The conference room at Pruitt Enterprises was a glass box suspended over the city. Isla was early. She sat at the head of the table, not as a participant, but as an observer. Julian Curtis was already there, across from her. He had called this meeting. He looked at her, his gaze analytical, as if trying to solve a complex equation. He hadn't mentioned the gala, but the 2% dip in his own stock was a silent accusation hanging in the air between them.

Isla wore a white suit. Sharp tailoring. No jewelry.

Chase walked in. He looked like he hadn't slept in two days. His tie was loose, his eyes bloodshot. When he saw Isla, he flinched. Then he saw Julian, and his arrogance deflated like a cheap balloon.

"What is this?" he spat, slumping into a chair. "Where's Robert?"

"Mr. Pruitt has been advised by his father to delegate this matter," Julian said, his voice a low baritone that commanded the room. "And I'm here because my company's interests are now entangled in your... domestic dispute."

James, Arthur's personal attorney, slid a document across the polished mahogany table toward Chase.

Chase flipped it open. "Termination of Engagement... repayment of funds..." He looked up, incredulous. "Two million dollars? For emotional distress? You're out of your mind."

Isla tapped her tablet. The text-to-speech app she used had a voice that was cool, synthetic, and utterly devoid of mercy.

"That is ten percent of what you stole. Sign it, or I send the full ledger to the District Attorney."

Chase paled. He looked at the door, as if expecting Robert to burst in and save him. But the door remained closed.

He stood up, balling his fists. "I'm not signing this."

Isla's bodyguard, a wall of muscle named Kael, took one step forward. Chase sat back down.

"There is a second condition," the mechanical voice said.

Isla slid another document toward him.

Chase read the title. His jaw dropped. "Joint Statement of Engagement... to Brande?"

He looked at Isla with pure hatred. "You want me to marry that idiot? After everything?"

The door opened. Brande rushed in, trailed by a frantic Elena.

"Who are you calling an idiot?" Brande screeched. She lunged for Chase, her nails aimed at his face.

Elena grabbed Brande's arm, holding her back. "Stop it! You're making it worse!"

Isla rapped her knuckles on the table. Hard.

The room went quiet.

"It is the only way to stabilize the stock," Isla's tablet spoke. "A wedding distracts the press. You two deserve each other."

Chase looked at the pen. His hand was shaking. He knew Isla had him. If he didn't sign, he went to prison. If he signed, he went to Brande.

He grabbed the pen and scribbled his name, tearing the paper.

"Brande," Isla typed. "Sign."

"I won't!" Brande sobbed. "I hate him!"

"Sign," Elena whispered, her voice trembling. "Or we lose the house."

Brande wept as she signed her life away.

Isla stood up. She didn't say goodbye. She walked out of the glass box, leaving them in their self-made hell.

"You think you won?" Chase shouted after her. "Julian Curtis won't let this slide! He hates being played!"

Isla paused. She didn't turn around. She kept walking.

Outside, the sunlight was blinding. She leaned against the building's stone facade, feeling a sudden wave of dizziness. Her knees felt like water.

Simone, her best friend, was there. She handed Isla a bottle of water. "You did it, Is."

Isla drank, the cold liquid shocking her system back to life. She typed on her phone. _Not yet. I need Mom's jewelry._

Across the street, a black sedan idled. The windows were tinted, opaque to the world.

Inside, Julian Curtis watched Isla through the reinforced glass. He had seen the way she leaned against the wall, the momentary weakness she thought no one saw.

"She's interesting," he murmured. His voice was low, a baritone that vibrated in the quiet car.

"Shall we intervene, sir?" his assistant asked.

Julian watched Isla straighten up and mask the exhaustion. He smiled, a predator spotting prey that might actually put up a fight.

"No," he said. "Let her run. I want to see how sharp her teeth are."

The auditors moved through the Pruitt mansion like a swarm of locusts in expensive suits.

Isla led the way to Elena's wing. Elena was having tea in her sitting room. When she saw them, she dropped her cup. Tea soaked into the Persian rug.

"What is the meaning of this?" Elena shrieked. "Get out!"

Isla held up the court order signed by Arthur. Asset Recovery.

"These are my things!" Elena cried, blocking the door to her dressing room.

Isla signaled the lead auditor. He stepped forward with a metal detector wand.

_Move,_ Isla typed.

Elena didn't move. Kael gently but firmly moved her aside.

They went in. The auditors began opening drawers. Isla went straight to the hidden panel behind the full-length mirror. She knew it was there. She used to hide there when she was a child, listening to Elena complain about her.

Isla pointed. "Open it."

The auditor pried the panel loose. A safe.

_Code?_ Isla typed to Elena.

Elena glared at her, hate radiating off her in waves. "Go to hell."

"Drill it," Isla commanded via the tablet.

"No!" Elena lunged forward. She punched in the code, her fingers stabbing the keypad.

The door swung open.

Isla's mother's jewelry. The sapphires. The diamonds. The pieces Elena had sworn were lost or sold.

Isla picked up a sapphire necklace. It felt heavy, cold. She remembered the smell of her mother's perfume when she wore it.

"That's mine!" Elena screamed. "I've worn it for ten years!"

Isla stepped aside as Elena tried to grab it. Elena stumbled, catching herself on the vanity.

The auditors cataloged everything. But as the pile grew, Isla's stomach tightened.

The Emerald Ring. The signet. It wasn't there.

Isla turned to Elena. She held up a photo of it on her phone.

Elena smiled. It was a vicious, broken thing. "Brande has it. She wore it out. Said it matched her eyes."

Isla's blood ran cold. That ring was the key to the vault.

_Where is she?_

"Blue Note," Elena sneered. "With her fiancé."

Isla turned on her heel. "Pack everything," she instructed the auditors. "If one earring is missing, I sue."

She marched out to the car. As the door closed, a wave of nausea hit her, sharp and sudden. Isla pressed her palm against her stomach, her breath catching in her throat. It was more than just stress. It was a secret, growing inside her, a silent deadline that made retrieving that ring, securing her mother's assets, an absolute, non-negotiable imperative. This wasn't just about revenge anymore. It was about survival-for two of them. "Blue Note Jazz Club," Isla typed to the driver.

Rain began to streak the windows.

Inside the club, the air was thick with smoke and saxophone notes. Brande was at a booth, waving her hand around, the emerald flashing in the dim light. Chase was next to her, sullenly nursing a whiskey.

Up on the mezzanine, in the VIP shadows, Julian Curtis swirled his drink.

"Isn't that the girl who supposedly saved you?" his friend asked, pointing at Brande. "She looks... trashy."

Julian's eyes narrowed. "I'm beginning to think she's a fraud." He had been tracking Brande, not Isla. Her credit card charges led him here. He needed to confirm his suspicions about the Aspen incident, and this seemed like the perfect place for a chaotic confession.

Then he saw Isla.

She walked in from the rain, her hair plastered to her cheeks, her eyes fixed on that ring. She looked like a drowned rat, but she moved like a missile.

Julian set his glass down. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the railing.

"Showtime," he whispered.

Isla cut through the dance floor. Bodies pressed against her, hot and sweaty, but she didn't feel them. Her vision was tunneled on Brande's hand.

Brande saw Isla coming. "Oh god, the mute is here! Get her away from me!"

Chase stood up. He swayed, drunk and angry. He blocked Isla's path. "Get lost, Isla. You aren't welcome here."

Isla held up her phone. _Give me the ring. I leave._

Chase slapped the phone out of her hand. It skittered across the floorboards. The screen shattered.

Isla looked at the broken glass. Then she looked at him.

Her silence wasn't empty anymore. It was dangerous.

Chase reached for Isla's shoulder. "I'm talking to you!"

Isla didn't move. As his fingers closed on her shoulder, she met his furious gaze with a dead calm. She didn't flinch. She simply lifted her free hand, holding a full glass of ice water she'd picked up from an empty table. With deliberate slowness, she tilted it, pouring the freezing contents directly onto the expensive DJ mixing board next to their booth. Sparks flew. The smooth jazz music died with a violent screech of feedback, plunging the immediate area into a shocking silence punctuated by the crackle of shorting electronics.

The music stopped.

Brande gasped, spilling her drink. "Security!"

In the ensuing chaos, as people yelled and the staff rushed toward the smoking equipment, Isla lunged for Brande. Brande was distracted, momentarily stunned. Isla grabbed her left hand.

"Get off me!" Brande clawed at Isla's face. Her nails raked down Isla's neck, stinging like fire.

Isla yanked the ring off Brande's finger.

Two bouncers grabbed Isla from behind. They slammed her onto the table. The wood dug into her ribs.

Chase scrambled up. He grabbed a heavy glass bottle from the table. His eyes were murderous. He raised it over Isla's head.

"Stop."

The voice wasn't loud, but it carried the weight of absolute authority.

Everyone froze.

Julian Curtis stood at the top of the stairs. He held an unlit cigar, looking down at them like they were insects in a jar.

Chase lowered the bottle, his face draining of color. "Mr. Curtis..."

Julian walked down the stairs. The crowd parted for him. He moved with a predatory grace, slow and deliberate.

He stopped in front of their table. He didn't look at Chase. He looked at Isla, pinned against the table, bleeding from the neck, clutching the ring in her fist.

"Let her go," Julian said to the bouncers.

They released Isla instantly.

She stood up, smoothing her jacket. Her neck throbbed. She looked at Julian.

He stared at the scratch on her neck. A flicker of annoyance crossed his face. "Sterling," he said, his voice bored. "You're fighting women in my club?"

"She attacked me!" Chase whined. "She's crazy! She destroyed the sound system!"

"I saw self-defense," Julian said.

He held out his hand to Isla. "Phone broken?"

Isla nodded, wary.

He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a sleek, black phone. He unlocked it and handed it to her.

"Use mine."

Isla stared at the device. Taking it felt like signing a contract she hadn't read. But she had no choice.

She took it. The metal was warm from his body.