog. "Meet your bodyguard. I'm sure you still remember Rocco."

My hope deflates like a helium balloon. "How could I forget?" I mutter under my breath, seizing Damien's wrist and pulling him into the corner. "Is a bodyguard really necessary? I'm not fifteen anymore."

The amusement flickers in Damien's dark irises as they linger on my fingers, gripping his cuffs so tightly. "Did you really think I let you out alone? You lost that privilege when you ran away with Mika. Either you go with Rocco or wait for your birthday celebration."

I deeply heave through my nose and purse my lips. "Fine. Can I have your card?"

His half-shaved eyebrow arches. "The magic word."

Through gritted teeth, I reply with a low, distasteful, "Please."

A full-brown disturbing smile crawls across his face as he hands over his black business card. "To think in a few weeks, I'm going to have you begging me to fuck you repeatedly. Lucky for me, desperation looks nice on you. Abbi cura di lei, Rocco."

(Take care of her, Rocco.)

Over my dead flipping body. I rather stab my eyes with needles than lower myself to please a psychotic man. Rocco follows me with an indivisible leash, never leaving more than three footsteps between us. I beat him to the Mazzanti, slamming the door behind me as he beelines for the driver's seat.

As the car zips through the streets like a rodent trying to avoid being captured, I roll the window down for fresh air that's been long overdue. The wind engulfs my entire body like a tornado as I close my eyes long enough for Rocco to park the Mazzanti in front of the Centro Commerciale Centro Sicilia.

The second I step into the mall, I'm being pushed around by children and their parents running after them. It's chaotic for a split second, but I flash a sweet smile at the wild, cheerful kids. The children run around like animals in the children's section while others dig their hands into the water fountain. Children always love to scour for gold in terms of pennies.

I wonder if I ever had the chance to be that carefree as a child. To roam through life, thinking I could conquer the world.

My heart explodes with pure joy when a little baby boy stumbles over to me and raises his petite hand for a high-five. His blond, shaggy hair hovers over his eyes, which are sculpted by the thickest set of eyelashes I've ever seen. To think a baby would be the thing to turn my day right around. As I squat down to give the child a high-five, I'm star-struck by the play of the events.

In the blink of an eye, the toddler falls backward from a brutal shove by none other than Rocco. My heart sinks to the bottom of my stomach as the baby bangs his head against the mall's floors. Instantly, his eyes crinkle as tears flow down his red, snotty nose.

"What the heck!" I exasperated, sinking to the floor to help the sobbing child. "He's just a baby. There was no need to shove him. He wouldn't have hurt me."

He scoffs. "You think I care?" Rocco violently grips my forearm and pulls me away while I'm kicking and screaming. "You better stop calling attention to us before I give you a reason to scream."

However, I disregard his warning. My screaming and squirming intensifies, alerting the attention of everyone in the perimeter. To say I wasn't embarrassed is an understatement, but if embarrassing myself in front of a few strangers will get me to safety, then it's worth it. Rocco slams his palm over my lips to mute my pleas for help, but I won't stand down.

I bite the middle of his palm until the taste of metallic hits my tongue. Rocco roars a curse in Italian before grabbing my ponytail and yanking me to the ground. My body slams to the floor with a -thud- and I swallow a sob from the impact my elbow has on the rim of the fountain.

"Cosa sta succendo qui?" The blond toddler's mother interrupts as she cradles the baby in her arms, kneeling down beside me. Two mall security guards stand on either side of her, glaring at Rocco. "Conosci quest'uomo? Lui e qualcosa per te?"

(What's going on here? Do you know this man? Is he something to you?)

My breathing runs rampant as I try to decipher her words in English before translating them into Spanish. While I'm no rosetta stone, Italian tends to correlate with my native language. Rocco's brown irises convey a sense of anger that only Damien can match. His jaw flexes, and his fists clench by his hips.

"Por favor, ayudame. Me va a matar," I plea, my lips trembling in response. "Si me sueltas, me matara."

(Please help me. He's going to kill me. If you let me go with him, he will kill me.)

My heart-wrenching plea was enough to have the entire mall of bystanders scream in protest until Rocco was kicked out. While I wanted to celebrate along with everyone else, I had to leave this shopping center before Rocco arrived back with reinforcements. My heart kicks into overdrive as I scope through the mall for an exit that will set me free— forever this time.

Hey guys, I'm finally back!! Hope you enjoyed this first chapter, getting to learn more about our baby Isabela and sadly Damien 😤...

What do you guys think so far about Isabela? Are you happy she ran away again or do you think it was dumb?

How do you think our Male Lead will join this 🤔🙈?! Hope you're excited for the next chapter because I can't wait to upload it for you guys!!

I love you!!!💜❤️💜❤️💜

And can't wait to read all your comments!!

Thank you for 1K guys💜💜