Bounded Proposition

The slap echoed through the air, the resonance sounded like a gunshot.

The study lay silent, the air heavy, hanging on the costly paneled mahogany walls, reminders of the family lineage of the Monroes.

A dominance forged in a dynasty. 

A surname was breathed, revered, and whispered along the corridors in the upper-class circles in Atlanta.  

None of them, in the instant at hand, did anything.

Isabella Monroe towered above her, her hand still ringing from slapping her father in the face. Never in twenty-five years. This night, finally, at long last, reached her breaking point.

Jonathan Monroe inhaled, his hands tracing the corner of his mouth, the only thing awry in his typically immaculately groomed demeanor. He laughs, his face splitting in half in amusement, as if he found her resistance side-splitting.

 "Are you finished?"

The anger in her, stifled. "You sold me." 

Her breath was toxic, her tone softer than if she screamed.

 "Like a freaking product."

Jonathan rested the chair in the same position at the back of his desk, his hands slapping the surface. 

"It's a commercial offer, Isabella. Something in the interest of everyone."

She laughed at his mockery. "Everyone, and I."

He looked at her so, gazing at her in the same manner you look at a child in the course of a tantrum, and the other woman whose life during the course of a minute belonged to other people.

 "You should be grateful to me," he continued. "

Just yesterday, I arranged the most powerful wedding in the life of the family."

Her stomach cramped. Saying the man's name, just to utter his name, could give her the shivers.

Jonathan's smirk widened. "The same man who could blow up Monroe Industries at his whim if I provided the motive. 

What I proposed I could offer to him in return-" he leaned in her way, "-was you."

Isabella's breath caught, her body wracked in shock and rage. "You are repulsive."

"I'm a businessman," he cut in, his voice silky smooth. 

"And you are my daughter. Your duty lies in this family, in this family's good name. You think your tiny fashion enterprise makes you invincible? Monroe Luxe only manages to survive because I allow you."

Her heart palpitated; those words were too hard to swallow.

Jonathan sighed, arose, and adjusted the cuffs of his expensive outfit.

"You have a choice, Isabella. You marry Adrian, and you see this through, or you quit."

He stopped, his eyes clenching. "And if you resign, you resign zero. Not a dime. Not a shred. Not the company."

It was as if the walls suffocated, pulling the air from the air.

Jonathan stepped into the doorway, his countenance smooth, having just negotiated what he could and having agreed to her terms. 

"You are to be wed in three days' time," he said, his back to her. "Make some effort to avoid embarrassing me."

And he was gone.

The moment the door shut, Isabella's legs went from under her. Leaning back in the desk, struggling to catch her breath, this did not feel right. Waking up to this. And despite how many awake openings her eyes opened, reality did not fade.

Three days.