Nate Part 3

I'm having a hard time focusing on work, my mind tangled up in the message you sent. I'm sitting at my ipê desk, legs resting on the steel surface, elbows propped up as I stare at the white walls around me, which feel like a stark contrast to the storm brewing inside. The colorful paintings don't reflect my turmoil; they radiate joy while I seethe with rage.
If Isabela were here, I wouldn't be able to stop myself from throwing her onto the goddamn brown leather sofa in front of my desk and fucking her until she felt the pain enough to understand that I want to destroy her! I know the best option is to keep her at arm's length to prevent an explosive meltdown. That bitch opened the gates of hell, and she'll only escape my wrath if she runs fast enough because I'm ready to obliterate her... in every possible way.
I glance at my phone again.
Dedo Duro: Send the dinner location!
I reply: "Restaurant Chuann, located in Botafogo Mall. Be there at eight! And remember the dress code. P.S.: your pussy looked amazing."
I smile, imagining the shocked look on her face. I even considered ignoring her and ditching our agreement from the bar, but I endured the way she acted when she forgot me. Despite understanding her struggles, I can't help but harbor resentment. So, she better show up and fix the mess with my father.
I squeeze my temples, recalling Vinicius, my father. He’s the biggest investor in my venture and now holds the majority shares. Even though I think he’s a jerk, he’s the reason my dream got off the ground.
I went off the rails last week, drank too much, and vandalized a building, resulting in my fifth arrest. All my run-ins with the law have been for vandalism. Now he’s threatening me, giving me an ultimatum to prove I can be responsible and live like a "normal man," or he’ll cut me loose. He even threatened to sell his shares, which would destroy everything I've worked for.
I shake my head, clenching my jaw as I remember his words, as if he weren’t the one who abandoned me as a child. Who would have thought the troubled kid, the vandal who had to learn to survive alone, would create a successful business? I fought against so many doubts and closed doors, faced countless people laughing at my dreams.
And it worked out!
I was proud of what I built. When I finally showed my plans to my dad, he surprised me by showing interest. I had the idea; he had the money. We brought something innovative to Brazil with my unique touch.
Now I just need to pretend to him that I can be the perfect son he’d want to show off. The exact type of person I could never be. I know my insides are rotten. The only good thing left in me is my art, perhaps the only bright note still flowing through my veins, digging a space between the poisoned blood coursing with rage and heavy feelings.
I’ll bring Isabela with me to that dinner, my thorny rose. I’m used to getting pricked. I’m familiar with angry people, and she’ll bend to my will if she doesn’t heed my warning to disappear after dinner. I hope she doesn’t ruin everything because this matters too much, and I don’t know what I’ll do to her if she does.
I’ve done Isabela a favor, and now, as I sit at the restaurant table across from a man in a crisp white shirt, black hair, and slanted eyes, I feel it’s time for her to repay the favor.
“Good evening, Dad!” I greet, accepting the menu the waiter offers.
Vinicius ignores me for ten long minutes, absorbed in his iPhone, looking important with his tiny square glasses perched on his big nose. I clench my jaw but hold back an explosion. It’s our usual dance: he shows me I’m just a burden he has to bear. I learned to mirror his behavior, so I just stare at my watch. At least he arrived on time this time, without making me wait.
Ignoring the familiar sting of rejection that rises in me, I send a message to Isabela:
Where are you???? I hope you're on your way!
I smooth my white pants over my thighs, pull my gray shirt down, and fidget with my fingers as the minutes tick by. I’m nervous… Isabela is ten minutes late. I glance at the mint-green walls around us, picturing the perfect shade of paint I could add my touch to. My dad, seemingly reading my thoughts, straightens up in his brown wooden chair and sips his wine.
“So… where’s your girlfriend?” he asks, glancing at his watch, emphasizing that any place in the world is better than here, clearly impatient.
“She should be arriving…”
A notification chimes on my phone, capturing my attention as it vibrates on the table, interrupting my sentence. I shake one leg, staring at the screen:
Dedo Duro: I’m coming up the escalators…
“She’s coming up the escalators. You know how this mall is, like Hogwarts with its twists and turns,” I explain, unsure if he gets the reference, feeling like a nervous kid. I hate relying on my dad. I detest putting on a show so he doesn’t ruin something so significant, the most important thing I have.
“Why didn’t you bring her?” he questions, finally setting his phone down and looking me in the eye for the first time. “Your ugly bike has room for a passenger!”
“She had class. She studies at Revolta,” I lie. I have no idea what she’s actually doing…
“Oh, interesting. And whose daughter is she?” he probes.
What? Seriously?! I can’t believe he’s going to pull this same line he uses with Bianca. He really wants to know if my “fake girlfriend” has a respectable family? What a jerk!
“Who knows! But she’s got money.” It’s not a lie. Isabela really is the richest girl I’ve met. And that makes her family troubles unbelievable. She’s the heiress of a famous pharmaceutical brand owned by her father and will inherit everything when her grandmother passes since she’s the only successor of Hellen.
“I want the last name, but forget it; I’ll ask her,” he says.
I shrug. Lenhard. He’ll be pleased when that pretty mouth reveals her surname. My thoughts are interrupted when I notice people staring at the restaurant entrance. The heads of the waiters tilt, eyes widen, and whispers fill the air... I dread what’s about to happen. I mentally pray it’s not Isabela drawing attention for some reason. But even the gods I don’t believe in can’t help me when I look at the damn entrance, way too close to our table, and see what that crazy girl has done.
I can’t hide my frustration. I rest my right elbow on the table, place my forehead in my hand, and take a deep breath. There wasn’t even time to run to her and shield her from Vinicius's eyes because she arrived too quickly.
“Hi, my love! Sorry I’m late, almost forgot my joint…” she says, leaning over and yanking my hair to pull my head back, planting a dramatic kiss on my lips, invading them against my will and eagerly brushing her tongue against mine, leaving the taste of her favorite candy on my lips.
What a bitch…
Her scent floods the air. The damn chain attached to a white leather collar around her neck brushes against my face as Isabela pulls away. I don’t dare glance at my dad, and I’m struggling not to get up and drag this girl out by her hair.
I scan my eyes, which burn with anger, over her body, taking in every inch from her feet to her head. She’s wearing a ridiculously short, flared miniskirt, patterned with black and white squares like a chessboard. A thin black belt cinches her narrow waist, holding the ends of the chain attached to her neck, creating an inverted V shape. I’m not sure if what she’s wearing qualifies as a shirt; it’s a tight, black checkered tulle jacket. Underneath, she has a thin white bikini covering her breasts. She’s wearing gloves that leave her fingers exposed. The thigh-high socks make her look sexy, one white and the other black, but all I want is to destroy her. And she’s even got these hideous black shoes with oversized soles that make her feet look like a hobbit’s.
I turn my gaze away from the girl, unable to say anything. I avoid moving too much or I might do something I’ll regret. Isabela could’ve played this differently, but if she wanted to hurt me, she didn’t know she’d hit me where it hurt the most.
When she’s not invited to sit, she does so anyway, dramatically dragging her chair over. With my body tense, I stare at my dad, biting my lips and shaking my head in disbelief.
“Hi, father-in-law! My name is Isabela Lenhard!” she introduces herself, sweetening her voice to sound like a little girl.
If there’s one thing my dad and I have in common, it’s that when we’re near a breaking point, silence is a weapon we wield well. He usually walks away, while I tend to destroy everything. Knowing him well, I predict he’ll get up, guiding his six-foot frame out of the restaurant. And he does just that, but not before lingering his gaze on Isabela, taking in the shape of her breasts.
And somehow, that makes me even angrier.
As he leaves, I hear Isabela stifling a giggle, relishing in her twisted revenge. I lean my chin on my hands, elbows resting on the table. I can’t bring myself to meet her gaze