The Fleeing Princess

“Papa, don’t be angry,” Elena’s voice floated across the dining hall, soft as honey. “Isabella didn’t mean it. She just woke up on the wrong side of the bed, that’s all.”

Her smile was angelic, her tone dripping with sympathy. But I’d known her long enough to hear the venom beneath it.

When she first returned to the family—our long-lost, tragic dove—I pitied her. I was stupid enough to hand her my favorite teddy bear, thinking it might comfort her. I didn’t know then that this fragile little bird would one day sink her claws into everything I loved.

It began with small things.

She sent anonymous threatening messages to my teachers, making it seem like I had cheated.

She hid my carefully prepared audition tape and claimed I’d simply misplaced it.

She spread rumors online that I had stolen a friend’s scholarship, turning everyone against me.

Once, she even faked a sprained ankle and insisted I had pushed her during gym class.And every time—every single time—my parents believed her.

My protests became “excuses.” My anger, “jealousy.” My entire childhood was slowly rewritten as if I were the villain in her perfect tragedy.

And now, she was at it again, painting herself as the saint.

Papa’s fist slammed onto the table. His voice cracked like a whip.

“You ruin breakfast with your temper, Isabella! Why can’t you be more like your sister? Gentle. Obedient.”

The words sliced deeper than I expected, though I should have been used to it by now.

Elena leaned closer to Mama, eyes glittering with satisfaction. From behind their wall of love and concern, she looked back at me with a flicker of triumph.

I almost laughed. Once, I would have cried, begging them to listen. But not anymore.

“You want to see temper?” My lips curved, sharp as broken glass. “This is temper.”

I seized the silk-draped tablecloth and yanked.

Crystal shattered. Plates crashed. Scarlet wine bled across the marble floor.

The room froze.

Papa’s roar shook the chandeliers. “Get out, Isabella! You’re nothing but a disgrace—”

I laughed in his face, high heels snapping like gunshots against the marble as I walked away.

Let them choke on their perfect picture of family. I was done.

At least, I thought I was.

I hadn’t made it past the courtyard when a hand clamped over my mouth. A sharp sting flooded my nose, my body buckling as the world tilted black.

When I came to, my bones ached with cold. I was sprawled on the frozen concrete floor of the estate’s industrial walk-in freezer.

From above came the muffled voice of one of Adrian’s men.

“Orders from Mr. Moretti. Teach her a lesson. Make sure she remembers not to lay a finger on the elder daughter again.”

The door slammed shut. The lock clicked.

Ice spread through my chest. For Elena’s little “accident”—barely a mark on her wrist—Adrian had sentenced me to this?

I hammered the door with my fists. “Let me out!” My voice cracked, then broke. Silence answered. Only the endless hum of the freezer.

Darkness. Cold. The kind that seeps into your bones, into your soul.

I curled into the corner, shaking so hard my teeth ached. But inside, I was colder than the air around me.

Before my phone died, one last message slid across the screen. From Elena.

A photo.

Adrian. My Adrian. Carefully wrapping a bandage around her unmarked skin, his face softened into tenderness I’d never seen. His hand lingered, stroking her as if she were glass.

The same man who once slipped his coat over my shoulders when I confessed I hated the cold. I thought that moment was ours. Mine.

But it was nothing. An illusion. His tenderness was never for me.

I laughed, raw and broken, as tears cut down my face, stinging in the cold.

By the time the lock finally clicked and the freezer door swung open, my vision had blurred.

A tall figure filled the doorway, dark and commanding. Adrian.

Before I could move, he lifted me into his arms.

“Put me down!” My voice was hoarse, but I thrashed against him anyway.

His grip only tightened, his breath hot against my temple.

“It’s over,” he murmured, voice low and dangerous. “I’m here now.”

The lie burned colder than the ice.