Isabela Walker POV

The boutique didn't just smell of expensive perfume; it stank of money and judgment.

It was the kind of place where the staff assessed your shoes before they deigned to look at your face.

Kason sat on a velvet sofa, idly scrolling through his phone, looking like a king on a bored throne.

Dalia was in the fitting room, barking demands at the flustered salesgirl.

I stood by the rack of clearance items, where Kason had told me to wait like an obedient dog.

"Isabela!" Dalia screeched. "Get in here!"

I walked into the fitting area.

Dalia was wearing a white gown that was two sizes too tight and far too low-cut.

She looked like a desperate housewife trying to relive her prom, the fabric straining against reality.

"I need you to hold the train," she said, kicking the delicate fabric toward me. "And don't wrinkle it with your sweaty hands."

I bent down and picked up the lace.

Kason looked up from his screen, his expression flat.

"Dalia, pick a dress for Isabela," he commanded. "She can't go to the wedding looking like a homeless person. It reflects badly on me."

Dalia's eyes glittered with malice.

She went to the rack and pulled out a dress with a sneer.

It was a shapeless, unforgiving shade of mustard-yellow.

"This one," she said. "It suits her complexion."

I took the dress.

I didn't argue.

I went into the changing room and put it on.

The dress was hideous—a silhouette meant to drown a figure, not flatter it—but I had learned a long time ago that armor comes in many forms.

I pulled my hair up, exposing the long line of my neck.

I walked out.

The silence was instant.

Even in the ugly dress, I stood tall.

My skin glowed against the harsh yellow, turning the sallow color into a rich gold.

I didn't look like a sack of potatoes.

I looked like a statue draped in sunlight.

Kason's phone lowered.

His eyes traveled up my legs, lingering on my waist, and finally stopping at my lips.

For a second, the familiar hunger was back.

Dalia saw it.

Her face twisted into a mask of jealousy.

She grabbed a glass of champagne from the tray on the table.

"Oh, look at you," she said, her voice shrill. "You think you're so special."

She lunged forward.

"Oops!"

The champagne splashed across my chest.

The cold liquid soaked into the fabric, turning the yellow into a dark, sticky amber.

It dripped down my legs, ruining the illusion instantly.

"So clumsy," Dalia sneered. "Now look what you've done. Kason, she's ruined the dress. You'll have to pay for it."

Kason stood up.

He looked at the stain, then at my face.

He didn't offer me a napkin. He didn't move to help.

"Clean yourself up, Isabela," he said coldly. "You're embarrassing us."

The bell above the door chimed.

The air in the room changed instantly.

It became heavier, sharper—charged with static.

"I believe the lady didn't spill it," a voice said.

It was a voice like grinding stones. Deep. Dark. Dangerous.

I turned.

Hadley Payne stood in the entrance.

He was taller than Kason, broader in the shoulders, filling the doorway like a storm cloud.

He wore a black suit that cost more than this entire building.

His eyes were gray, like a winter storm, and they were fixed on me.

Kason stiffened. "Payne. This is Oneal territory."

Hadley ignored him.

He walked straight to me.

He took off his suit jacket.

He draped it over my shoulders, covering the stain, covering the shame.

The warmth of his body heat enveloped me.

He smelled of sandalwood and the metallic tang of gunpowder.

"Put the dress on my tab," Hadley said to the terrified salesgirl. "And the cleaning bill for the jacket."

He looked at Dalia.

"If you ever touch her again," he said softly, his voice dropping to a lethal whisper, "I will cut off the hand that holds the glass."

Dalia went pale.

Kason stepped forward, his fists clenched. "She is my ward, Payne. You don't tell me how to handle my property."

Hadley turned his gaze to Kason.

It wasn't a look of anger.

It was a look of pity.

"She isn't property, little prince," Hadley said. "She's a queen you were too stupid to keep."

He put a hand on my back.

"Let's go, Isabela."

I didn't look at Kason.

I didn't look at Dalia.

I walked out of the boutique with the enemy, and for the first time in my life, I felt safe.

Isabela Walker POV

I had barely made it inside the lobby of Aunt May's building before a hand clamped around my upper arm.

The grip was bruising, tight enough to cut off circulation.

I was spun around, my body slamming into a hard chest.

Kason.

His eyes were bloodshot, wild with an emotion I couldn't place.

He smelled of scotch and unadulterated rage.

"You whore," he hissed.

The word hung in the air between us, ugly and violent, like a physical blow.

"Let go of me," I said, my voice trembling as I tried to pry his fingers off my arm.

"Is that who you're sleeping with?" he shouted, shaking me so hard my teeth rattled. "Hadley Payne? The man who wants to wipe our family off the map? Did you spread your legs for him just to get back at me?"

"I didn't—"

*Smack.*

The sound was sickeningly loud.

My head snapped to the side.

My cheek stung like fire, the heat spreading instantly across my skin.

The lobby went deathly silent.

I touched my face, staring at him in utter shock.

Kason had never hit me.

He had yelled. He had ignored me. He had broken my heart a thousand times over.

But he had never raised a hand to me.

He stared at his own palm, his chest heaving as if he couldn't believe what he had just done.

For a second, I saw regret flash in his eyes, a flicker of the man I used to know.

But then, his expression hardened. It was as if Dalia's voice was echoing in his head, twisting the narrative even now.

"You made me do that," he growled, his voice dropping to a dangerous low. "You disrespect the Family. You disrespect me."

He grabbed my wrist again, his grip unforgiving.

"You're coming home."

"No," I screamed, panic finally piercing through the shock. "I'm not going back!"

I tried to run toward the elevator.

I tried to get to the safety of Aunt May's apartment, desperate for a locked door.

But Kason was stronger.

He dragged me across the marble floor like a rag doll.

My heels scraped against the tile, a screeching protest that went unanswered.

The doorman looked away, his face pale, terrified of the Oneal heir.

"You are Oneal property," Kason snarled, hauling me out the door and shoving me into the back of his waiting SUV. "You don't leave until I say you leave."

He climbed in after me and locked the doors, the sound of the tumblers clicking into place sealing my fate.

"Drive," he ordered the driver.

I huddled against the door, clutching my stinging cheek, trying to make myself as small as possible.

I looked at him.

I really looked at him.

The jawline I used to trace with my fingers.

The eyes I used to dream about.

But there was nothing there now but a monster.

He wasn't my protector.

He was my jailer.

And I realized, with a terrifying clarity, that if I didn't get out soon, I wouldn't just lose my freedom.

I would lose my life.

Isabela Walker POV

The world tilted dangerously as the penthouse bedroom spun around me.

Kason dragged me inside, his grip bruising, and hurled me onto the bed like a ragdoll.

He didn't stop moving. He tore through my clothes, ripping drawers out of the dresser and dumping their contents onto the floor.

"Where is it?" he shouted, kicking through a pile of silk and lace. "Where is the wire? Where is the phone?"

His paranoia was a living thing, consuming him.

He thought I was a spy for the Paynes.

He thought I was recording him.

He marched over and grabbed the front of my shirt.

With a sharp tear, the fabric ripped.

"Strip," he ordered, his eyes wild. "I need to check you."

"No!" I kicked out, my heel connecting hard with his shin.

He roared in anger and lunged at me.

His weight pinned me to the mattress, crushing the air from my lungs.

His hands were everywhere, rough and searching.

It wasn't sexual. It was an invasion.

He was checking for a wire, but he was taking everything else in the process—my dignity, my autonomy, my space.

My hand flailed blindly against the nightstand.

My fingers closed around the heavy brass base of a lamp.

I didn't think.

I swung.

*Crack.*

The lamp connected with the side of his head with a sickening thud.

Kason slumped off me, rolling onto the floor with a groan.

I scrambled backward, pressing myself into the corner of the room, clutching the lamp like a weapon.

My breath came in ragged gasps, my heart hammering against my ribs.

I had just assaulted a Made Man.

I had just assaulted the Underboss.

If he wanted to, he could kill me legally under the laws of the Outfit.

Minutes ticked by in agonizing silence.

Kason groaned and sat up.

He touched his head. His hand came away bloody.

He looked at me.

His eyes were cold. Dead. The fire of his rage had been replaced by something far worse: ice.

He stood up slowly, swaying slightly.

Without a word, he walked to the bathroom.

I heard the cabinet open.

He came back with a glass of water and a small blister pack.

He threw them onto the bed in front of me.

"Take it," he said.

I looked at the packet.

It was a morning-after pill.

And a pack of daily birth control.

"I didn't..." I stammered, my voice trembling. "We didn't..."

"I don't care who you've been with," he said, his voice devoid of emotion. "Hadley. The driver. The mailman. I don't care."

He leaned down, his face inches from mine, the scent of copper and expensive cologne filling my nose.

"But I will not have you dragging a bastard child into this house to threaten Dalia's position. You will not trap me with a pregnancy, Isabela."

Something inside me finally broke.

It wasn't a snap.

It was a disintegration.

The last tiny, foolish piece of hope that had survived the basement, the boutique, and the slap... it turned to ash.

I picked up the pill.

I swallowed it dry, feeling it scrape down my throat.

"Happy?" I asked.

"Ecstatic," he said.

He walked to the door.

"You are confined to this room. Guards will be outside. No phone. No internet. No contact with the outside world."

He slammed the door, and the heavy click of the lock sealed my fate.

I sat on the ruined bed.

I looked at the calendar on the wall.

The date was circled in red ink.

*The Payne Wedding.*

Two weeks.

I stood up and walked to the calendar.

My hands were steady now.

I ripped the page off the wall.

I tore it into tiny pieces, letting them flutter to the floor like snow.

He thought he had trapped me.

He thought he had won.

But he had made one fatal mistake.

He had forgotten that a canary born in a cage eventually learns to pick locks.

And I was done singing.