Unconventional Love

Chapter seven

Isabel's heart skipped a beat as her phone rang, the unfamiliar number flashing on the screen. She hesitated before answering, a sense of trepidation building in her chest.

"Hello?" she said, her voice cautious. "Isabel, it's Ms. Gordon," the voice on the other end replied, her tone dripping with sweetness.

Isabel's stomach dropped, her mind racing with possibilities. Why was Ms. Gordon calling her at home? And why was her voice so sugary sweet?

"Hi, Ms. Gordon," Isabel replied warily. "What can I do for you?"

"I just wanted to follow up on our conversation earlier today," Ms. Gordon said, her words dropping gently. "I think we need to talk more about your...progress."

Isabel's heart raced, her mind spinning with possibilities. What did Ms. Gordon want from her? And what did she mean by "progress"?

"Where did you even get my number from?" Isabel asked, her voice shaking slightly. Anxiety threatened to consume her.

Ms. Gordon chuckled, the sound cold and calculating. "School records, darling. Don't worry, no harm done."

"Look, Isabel," Ms. Gordon continued smoothly, "We both know you're smarter than this. Let's cut the nonsense and discuss your future prospects."

Isabel bit her lip, weighing her options. Confrontation was inevitable, but she couldn't afford to alienate anyone else.

"No," Isabel said firmly, finding strength she didn't know she possessed. "Never call me again, Ms. Gordon."

Silence filled the line, broken only by the sound of Ms. Gordon's labored breath. For a moment, Isabel wondered if she'd gone too far.

"Very well," Ms. Gordon finally spat, her tone icy. "See you tomorrow then."

Isabel ended the call, relief washing over her as she hung up. A weight lifted from her shoulders, though anxiety remained.

She returned to the living room, her father watching curiously. "Who was that?" he asked, concern etched on his features.

"Just a wrong number," Isabel lied, swallowing her apprehension. She couldn't bring herself to share the truth with her father, not yet.

He nodded, accepting her answer. "Dinner's almost ready. Wash up, okay?"
Isabel complied, retreating to the bathroom to gather her thoughts. The events of the day played in her mind

Isabel walked down the stairs, attempting to push the chaos of the day aside. Her father looked up from his plate, a concerned expression on his face.

"Everything alright?" he asked, setting down his fork. "Yeah, just a lot going on," she replied noncommittally, taking her seat.

They ate in silence for several minutes, the clinking of cutlery filling the void. Isabel's appetite waned, but she forced herself to eat, knowing her father noticed such things.

Conversation turned to mundane topics  homework, upcoming events. Isabel found herself nodding along, her mind miles away from their discussion.

When dinner concluded, her father cleared his throat. "Something's troubling you, Isabel. Want to talk about it?"

"It's nothing," she said eventually. "Just a lot on my plate." Her father nodded not wanting to pressure his daughter in confiding just yet.

Isabel stood before her mirror, her reflection staring back at her. Slowly, she began to take off her shirt, each movement deliberate and purposeful.

Skin peeked through as the fabric fell away, revealing the curves of her body. Her eyes flickered to the mirror, taking in the sight of her lingerie.

With a deep breath, she stepped out of her jeans, the material pooling at her feet. Bare legs stretched before her, strong and toned.