Chapter 2: To love or not to love..

ISAIAH: TWO NIGHTS BEFORE HIS DISAPPEARANCE

My room door burst open, slamming against the wall with a force that rattled the frame. My head snapped up from where I was perched on the bed, my laptop balanced on my knees.

And there he was.

My father.

His broad frame filled the doorway, shoulders stretching from one edge to the next, eyes cold and blazing. The kind of stare that made men bow. That made empires crumble. That had me; his own son, tensing before I even realized it.

“You keep this habit up, and I’ll leave this house for you,” I drawled, forcing nonchalance, my fingers still tapping the keyboard. I had a deadline to submit before I signed off for my honeymoon.

The word honeymoon alone made my heart skip. I was really marrying Tamara in two days. My dream woman. My anchor. My home.

It didn’t feel real.

“The day you leave is the day you earn privacy, son.” His voice cut through my thoughts, sharp and guttural. “My house. My rules.”

I rolled my eyes, though my pulse kicked up. He didn’t even know the only reason I was still here was because of him. We might have been father and son, but we were two broken mirrors reflecting the same cracks.

“What do you want, Dad?” I muttered. “Came to congratulate your son on his impending wedding? Bit late for that, don’t you think?”

He scoffed. My gaze flicked to him, just in time to see the muscle ticking in his jaw.

“Must you really marry her?”

The words froze me. My fingers hovered midair. My eyes stayed glued to the screen, but the letters blurred into nonsense.

“Why…” I let out a low chuckle, masking the flicker of unease in my chest. “Jealous I get to marry before you do?”

“I’m never going to remarry, son. Nobody asked you to stay here with me.” His tone had changed into something darker and colder.

I sighed, long and heavy, the air burning my lungs. A familiar ache pooled in my chest. The conversation reeked of doom.

“Well, if that’s not the case, Dad…” I lifted my eyes, meeting his head-on. “Then yes. I must marry her.”

He didn’t flinch. Jacob Canninghan, the ruthless mogul whose name made boardrooms tremble—never did. He stood there like a man carved from steel.

“Then you leave me no choice,” he said simply, shrugging as though we were talking about dinner plans. “Remember, I tried to warn you.”

He turned to leave.

I shot to my feet, heart pounding. “What are you talking about? Do not touch her. She doesn’t deserve this.” My voice cracked, and I hated it. Hated how weak it sounded.

He turned, sighing like I was some pathetic inconvenience. Even though I had inches on him, he still managed to make me feel small, like the boy I once was, cowering under the shadow of his voice.

“What do you take me for?” He scoffed. “I don’t hurt women. I don’t make threats. That would be all you.” He jabbed his finger into my chest, hard enough to sting.

“I never knew you to mince words,” I spat. “Those are for cowards.”

“If you insist.”

The silence between us thickened. The air was heavy, too heavy. My heart thundered in my ears as he spoke again, each word slicing deeper than the last.

“The moment you bring that girl into this house, or soil my name by attaching it to hers, that family—you cease to be my son.”

My lips parted, ready to fight, but he cut me off.

“That might sound like a dream come true for you, Isaiah, but it won’t be. You’ll suffer. You’ll drown. None of my wealth will ever reach you. And as for that modeling career you’re so proud of…” he smirked, venom curling his lips, “I just bought your company. It’s mine now. And I’ll buy every other one you apply to. Soon, you’ll be broke. Jobless. Forgotten. Miserable.”

His words hit like bullets. Each one landing right where he knew it would hurt the most.

“And your fiancée?” His smirk widened. “Women don’t stay with men who can’t provide. She’ll leave you. She’ll crawl to the next rich bastard and forget you ever existed. What do you say? You wanna bet?”

My chest caved. I sank back to the bed, my lungs refusing to cooperate. Tears pricked my eyes, hot and burning.

He watched me crumble and clicked his tongue.

Then he strolled forward, slow and deliberate, and leaned in close enough for me to smell his cologne, the same one that used to linger on my mother’s clothes when she hugged him.

“I always hated that you didn’t carry my ruthlessness,” he whispered. “Instead, you followed that useless woman’s path—soft heart, weak mind—”

The words sliced through me. I snapped.

Before I knew it, I had him by the collar and slammed him against the wall, my fist trembling, raised. His eyes darkened, lips curling in a twisted smirk.

“Does she know though?” he asked, voice low and mocking. “Does Tamara know about the darkness in you? That you were involved in your mother’s death?”

Rage exploded in me. I punched him, hard. His head jerked sideways, a smear of blood painting his mouth.

My hand burned. My heart did too.

He straightened, wiping the blood with the back of his hand, still smiling. “I hope that made you feel better, son. Because the next two nights won’t.”

"I'll be looking forward to your answer."

He stepped away, his laugh echoing like a curse as he left.

The door shut, and I dropped to my knees.

The sound that ripped from me wasn’t human, it was pain, grief, fury, and helplessness all tangled in one. My vision blurred. My chest heaved. I clawed at the carpet, needing air, needing her.

I didn’t know how long I stayed there, just breathing and breaking.

When I finally stood, my knees were shaking. My world had already started collapsing, and I could feel it.

I left my phone, my keys, my sanity.

I just walked, out into the night, into the dark, because I had a decision to make.

To live or not to live.

To love or not to love.