Leave for the meeting

Isabella took one last look at herself in the mirror before stepping away. The white dress felt like a shroud, heavy with the weight of her father’s **** and the uncertainty of the future. She wasn’t ready to rule—she knew that. But there was no turning back now. As she walked toward the door, her footsteps were almost drowned by the pounding of her heart.

She found General Serrano waiting for her just outside the door, his posture rigid, now a calculated coldness in his eyes. He was a man used to controlling the narrative, tasked by her father to handle the most secretive and brutal of tasks that came with running a dictatorship, and in this moment, his steely demeanor was all business. His gaze swept over her, not with respect, but with the calculating eyes of a predator assessing its prey.

“Shall we, Presidente?” Serrano’s voice was quiet but edged with authority, his words deliberate.

Isabella nodded, trying to steady herself. She could feel the air thick with the tension between them, a tension she hadn’t noticed before. As she followed him down the long corridors of the Palacio del Sol, her heels clicked softly against the marble floors, and the silence of the palace seemed to echo in her ears. She wasn’t just walking toward the Cabinet; she was walking toward her first real test as a leader, and Serrano’s presence beside her only reminded her of how fragile her position truly was.

As they reached the double doors leading to the conference room, Serrano stopped abruptly and turned to face her, his eyes meeting hers with a piercing gaze.

"Before we see the Cabinet, I must again ask that you consider your priorities. Those old vultures will try to use the chaos and your grief to plunder what they can. Your father has always favored the military, Isabella, and for good reason. We have protected your family, kept you safe, kept the peace, and ensured prosperity."

Serrano took a step closer, and Isabella instinctively stepped back, her back pressed against the cool marble wall. She could feel her heart racing, and she clenched her fists tightly at her sides, trying to calm herself.

"Your father would have wanted you to follow in his footsteps. To trust and strengthen the army. To ensure the safety and stability of the nation, especially in these turbulent times.

"To do what is necessary."

His words sent a shiver down her spine. He was right, of course, but his tone was condescending and patronizing, as if he were speaking to a child.

"But my father is dead, and I am the Presidente now," Isabella said, her voice shaking slightly. She instantly regretted her childish words. She sounded petulant, not confident.

She tried to push past him, but he grabbed her arm, his grip like a vice. His eyes burned with a cold intensity, his voice dropping to a whisper.

"Isabella, your father remain unavenged. His body is in a casket, not six feet under. The rebels must be dealt with, right now, or people will begin to question if you are truly your father's heir. That is dangerous, for you and for the country."

He pulled her closer, his breath hot on her cheek.

"And remember, your father was a man. You are a woman. And that is a weakness they will try to exploit. They will try to take your power. They will try to take you."

Isabella could feel her anger rising, but she held her tongue. She knew that Serrano was trying to manipulate her, to get her to do what he wanted. But she was not the naive child he thought she was.

He released her arm and stepped back, a faint smile curling his lips. "Think carefully about your decisions, Presidente."

Isabella brushed past him, her jaw clenched, her fists still balled at her side. She refused to let him see her falter.

She opened the doors, the Cabinet rising in a gesture of respect. They were all dressed in their finest black suits and dresses, and their faces were solemn.