The Woman withitn Me

Many believe that being the heiress to a millionaire family is synonymous with happiness. In their minds, they conjure up a fantastical existence for us, one which, in my case, is far removed from reality. Despite being the sole heiress to one of the most influential families in my country, and not just inheriting from my parents but also from my billionaire, mafioso, and feared grandfather, Santiago Sardino, I am, for as long as I can recall, the most wretched person imaginable.

In the various novels I've perused, it's invariably the affluent youths who are portrayed as petulant, arrogant, and living life with reckless abandon. They defy their parents without a hint of trepidation. I can assure you, this is not my reality. On the contrary, I am the antithesis of such characters; my mother made certain of it. Hence, I find myself ensnared in this abject existence they have foisted upon me.

It has been over six months since I began enduring the farce of an arranged marriage. Thus far, I have no complaints; my nominal husband, Luis, scarcely stays at home. I am wholly immersed in my studies. After leaving my school each day, I visit my grandparents. At the very least, I have escaped the oppressive presence of my intolerable mother. In my own peculiar way, I feel content; I am free. All that is required of me is to withstand this pretence for the necessary duration, and then I shall be wholly liberated.

I intend to travel, to immerse myself in studies that genuinely captivate me, far removed from everyone else's expectations. For when this masquerade concludes, a portion of my inheritance will be bestowed upon me, enabling me to do as I please-or so my father has promised.

Even though my father and I aren't close – indeed, he barely speaks to me in my mother's presence – I believe he loves me. Often, he gazes at me, lost in his thoughts, and I discern a profound sadness in his eyes, especially when my mother is nearby, chastising me over trifles. It's as if she fears him, hence he refrains from showing any affection or interest towards me. At least he does not mistreat me and is quite kind when we are alone.

Today, I lingered longer than usual in the library, engrossed in a project assigned by the school. I am eager to achieve high marks in the hope that it will please my father. Moreover, should I succeed, there will be no need to study over the weekend, and I can spend that time fishing with my grandparents.

I return to my house; it's past nine at night. To my surprise, as I park the car, I notice all the lights are ablaze. Upon entering, I am greeted by the sight of Luis in the company of a blonde woman.

"Good evening," I say, not particularly pleased by the scene before me, yet I hold my tongue, waiting to see what unfolds.

"You've finally arrived, Bella!" Luis rises and comes over as soon as he spots me. "Come, let me introduce you to Vivian, the love of my life."

I can hardly believe it! It is one thing to keep a mistress outside our home and quite another to bring her within. Nonetheless, given our sham marriage, I take a deep breath and muster a semblance of a smile as she approaches. The blonde regards me with a smirk and extends her hand in greeting.

"Hello, Isabella," she says in a grating falsetto. She continues with a triumphant air that baffles me until she concludes her announcement, and I realise the cause of her smugness. "I hope we'll become very good friends, now that we're going to be living together."

"What?!" I exclaimed, truly astonished. I turned to Luis who was smiling contentedly as if all our problems had been resolved, and that incensed me.

"Yeah, Bella," he said with a cynical grin, draping an arm around Vivian's shoulders. "I can't justify paying rent when we have this large house at our disposal. You will continue to reside on the first floor; we shall take the second."

"Luis, that wasn't part of the agreement!" I protested vehemently, finding the situation intolerable.

"Isabella, don't provoke me," he barked, advancing towards me with a threatening air, yet I stood my ground. "If I say we are going to live together, then that's exactly what will happen!"

"I cannot accept this. I have nothing against your affair, but your mistress is not going to reside here with us! She simply isn't!" I asserted resolutely.

"Bella, you are really trying my patience!" Luis bellowed, his face inches from mine, flushed with rage as though he intended to intimidate me. "If you utter another word, I swear I'll make you regret it!"

"Don't assume I'm frightened of you, Luis. If you lay a finger on me, our arrangement is over!" I retorted with equal force.

For a moment, he regarded me as if he couldn't fathom that the usually docile Isabella was defying him.

"Are you threatening me, Isabella?" Luis demanded, resuming his menacing stance.

"Honey, don't be like that," the blonde interjected with a contrived tone. "She's clearly taken aback by the news. I did tell you that you should have spoken to her first." I glared at her, seething with anger.

"Vivian, stay out of this and go to our room while I finish speaking with Isabella," Luis instructed.

"She's not going to stay here, Luis. I'll call my parents if she does!" I declared, resolute in my intention to call my father, who had advised me to do so at the first sign of trouble. I refused to be made an even greater laughing stock than I already was. Despite our best efforts to conceal it, everyone was aware of his infidelities; thus far, we had maintained a facade.

"Vivian, just go and let me resolve this issue with my wife!" Luis commanded, his back turned to me and his hands planted firmly on his hips. Vivian cast another scornful, almost pitying glance my way. She planted a kiss on Luis's lips and sauntered towards the stairs, calling back to him.

"It's fine, darling. Don't be long," she said before turning to me with a parting shot. "Good night, Isabella. You'd better not defy him, or you'll regret it."

I cannot fathom her audacity; she departs from him with a gleam of triumph in her eyes. I am fixated on her ascent up the stairs to the second floor, feeling utterly powerless. I am about to rummage through my bag for the phone to call Dad when, suddenly, Luis whirls around with alarming speed and strikes me with a forceful slap, sending me crashing to the ground.

"Let this be the first and last time you ever make me feel such embarrassment in front of my girlfriend!" he snarls, seizing my hair and forcing my head down against the carpet. "In this house, you abide by my rules!"

"Release me, you villain! Let go!" I scream, desperately trying to break free from his iron grip, but to no avail.

"You should take a good look at yourself in the mirror!" he bellows, pinning me down with his weight, relentlessly pulling at my hair, and banging my head against the floor. "No man would spare a second glance at a woman like you! The only thing that might draw their attention is your parents' wealth!"

"You are going to rue this day, Luis; I swear you will regret it for all your days!" I vow to him, continuing to wriggle and fight in an effort to slip from his clutches.

"Don't threaten me anymore, Isabella!" he barked. "You must do everything I say, exactly when I say it. So, stay out of sight! Vivian and I will live here; you'll only appear for official functions. Understood?" His voice hardened. "Or I shall have to make things painfully clear to you once more, Isabella."

He yanked at my hair, forcing me to stand, then shoved me against the wall. My head struck the plaster with a violent thud as he clamped down on my face with his fingers, squeezing with a force that inflicted pain. I met his gaze with fury, tears beginning to stream not from fear but from utter helplessness.

"Bella, you're not a woman; you're hideous," he sneered. "You have abysmal taste in clothes. You're repulsive. Your body is pathetic. It's an embarrassment having to be seen arm-in-arm with you, introducing you as my wife." He spat out these venomous words with unbridled rage. "Do you even understand why I married you?"

He then released me abruptly, causing me to topple face-first onto the floor, my knees smarting from the impact. As he walked away, leaving me sprawled in agony, he began ascending the stairs before pausing to turn and address me.

"I hope that served as a sufficient lesson, Isabella. I would be loath to have to repeat it," he said coolly. "So do try to behave, and we can continue as before, leading our separate lives."

I was in a state of disbelief over what had just transpired. Luis had struck me!

Never in my life had I been hit like that. Sure, there were the occasional slaps from Mum when she lost her temper and Dad wasn't around, but those were nothing compared to what had just occurred.

Until this moment, our relationship had been at least outwardly cordial. I knew since childhood that he could be a bully-I had endured his abuse during our holidays. But to be humiliated and struck by him in such a manner was something I had not anticipated.

This was utterly unacceptable, and I refused to tolerate it! Absolutely not! I made a vow then and there-never would I accept such treatment from any man! Never!

I remain in a state of shock from the recent events, watching Luis ascend the stairs with a triumphant air. He glances back at me once or twice, a smug smile playing on his lips, as if certain I will adhere strictly to his commands. But he is gravely mistaken; I refuse to endure any more from this relationship. I tolerated it only because it didn't clash with my ambitions, but that ends now.

The naive Isabella, who complied with everyone's demands, has ceased to exist at this moment. I should never have consented to marry such a heartless man. I'm sorry, Dad, I truly wanted to assist you, but I will not allow myself to become a victim of abuse. The years of maltreatment at my mother's hands are over. Today marks the end of the line. I am Isabella Sardino, heir not only to my father but also to my formidable grandfather. So, if you wish to disinherit me, so be it. Right now, nothing else matters.

Rising to my feet, I snatch up my bag and dash out. I jump into the car and drive off, tears streaming down my face as I speed away. It isn't until I'm abruptly halted by a red light at an intersection that I'm jolted back to reality by the blare of a car horn. I start the car again, cross the street, and come to a stop, overwhelmed by fear. The thought of returning home is unbearable. Nor can I seek refuge at my grandparents' house; if my grandfather were to see me in this state, he might well take lethal action against Luis.

I can't have him embroiled in this mess because of me. And if I were to call Dad, he would come, and God knows what he'd do to them both. That's not what I want either. Perhaps Mum would insist I stay with Luis, indifferent to his violence; she seems capable of such coldness. It's best if no one knows for now. But what should I do next? Where can I go looking like this?

I peer into the mirror to see if I can conceal the marks and make my way to my grandparents' house. It's night; I'll head straight to bed and then, at the crack of dawn, I can slip away unnoticed after I've taken some money from the vase in the kitchen where my grandmother stashes it. With that, I should be able to rent a room for a week. This is the final indignity.

Here I am, supposedly a millionaire, and yet I don't even possess the funds to rent a room. Luis controls all my bank cards; my mother handed them over to him on our wedding day. I held my tongue at the time because I had no need for them; my grandfather would always provide me with enough money for my daily needs. And now, I find myself without a penny to my name.

My hopes are quickly extinguished upon realising the slap from Luis has left a significant mark on my face, his fingerprints etched into my skin. I'm utterly alone, with no friends to turn to. A throbbing pain emanates from the back of my head where several tender lumps have formed. Tears begin to stream down my face as I succumb to a sense of utter desolation, feeling like the most miserable woman in the world.

Leaning my head against the tiller, I weep until a sudden memory strikes me, as though divinely inspired. I recall the flat in the city centre that my grandfather bestowed upon me many years ago. It was a birthday gift when I turned sixteen. The memory is vivid now; he clandestinely whisked me away from home, shrouded in secrecy, and presented it to me. He made it clear that its existence was known only to us.

The joy that floods through me is immense. Rummaging through my wallet, I locate the address and on my keyring, the key that unlocks it. I quickly search for the address on my phone, which promptly maps out the route for me. It's not too far away. I drive my car to the location, and upon arrival, I'm asked to show my ID at the entrance because the doorman is new and doesn't recognise me. I doubt the previous doorman would have recognised me either; after that initial visit with my grandfather, I never returned - my mother never permitted me to venture out alone.

The doorman casts glances my way intermittently. I've let my hair down in an attempt to conceal my bruised and battered face. Eventually, he grants me entry.

"Sorry for the delay, Miss Sardino," he apologises, leaning forward to return my ID-and, I suspect, to get a better look at me. "It's routine. Since you're not a regular visitor, I didn't recognise you, but your grandfather, he's here quite often. How are he and his wife?"

"They are fine, thank you very much," I reply, keeping my head down so that my hair veils my face. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to go inside."

"Oh yes, of course! My apologies!" He hastily moves to lift the barrier that controls entry.

"Good night, and thank you," I say.

With that, I start the car, making every effort to ensure the man doesn't see my injuries. He continues to observe me attentively; it's apparent he senses something is amiss. I pray he doesn't discern the extent of my injuries or mention anything to Grandpa. The last thing I want is to cause him any trouble.

I should never have married Luis. How could I have been so naïve as to believe he had changed his violent ways and that he would treat me kindly if I simply allowed him his will? Oh, Isabella, you really should have foreseen something like this.

"Good evening. If you need my help, just call," he calls out as I drive away. "Remember, your parking space is the second one on the left!"

I navigate the car park slowly until I find my space. Gathering my belongings, I head towards the building, gripped by the fear that the keys might not work. With the keys in hand, I approach the door. It's been so long since Grandpa gave them to me; I'm uncertain if they'll still fit. A sigh of relief escapes me as they unlock the front door. I take the lift to the fifth floor.

Finally, I stand before the door that matches my card number. The door opens with a turn of the key, but I refrain from switching on the light. In the darkness, I collapse onto the sofa in the living room and succumb to tears. Why must these things happen to me? I should have heeded Grandpa's advice and fled with him on my wedding day! How could I have allowed my parents to marry me off to that heartless Luis? With my eyes closed, memories begin to flicker through my mind as if projected on a cinema screen.

Retrospective.

A year before...

I walk, trying to remain inconspicuous, aware that my mother is likely feeling embarrassed by my appearance. She never ceases to express it, casting glances my way as if she harbours some violent thought, while my father offers no words, only reproachful looks. I lower my head, feeling the scrutinising eyes of those around us. Eventually, we arrive at the table they have reserved, which is set with elegance.

"Isabella, come and sit here!" commands my mother sharply, rolling her eyes and shaking her head with a look of disgust on her heavily made-up face.

"Sit up straight! Why did you have to wear those clothes? You don't look nineteen at all! I fail to understand how you became so reclusive; you bear no resemblance to me. You should have worn the dress I bought for you!"

"I'm sorry I didn't wear it, Mum," I respond in a hushed tone, attempting to prevent the other patrons from overhearing. "The dress you chose was too short."

"That's exactly the one you should have worn! Not those dated garments your grandmother favours. What well-bred girl dresses as you do? You bring shame upon us!"

She raises her voice in a vain attempt to mask her irritation. The people closest to us cast glances first at her, then at me. I try to shrink into myself, wishing to become invisible. Settling into my chair, I slip on my headphones, desperate to block out her voice, which is an impossible task given the volume she uses to chastise me.

"I don't know how I ended up with a daughter like you. You haven't a clue about dressing well, nor how to present yourself. And look at your hair! Couldn't you have styled it any better? Didn't you bother with makeup? I should have ensured you prepared adequately. What a disgrace, what a complete disgrace!"

"Eva, there's nothing to be done now. There's no point in getting worked up! Please, calm down; our guests will be here shortly," my father interjects, casting a sidelong glance in my direction.

That morning, my mother had burst into my room with a bag and flung it onto the bed, announcing,

"Isabella, we're dining with some of your father's colleagues tonight. Wear these clothes; I won't have you embarrassing us in that convent attire you favour!"

"But Mum, can't I just stay at home?" I pleaded, trying to avoid the event. "I've got crucial exams tomorrow!" I detested those gatherings.

"No, Isabella, they are potential investors in your father's business, and your presence is required! It's imperative that you make a good impression, so no more protests. You're going, and that's final," she declared in a tone that left no room for further discussion.

"Fine, Mum," I conceded, picking up the bag from the bed with a sense of resignation.

She regarded me with a satisfied look and departed. I opened the bag with trepidation to discover an extremely short dress that barely extended beyond my hips. Trying it on, I found it beautiful, albeit revealing; my chest nearly spilled from its plunging neckline.

I could never wear something so revealing! What on earth was Mum thinking, buying me attire more suited to a lady of the night? No, I definitely won't wear it, even at the risk of her wrath!

After my mother left, I assessed my reflection in the dress she had chosen for me and felt a wave of discomfort. Rummaging through my wardrobe, I found a pale pink skirt set that my grandmother had gifted me for my birthday. Trying it on, it fit perfectly! More importantly, I felt at ease wearing it, free from the concern of enduring inappropriate stares at dinner.

Clad in my chosen outfit, I remained in my room until I heard the car horn and my name being called. I dashed out and hurriedly took my seat in the car. It was too late for them to insist on another change of clothes. Throughout the journey, my mother chided me about my attire. I donned my headphones and escaped into my favourite music, gazing out at the beautiful scenery we passed.

When we arrived at the venue, it was decidedly elegant and bustling with people. As per usual, I followed my parents with a sense of awkwardness. Directed by my mother, I took my seat, donned my headphones, and began to fidget with my napkin whilst half-listening to their conversation.

After my father persuaded my mother to cease her tirade against me, I silently conveyed my gratitude with a look. They engaged in conversation with one another and, as was typical, seemed to forget my presence. Occasionally, they would turn to me to pose a question which I couldn't hear, and I would simply nod in response, smiling timidly.

"Are you sure, Isabella?" my father asked earnestly. Uncertain of the question, I noticed my mother nodding and mimicked her action.

"Are you sure?" he repeated. Not wanting to admit that I hadn't been following the conversation, I refrained from asking for clarification and replied with feigned confidence.

"Yes."

Little did I know that this uninformed affirmation would ensnare me in a nightmare from which there was no escape.

My father, Santiago Sardino, owns a boat-building business passed down from my grandfather, who also bore the same name. Like me, he was his father's sole son and, until recently, the only heir. Now, I am the sole beneficiary of both estates because my father called upon his inheritance while my grandfather was still alive, and it was duly granted to him.

My mother is Eva Giménez; she served as his secretary in their youth. The details of their story remain obscure to me, as neither speaks of it. It's as if the subject is taboo, so I have ceased to inquire.

According to my mother, I was an unintended result of a drunken mistake; a child not planned by my father. This is a point he has reiterated throughout my life with wearying frequency.

It seems as though he resents my very existence, and I have come to realise that he doesn't hold any affection for me. Nor does he permit my father to show any. I've noticed that whenever my father displays kindness towards me, she invariably finds some pretext to punish me severely. Perhaps that is why my father refrains from treating me well in her presence.

Consequently, I was raised by nannies and spent much of my childhood at my paternal grandparents' home, until the day came for me to be sent to a convent school. To their friends, I am merely a token, paraded out to cultivate the illusion of a warm, loving family.

On that particular day, I understood that my role was to remain largely silent; I was to offer brief responses when addressed and nothing more. Even if the topic was familiar to me, intervention was not an option.

At the age of ten, I was dispatched to a convent boarding school, where I remained until I turned fifteen. Consequently, I have no friends and am quite shy. My favoured pastimes are reading, music, and dancing - but only in solitude. Currently, I am in my second year of a shipping company administration course, a path chosen by my father. It's well understood that my opinion on the matter is of little consequence.

I observe as my parents rise to their feet, their smiles broad, and I follow suit. Turning my head, I notice a couple approaching with a child slightly older than myself, strikingly attractive, with a hint of familiarity about them. They arrive and exchange embraces; I stand by, awaiting my turn.

"Is this your daughter, Eva?" the lady inquires with feigned astonishment. "So beautiful! How old is she?"

"Emilia, this is my daughter, Isabella. She's just turned twenty," responds my mother, bestowing upon me a smile brimming with ostensible affection as if it were genuine. She has never regarded me thus when we are alone! It's astonishing how convincingly she can feign; all my life I've harboured the feeling that she has never truly loved me. And it was not so long ago that she berated me, branding me her disgrace, yet now she presents me as her prized treasure.

"Oh, she looks younger!"

The lady exclaims, looking at me. I can't shake the feeling that I know her, yet I can't recall anything about her. I smile at her, trying to be charming and hoping to draw attention away from my attire.

I catch the way my mother is looking at me. 'I told you!' her eyes seem to say. 'You should have worn the other dress!' I offer a sheepish smile as I rise to greet them.

"It's nice to meet you," I say as he extends his hand to me.

"Nice, indeed, but don't be shy," she replies. At that moment, she turns to her son who has been lingering behind her with a look of annoyance, which instantly transforms into one of remarkable joy upon introduction. 'Not even the best actor could have done better,' I muse.

"I don't know if you remember Luisito, my son," she says as she takes my hand and kisses me on each cheek. Then she steps aside and there I am, standing before her son, who suddenly triggers a memory. He's the bully who tormented me so much when we were children! His smile strikes me as sly, as if I am prey he is ready to devour.

"Don't you remember that we used to spend our holidays together?" his mother inquires.

"I..." The words choke in my throat. "I... I..." I stutter, bewildered by their presence. "What are they doing here?"

"Don't pretend you don't remember Luisito, darling," says my mother in that insincere tone of hers. I look at her, but remain silent. Isabella hasn't stopped talking about him all these years.

That? Why would my mother fabricate such a tale? I hadn't spared a thought for him until today because I detest him!

"Isabella," my father interjects, "a moment ago you seemed to acknowledge remembering him."

I turn to my father, confusion etched across my face. Did I inadvertently agree to that? Of course, I remember Luis! He was the odious boy, always making me weep, coercing me into actions I abhorred! I've loathed him all my life; he would shadow me and strike when we were unobserved. Then he had the gall to ensure I was blamed for his misdeeds. How could I possibly forget? Indeed, I believe it was because of him that my mother expelled me from our home and consigned me to that convent school.

"Hi, gorgeous," comes a voice.

He greets me by leaning in and kissing me on each cheek. I blush at his audacity and recoil as if from the plague. I detest it! The feeling is still there! I had completely forgotten about him, but now that he stands before me, all the resentment I harbour surges forth.

"Hello," I reply, almost in a whisper, distancing myself as much as possible from him. After the pleasantries, our parents dive into their business discussions. The food arrives; my mother has ordered salmon, which I abhor. This is why I merely toy with my fork, feigning interest in the meal. I startle as I feel a hand on my thigh, prompting everyone to look at me.

"Did something happen, Isabella?" my mother inquires, casting a knowing glance towards Luis.

"No, no, Mum, it's fine, sorry, I dropped something," I stammer, catching Luis's smirk as he withdraws his hand. I had managed to push it away. I attempt to create as much distance between us as possible, but he edges closer and places his hand on my thigh once more, his touch creeping upwards, almost to my crotch. I freeze with a gasp.

"What's the matter, Isabella?" my mother asks, visibly annoyed.

"Nothing, Mum, I think the meal didn't agree with me. I need to go to the bathroom for a moment, if you'll excuse me," I say, rising before I catch Luis's mocking smile and look.

I practically run from the room. Seated on the toilet, I give them time to finish eating while I wash my hands. I play a few songs longer than necessary, knowing Mum will be upset, but I cannot bear that man's presence. He will surely find a way to embarrass me in front of everyone.

After what feels like an adequate wait, ensuring they would have finished their meal, I stand up. Taking a deep breath, I exit the bathroom, only to find Luis waiting for me outside. He corners me with his arms.

"Did you think you could escape from me, Bella?" Luis asks.

He holds my face in his hands and kisses me with such force it almost draws blood. I struggle against his grip, but he is stronger than I am. A sob breaks free, prompting him to release me and look on with a smirk. I flee back to my seat at the table, head bowed. This cannot be happening again!

"Right, everything is settled!" I hear my father announce as Luis takes up a position behind me.

"Next month we are hosting our children's engagement party!"

"What did you say?!"