***She does have a reputation with men, doesn't she? Slut.
And to think this is the girl who's supposed to inherit the Montez legacy? What a disgrace. Dirt beneath all the perfect image.
Lol. She always looked like the type who wanted attention. Guess now she's got it.
Someone tell her daddy. Wonder what Señor Montez will say about this one😏 no PR will bury this.
Imagine being born into money and still ending up like... this. Guess money can't buy self-respect.
Sad to see women throw everything away for likes and validation. I actually liked her before this.
She's been hiding this side for too long.***
Isabella's grip on the steering wheel turned her knuckles bone-white as the comments from last night echoed in her head like poison.
She shouldn't have. She knew that, probably better than anyone.
But she had.
María had drifted off halfway through the first movie and Isabella had slipped her phone from the drawer of the bedside table, and tiptoed to the bathroom, desperate to see if her father had contacted her.
Her heart plunged into her stomach at the sight of the missed calls and message he sent. With shaky fingers, she had typed out a quick reply, apologizing and promising to be there first thing in the morning.
And the notification had come in. She had stupidly clicked on it and just like that, she'd let them in.
She hadn't slept a wink — every comment replaying in her head like she was still scrolling.
At the first glint of daylight, she flung the duvet off her and stumbled into the shower. Once done, she pulled on her nightwear again, grabbed María's car keys, scribbled a note and drove to her condo.
She already felt exposed. Naked. Vulnerable. An inch away from the edge.
If she wanted to be able to face her father in any way, she needed armor — the kind made of silk, scents and stilettos.
She needed to feel like she had control over one single thing in her life.
She had put on her custom black Alexander McQueen wool-crepe blazer dress with a cinched waist and sharp shoulders. She fastened on her silver jewelry, slipped into razor-sharp stilettos and yanked her ginger hair into a sleek high ponytail.
By the time she misted herself with Roja Parfums 'Haute Luxe' — a rare blend of rose de mai, jasmine and oud that cost more than most people's rent — she felt a little more like herself.
But as she steered the car into the space where her name was stenciled on the concrete and cut the car's motor, she knew:
SHE STILL WASN'T READY.
She glanced up at the magnificent building in front of her — a regal blend of neoclassical stone and wrought iron, with soaring arched windows, carved balconies and the Montez crest etched proudly above its grand entrance. The ochre-colored façade held centuries of wealth, tradition and whispered power — its elegance more intimidating than inviting.
The Montez headquarters. Her worst nightmare.
Despite the building's stately exterior — all stone columns, wrought iron and old-world arrogance — the interior had long been updated for function. The elevators were swift and silent, tucked discreetly into marble alcoves, as if even modernity had to bow its head here.
Isabella had once proposed a full redesign to breathe some life into the space and her father had torn the concept sheets in half without reading past the title.
HOW CAM I TRUST YOU WITH THE ORGANIZATION WHEN ALL YOU WANT TO DO IS TEAR IT DOWN. WAKE UP!
Isabella's head snapped up from the steering wheel and she glanced around frantically. Realizing that the voice had been all in her head, she groaned and pushed the car door open.
As she walked across the lobby towards the elevator, she was really glad she had made it this early: no staring receptionists, No hushed whispers in the elevator, just her and her thoughts. Which were spiraling.
As she stepped into the elevator, the soft chime echoed louder than it should have in the quiet. She leaned back against the mirrored wall, heart thudding in her throat, and glanced at her wristwatch.
7:02 AM.
Too late to breathe. Too early to pretend.
Her father would already be behind his desk — sharp, alert. Emiliano Montez was always in his office no later than seven every morning.
Isabella's stomach twisted and for a moment she thought of pressing the button for the ground floor again. But the doors had already sealed shut, carrying her upward, toward the top floor. Toward him.
She shut her eyes tightly, willing her stomach to untwist. Suddenly she felt dizzy and nauseated, her stomach churning, pushing up all the sweets she had consumed last night.
She lowered herself slowly to the floor and pushed her head between her knees, taking deep breaths in, fighting off the panic that arose everytime she had to face her father because of a crisis.
*You did nothing wrong, Isabella. You're going to go in there and you will tell him exactly what happened. Tell him you will handle it.*
HAVE YOU EVER HANDLED ANYTHING YOURSELF?
She shook her head. "Get out of my head, damn it." She patted her cheeks repeatedly, hoping to bring some color back into them.
*Get your shit together, Isabella. Just breathe.*
The elevator dinged open and Isabella scrambled to her feet, running a hand down her dress. She glanced quickly at her reflection.
*I can do this. You can do this, Isabella. There is nothing he's going to say that you haven't heard before, right?*
She stepped out of the elevator, muttering a curse under her breath when her steps wobbled. She took slow measured steps towards the dark oakwood door, envisioning him seated beyond that door, glasses on, flipping through papers, that look of disapproval and disdain blatantly on display.
She raised shaky hands towards the door, jumping when a voice came from behind the door. "Bring my coffee with you." The voice was raspy but authoritative. "Be quiet when you walk. Or wear something that doesn't sound like an army approaching."
Isabella put one foot after the other gingerly, wincing when her stiletto made even the tiniest sound on the black and white checkerboard marble.
Soon, she was pushing the oakwood door open, cup of steaming coffee in one hand, her heart in the other. Alejandro's cold, pitch black eyes scrutinized her from across the room, hands clasped under his chin.
Isabella's heels scraped on the floor and she froze.
"You can't do anything right, can you?" Emiliano reprimanded, disdain curling his lips. "Walk like a woman with purpose, not like a showgirl on parade."
Isabella grounded out an apology, cautiously placing the cup of coffee on the mahogany desk.
Emiliano exhaled sharply. "Yes?"
Isabella blinked. Once. Twice.
*Did I miss something?*
He took a measured sip of the coffee, an eyebrow raising slightly. The look was gone in a flash but not before Isabella took note of it.
Three sugars. Extra cream. The kind that coats the tongue. Hot. Scalding. It had taken her years to learn how to get his coffee right.
The contradiction burned in Isabella's chest every time she watched him take a sip of that sugar-laced cup.
*He barks at me to toughen up. To stop acting like a child but his coffee order sounds like something off a kids' menu.
He won't let me cry. Won't let me breathe. But he takes his coffee like dessert? Hypocrite.*
But despite her bitterness, she wouldn't deny the little satisfaction at pleasing him. Surprising him.
*So much for wanting freedom.*
"Are you just going to stand there?"
The sharp voice drew Isabella out of her thoughts to find Emiliano staring daggers at her. She shifted her weight between her legs, unable to stand still.
"You, you asked to meet me."
Alejandro's eyes narrowed at her. "And you don't know why?" His voice held a sharp edge. "I don't have all the time in the world, Lady. You made a disgrace of yourself once again and this time I'm not cleaning up your mess."
*Like you ever did.*
Isabella nodded in understanding. "I will take care of it, Sir."
"You seem utterly ignorant of the way your—" Isabella squirmed as his eyes ran over her. "—behavior contaminates this conglomerate. Like always. Incompetent."
She shrank into herself, head lowered.
Emiliano went on. "Stocks are down. Sales are dropping. If I have to do everything by myself, why are you carrying the Montez name?"
"I—I—I was just caught off guard. I will —." Emiliano raised a hand and Isabella fell silent, her lips pressing together.
"Get in contact with Guapo: I'm pretty sure he would handle the PR better than you ever would. I want this forgotten by tomorrow, got it?"
Isabella nodded. "Yes, Sir."
A sharp flick of his wrist and Isabella hurried to the door, glad to leave the suffocating space. She paused in the doorway, biting down on her lower lip as she turned to the man that was already back to looking at the papers on his desk.
"I, um, Isn't Señor Guapo on leave at the moment?" She asked cautiously.
"And?"
"I. Nothing."
She hurried out of the door, closing it quietly behind her. She released a deep breath, her shoulders slumping.
"Buenos días, Señorita Montez."
Isabella snapped up at the voice, spine straight, shoulders squared. She turned towards her father's secretary, noting from the corner of her eyes that most of the employees had reported for work.
"Morning, Señora Lydia," she gave the woman a tight smile. "I already served my father his coffee."
"Oh. Gracias, Señorita," Lydia thanked, a bright smile gracing her face.
Isabella nodded and turned to leave.
"Um. Señorita—"
Isabella turned around slowly.
*Por favor, don't.* (Please, don't)
"Are you okay?" Lydia asked.
"Yes. Why wouldn't I be?"
"Oh. I just, the—"
"If you don't mind, Señora, I really have an important appointment to get to. We can play catch up when I report for work, sí?"
Isabella turned and stalked away before Lydia could give her a reply.
*They all act like they care. Find another fodder for your office gossip, woman.*
The moment the elevator chimed close, Isabella leaned on its cold wall, breath leaving her nostrils with a whoosh.
The elevator dinged open and Isabella pushed up to her feet quickly as a wave of employees filled the space. She noted the look of surprise on their faces even as they greeted her with smiles.
She gave a curt nod in response, cutting off any room for conversation. She wasn't in the mood, especially not for what she knew they were all curious about. She pretended to be on her phone, doing her best to ignore the glances they kept throwing her way. The murmurs. The not-so-secret nudging.
The looks and whispers got worse as more employees filled the elevator.
***"She actually showed up… I wouldn't have the nerve."
"Brazen, isn't she?"
"Poor thing. Can't imagine what the Chairman said to her."
"And she doesn't deserve them? I've seen the pictures, she looked… too comfortable to not know. She's still going to be the heiress. That's the scariest part. Bet her heels are louder than her shame."***
Isabella glanced up but she couldn't tell who the words had come from. She stared at the numbers as they passed, wishing she could disappear from the elevator.
*"No amount of PR is fixing this, though. Montez name doesn't shine the way it used to."*
She couldn't get off the elevator fast enough the moment it pinged open at the ground floor. The employees waiting on the elevator moved aside to let her through, heads turning as she walked past them.
She nodded to the greetings as she hurried over to the lobby, keeping her head high, shoulders straight even as she felt needles in her chest, like she was being pricked.
*"With that body? Please. She knew exactly what she was doing."
"What kind of daughter does that to her family?"
"Honestly? I'd still trade lives with her. Some of us work our asses off to be taken seriously here. She just... pole danced her way into the spotlight. Nepotism's ugly when it crashes." *
Snickers.
**"Say what you want, she's still walking like she owns the place."
"Well, her father does, no? I heard they're trying to scrub the internet clean. Good luck with that."
"Actually, there is something new—." **
Isabella pushed past the revolving door that led into the lobby, glad to feel the sunlight on her face. She pushed on, making a beeline to her car.
*Few more steps, Isabella. Don't let them see you break.*