The Price of Silence

The silk scarf felt like a noose around Isabelle's neck. It was a gift from her mother, ostensibly to complement the blush-colored dress she was wearing, a dress her mother had also chosen. Everything felt orchestrated, predetermined, and suffocating. She sat across from her parents in the formal dining room, the weight of the revelations from the previous night pressing down on her like a physical burden. The crystal chandelier, usually a symbol of elegance and privilege, now seemed to cast harsh, unforgiving light on the carefully crafted facade of her family.

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