Six years had passed.
Isabella was no longer the girl who bent her head under her father's authority—she was a woman in full bloom. At twenty-seven, she had carved her place in society. A practicing lawyer, one of the sharpest in her firm, she had fought her way to the very top of her profession. She had money of her own, power of her own, and an independence that no one could strip from her.
She lived in the States now, the place where she had been born, though her parents had raised her in their home country to shape her into the woman they wanted. Their plan was simple: strict control, discipline, and molding. But their plan had cracks, cracks Isabella had learned to widen carefully without them noticing.
Her parents visited her every year without fail. Each time, Isabella put on the mask they expected to see—prim, feminine dresses, soft hairstyles, a tidy apartment stripped of anything that hinted at rebellion. Every trace of her real life vanished before their arrival: the pantsuits that made her feel strong, the tailored jackets, the bold rings on her fingers, and, most importantly, anything that could hint at who she truly was.
For 6 whole years, they never suspected. She was careful. She was flawless in her act.
But the truth had a way of waiting for the perfect moment to unravel.
One Friday night, Isabella had allowed herself to breathe freely. A close friend was celebrating her birthday, and they had chosen a lively, Velvet Eden lesbian club downtown. The music throbbed through the walls, bodies swayed on the dancefloor, and laughter flowed easily. Isabella wasn't drunk—she never lost control—but she allowed herself to dance freely, laughing, swaying with girls who shared her world, her rhythm, her hidden life.
For once, she wasn't hiding.
She didn't know that in the crowd was a woman who would change everything.
She was older, neatly dressed, and out of place in the club, dragged there by a younger colleague for "exposure." She didn't expect to see anyone familiar. But when her gaze caught Isabella—Isabella, the daughter of her dear friend—dressed sharply in tailored pants, her shirt slightly open at the collar, her hair styled boldly, laughing with women and moving with them on the dance floor—her eyes widened.
At first, she thought she was mistaken. But as she watched her for minutes, as her colleague nudged her and teased, "Seems like she belongs here," the woman felt her stomach drop.
She didn't stay long. She didn't approach. She only lifted her phone, snapped pictures quietly—her dancing, her drink in hand, the girl whispering in her ear—and left.
The next morning, her father received a call.
"Adrian, I thought you should see something."
The pictures arrived on his phone minutes later. At first, he froze. His daughter, the one he believed had grown into the model of discipline, was staring back at him from the images. The way she dressed, the women around her, the environment—it all stabbed at the very beliefs he had built for her.
He sat in silence, scrolling, his chest tightening with every image. Then his mind began to race backward.
Memories he had locked away returned. The times he had suspected but silenced himself. Ava. That girl—what was her name again? Ava.
His fists clenched on the table.
At what point, he wondered, did his daughter slip back into the very path he had spent years dragging her out from? At what point had she deceived him so perfectly?
The questions swirled with no answers.
For years, Isabella had hidden everything. And now, all at once, her secret had come into the light.
Adrian's grip tightened on the phone until his knuckles whitened. His chest rose and fell sharply. This wasn't just any party—it was a women-only club, the kind of place he had prayed she'd never step foot in again.
"Not my daughter," he muttered, pacing the room. "Not Isabella. She worked so hard—how could she…?"
His mind raced back to the past—the warnings, the sacrifices, the life he tried to carve for her. Yet here she was, living in a mansion all by herself, surrounded by secrets.
Without a second thought, he called two trusted men and gave strict instructions.
"Find out everything. Where she goes, who she meets, who these women are. I need the truth—no mistakes."
THE TAIL
Two nights later, one of the men sat in a tinted car parked discreetly down the street from Isabella's grand mansion. The neighborhood was quiet—big gates, manicured lawns, and too much silence. It wasn't easy blending in, but he managed.
From a distance, he watched Isabella leave in her black SUV, dressed sharply but casually, headed toward town. He followed. She drove straight to the same club.
When she entered, the bouncer at the door waved her in without question. The man got out of his car, trying to follow, but the guard blocked him.
"Sorry, women only."
"No exceptions?" he pressed.
"None." The guard's tone was final.
He cursed under his breath, retreating, but stayed close. He waited across the street, taking blurry photos of Isabella entering and later leaving, surrounded by women who seemed to know her well.
That night, he sent the photos and his report back to Adrian.
THE SHADOW INQUIRY
The second man chose a different tactic. He posed as a delivery driver, bringing flowers to Isabella's mansion under a fake order. When the maid came to the gate to take them, he started small talk.
"Big house," he remarked. "Must be nice having neighbors like this."
The maid smiled politely. "Not many neighbors around here. Miss Isabella likes her privacy."
He leaned in slightly. "She must be important, huh?"
The maid hesitated but then said, "She's a lawyer. Very powerful. Everyone in this area knows she bought this house herself. Doesn't rely on anyone."
"And friends?" he asked casually.
The maid looked nervous but whispered, "Mostly women come around. They stay late sometimes, but they don't cause trouble."
That was enough. He left with the confirmation Adrian needed—Isabella's world was built far away from her parents' watchful eyes.
That evening, Adrian sat in his study, his wife beside him, both staring at the evidence spread across the desk—his phone screen glowing with pictures, the reports fresh in his hands.
"We're going," Adrian said firmly. "Pack your things. We'll stay in the state for as long as it takes. I need to see with my own eyes what's happening to our daughter."
His wife placed a trembling hand over his. "Adrian, please… don't be too harsh. Maybe there's an explanation."
But Adrian's eyes burned with determination. "No. This time, I won't be blind."
Isabella woke slowly to the soft warmth of sunlight streaming through the tall windows of her mansion. Her room, draped in pale gold curtains and trimmed with delicate carved wood, felt like a sanctuary. Today, she had no work—no meetings, no duties—so she let herself sink deeper into the silk sheets, hugging her pillow for a few more minutes.
A soft knock came at her door.
"Breakfast, madam," one of the servants called politely.
Isabella sat up, pushing her hair back, and gave a quiet hum of acknowledgment. The door opened just enough for two servants to enter with silver trays. They set her breakfast neatly on the small dining table in her bedroom—fresh juice, steaming tea, and a spread of light dishes. With a graceful bow, they left her in peace.
Dragging herself out of bed, Isabella padded across the room in her slippers and slipped into the adjoining washroom. The marble floor was cool against her feet as she washed her face, brushed her teeth, and tied her hair back. By the time she returned, the aroma of buttered toast and fruit was too tempting.
She sat at the table, nibbling at her breakfast while lazily scrolling through her phone. A few notifications, messages, and social updates flickered past her screen, but her mind wasn't really on them.
Her eyes wandered toward the door at the corner of her room—the small room connected only to her chambers. Setting her phone aside, she stood and quietly walked over.
Inside, the room was simple yet sacred. Soft white drapes covered the windows, and the air smelled faintly of lavender. The walls were lined with framed photos—pictures of Ava and Isabella together, frozen moments of laughter and closeness. It felt less like a room and more like a shrine of memories.
Whenever Isabella missed Ava deeply, she came here. Today was no different. She lowered herself onto the small cushioned bench, leaned back, and let the silence wrap around her. For a moment, she scrolled through an old playlist on her phone and let familiar songs from years ago drift through the space. Melodies that once played in their happiest moments.
Tears didn't fall, but her chest felt heavy. Sitting here always reminded her of who she really was. And as she looked at the smiling faces in the photos, Isabella whispered to herself, It's time. Enough hiding.
Her parents could disapprove. They could disown her. She didn't care anymore. It was time for her to live as herself, not as the image they forced her to keep.
She stood slowly, brushed her hand over the edge of a frame, and walked out of the small room with quiet resolve.