Isabella Clark may be a sweet angel on the outside but she has a taste for the darkness, for rough hands and for drugs. In the Underworld, the perfect principessa is arranged to marry Gabriel Tyson. A boss, an heartbreaker, man, a murderer. Gabriel Tyson, as humorless as he is handsome, has no intention of playing the loving bridegroom to a spoiled little feather-head with champagne tastes. He wants one thing; a baby. A Tyson heir. Either that or he loses everything. But even as their arranged marriage becomes a test of wit and words, he's determined to break through Isabella's prim and proper façade to uncover the woman underneath and the rebel inside her.
Chapter 1 Isabella
Isabella
Caption: Just me and my champagne #chillin #lovelife #misshome
She uploaded a picture of her champagne with the backdrop of the city on the balcony. Once it got on Instagram, the likes and comments came pouring in.
Snorting a laugh, Isabella turned on her heels and whooped. Her crowd of guests cheered, pulling her in to dance. The pool had turned into an orgy spot. She cheered the girls making out and planted a kiss on a guy whose name she forgot. The champagne was long forgotten when she set her eyes on vodka.
She downed two glasses, then flung them across the room. Throwing her head around, she danced to the loud music blasting from the speakers. This was life. Dancing, drinking and fucking. Screw responsibility. To hell with her family back home in America.
Parting with Isabella Clark came with simple rules. Fuck, no cameras, drugs and more fucking. Her guests were people with no affiliation with her crazed family or the mafioso. And her guards, she thought as her eyes met the head bodyguard, were exceptional at making sure her laws were implemented.
"Oh my god, that's my song!" She squealed in excitement as Cardi B's Bodak Yellow came on.
She did not mind the random touching. After all, they were having fun. This was her world where only her rules made sense. Someone snagged her wrist and drew her to them.
"Oh, baby," Isabella cooed when she saw who it was. "Where did you go?" She took a sniff and frowned. "Were you smoking again? You know how I feel about cigarettes?"
"Sorry, love. I needed to clear my head." He gave her a kiss.
The blond Irish male had been her favorites fuck buddy for as long as she has known. They first met on her sixteenth birthday when she snuck into a club her father owned. Jack was the son of some rich man who owned a school her father sent her stepbrothers to. What she loved most about him was not his face or how good he was in bed but the fact he was invisible. It suited her perfectly. The forgotten son of his family, just like her. Sweet Jack was obedient, easy to control and easy to read.
"What's wrong?"
He nuzzled her neck. "My father," he whispered in her ear.
She cupped his face in her hands. "Don't think about that old fool. Think only of me. Do you still have it?"
Jack nodded sweetly, bringing out a packet of white powder. "Is this enough for a kiss?"
She pulled him into a deep kiss, giggling. "You're my favorite madness. Come with me."
The music continued to shake the walls as she walked lightly, pulling Jack with her up the stairs. Her bedroom was not far away. She tore the packet with shaking hands and watched the powder spill on her vanity table. The two shared and went high on drugs.
Isabella did not know how or when but she found herself under Jack, moaning and writhing. She felt a whole level of sensation as her nerves unwound. Everything turned upside down, looking like something out of Wonderland.
Isabella loved Wonderland. She loved to assume the character Alice. She could feel her mother threading hands through her, calling her little Alice.
"Curious Alice," she would whisper. "Run, run, run after the talking rabbit with the watch."
Isabella became Alice, ran after the rabbit with the watch and found her mother hung from the ceiling. The Red Queen had caught Mother.
Her name sounded distant as her body shook. Reluctantly, she pried her eyes open, groaning into the pillow.
"Isabella, you have a phone call."
She quickly realized her phone was indeed ringing. The bed creaked as Jack turned away, lying on his side.
"Fuck. It's like four in the morning."
She reached for her phone and glared at the screen. The time proved her wrong, reading past twelve in the noon. She looked out the window, seeing that the sun was high in the sky.
"Fuck," she said again when she saw who was calling. Sitting up as she cleared her throat, she wet her lips and answered, "Hello, Papa."
"Isabella?" She flinched at the heavy Italian accent her Papa used when saying her name. "Why did you take so long to answer? What happened to your voice? Are you just waking up?"
"Oh, Papa. I suffered cramps the night before. Why did you call me, Papa?" She fibbed.
"It's time for you to return home. You spend too much time in that Las Vegas," he said with 'Las Vegas' with distaste.
His dislike for the state was the exact reason she chose to like it. It presented her a freedom. "It's a nice place, Papa, once you look past the glamor."
"Glamour, grits, same thing. Get on the next flight home. You are getting married."
She raised a brow and nodded. "Okay, Papa. I will see you soon."
When the call disconnected, she put her phone away and returned back to sleep. Except the sleep had long left her body when her father said the marriage word. Wide eyed and awake, she placed an arm over her face.
"Jack?" She called, feeling him stir next to her.
"Good morning to you too."
She chuckled. "I'm getting married."
"Not a good morning, then?"
They had known. They had discussed it. Isabella knew she would get married to that Tyson heir one day and it seemed that day was coming sooner than expected. With her father demanding her home, she knew her fling with Jack had come to an end.
Sleep gone from her eyes, she climbed out of bed and took in the mess of her bedroom. She cleaned up and changed into more befitting clothes. Over breakfast, she listened as her bodyguard, Mike, briefed her. The living room was clean from top to bottom as if the festivities the previous night never took place.
"Prepare a flight back to America at once," she told him.
Dabbing the corners of her mouth with an handkerchief, she pushed back from the table. This might as well be the last peaceful breakfast she might eat before marrying. That is if she is not poisoned by her step mother by then.
Other books by npiration Holy Ghost
More