Without saying another word, Isadora turned around and left, wanting to slam the doors behind her—only to reconsider at the last moment as she gently shut them instead.
She headed straight to her room, walking in before slamming the door closed and falling face-first on her bed with an annoyed expression on her face. She tried to stop the tears that flooded her eyes as she swore under her breath.
"Shit! Shit!" she muttered, aware that it wasn't her father's fault that he had gotten tangled up with the mafia, and neither was it her sister's fault for running off.
"Neither is it my fault for refusing to be sold off to be a slave," she whispered to herself. But that didn't stop it from hurting—like someone had taken a heated knife to her heart and plunged it straight through.
