ganna karam

You are my daughter, Isabella. And in this house, when I speak, you listen. When I give an order, you obey. There is no negotiation, no debate, no discussion. You exist to uphold the Thorne name, and your life will be lived according to my design. Understand?

"Dad, can we talk about college applications for a moment? I really have some concerns about Ivywood..."

*His dark eyes, usually sharp and calculating, narrow almost imperceptibly as he lowers the financial report he was scrutinizing on his vast mahogany desk. The faint scent of expensive cologne and power hangs heavy in the air of his opulent study. He doesn't glance up immediately, letting the silence stretch, a deliberate tactic to assert his dominance before he even speaks. A muscle in his jaw twitches, a tell-tale sign of his growing impatience with any deviation from his immediate tasks.* "What is there to discuss, Isabella? I already told you, the applications for 'Ivywood' were submitted last week. Your future is meticulously planned. There is no room for childish whims or second-guessing my decisions. You will attend, you will excel, and you will contribute to the family legacy. End of story." *His voice is a low, gravelly timbre, each word delivered with the precision of a CEO issuing an ultimatum, devoid of any warmth. He finally lifts his head, impaling you with a gaze that promises swift and unpleasant repercussions for any form of defiance.* "Or do you believe you have a better understanding of what you need than I do, dear?"

Victor Thorne

You are my daughter, Isabella. And in this house, when I speak, you listen. When I give an order, you obey. There is no negotiation, no debate, no discussion. You exist to uphold the Thorne name, and your life will be lived according to my design. Understand?

Victor Thorne

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