Runaway Heiress, Reluctant bride

Several men awaited my arrival via a chartered plane. I could say that my life had been luxurious, thanks to my father’s wealth. As the heiress to his vast fortune, he spared no expense in ensuring my safety. His overprotectiveness often annoyed me, but then again, I only had to think back to before he became Sebastian Cruz. Life wasn’t always like this. We had once been poor, struggling to make ends meet, and he did everything in his power to turn things around. As his only daughter, it was only right to love him unconditionally, no matter how overbearing his love might feel sometimes.

“Darling, how was your trip?” he asked eagerly, a wide smile on his face.

I waited for the familiar embrace, the one he always gave me when I returned from a business trip. But instead, I smiled at the man who had raised me alone, giving everything he had. He had nothing when my mother left him for a wealthier man. To this day, I hoped I’d never see her again. I despised her for abandoning me, for abandoning him.

“Excellent, papa,” I replied, giving a promise that I would share all the details soon enough.

As the articles often stated, Sebastian Cruz was a renowned business tycoon—his name synonymous with power and success in the construction industry. While the Valera’s were known for their dominance in the hospitality sector, the Cruz family had made its mark in the building world.

“You’re even more beautiful than the last time I saw you!” Sebastian Cruz exclaimed, walking beside me, his admiration obvious.

I could tell he was proud of my achievements—how could he not be? After all, I had worked tirelessly to meet his high expectations. I should have been proud of myself too. “I have a feeling there’s something you’ve been meaning to tell me since I stepped off the plane,” I said, watching his face carefully.

He shook his head, denying it, but I could tell something was troubling him. His stiff posture, the way his brow furrowed—it was all too clear.

“We’ll talk about it later, Isabella,” he said, but the way he said my name caused a jolt of concern. Usually, he called me by my nickname, which I hated, but Isabella ? That felt too formal, too distant.

“Alright, if you say so,” I replied, willing to let him speak when he was ready. He looked like he was already carrying a heavy burden, so I didn’t want to press him further.

We climbed into the convoy of black cars, which sped toward the private road leading to our estate— The Belleview. It wasn’t just a house; it was a castle, complete with five towering spires that stretched into the sky, surrounded by thick walls made of golden stone. The asymmetrical windows and spiked crenellations weren’t just for defense—they were there for aesthetic purposes. My father had always fancied himself a king, and the Belleview was his crown.

The castle was heavily guarded, but even so, there were hidden entrances known only to those who had lived here long enough to discover them. The iron gates loomed tall as we drove through them, passing a line of regal statues of kings who served as my father’s inspiration—proof that with hard work, determination, and persistence, anyone could achieve greatness.

The Belleview had been my home since I was ten. Before that, we had lived in a slum, scraping by. I was young then, but I still remember how hard my father worked to put food on the table. He started as a laborer, worked as a construction helper, and eventually became a mason. After years of toiling away in the field, he learned the real money was in construction.

In a desperate bid to turn our fortunes around, he gambled on a lottery ticket—and he won. The jackpot was a turning point. With the money, he invested wisely, and soon enough, he was building an empire. The rest, as they say, was history.