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.

They stood outside the club by his car. The rain had stopped, leaving the pavement slick and black.

Isla typed on his phone. _Thank you. I will pay for the replacement._

She showed him the screen.

Julian didn't take the phone back. He leaned against the door of his Maybach, studying her. "Where did you learn to create such a precise diversion?"

Isla deleted the text. _I need to go._

"Get in," he said. "I'll drive you."

Isla hesitated. The paparazzi were circling like vultures down the block. She looked a mess.

She climbed into the back seat. Julian followed. The door shut with a heavy thud, sealing them in. The car smelled of sandalwood and expensive tobacco.

He handed her a handkerchief. It was white, monogrammed with JC. "Your neck."

Isla pressed the cloth to the scratch. It stung.

"Brande told me she dug me out of the snow in Aspen," Julian said suddenly.

Isla's heart skipped a beat. Her fingers tightened on the handkerchief. A clause from the NDA Elena had forced her to sign after the incident flashed in her mind: _Disclosure of events... will result in the immediate forfeiture of the maternal trust._ She kept her face blank.

She typed. _So?_

"The person who dug me out," Julian said, his eyes locking onto hers, "had a strange calm in the middle of that blizzard. A focus. It felt... familiar. Like the way you just handled Sterling."

Isla forced herself to breathe evenly. _Lots of people know first aid. Brande is full of surprises._

Julian laughed softly. "Brande cries if she breaks a nail."

Isla turned to look out the window. The city lights blurred into streaks of gold and red.

He didn't press. He let the silence stretch, heavy and charged.

The car pulled up to Isla's apartment building. It was a modest place, her safe house away from the mansion.

Isla tried to hand him the phone and the bloody handkerchief.

He caught her wrist. His grip was firm, his thumb resting on her pulse point. It was racing. He had to feel it.

"Keep the phone," he said. "My private number is in it. If you want to finish destroying your family, you'll need it."

Isla looked at the phone. It was a lifeline. And a leash.

She nodded.

She got out of the car and hurried inside.

Julian watched her go. He picked up the handkerchief she had left on the seat. He looked at the smear of red blood.

He dialed his assistant. "Pull the flight records for Aspen, 2019. Cross-reference Isla Pruitt."

Inside Isla's apartment, she slid down the door until she hit the floor. She clutched the emerald ring in one hand and Julian's phone in the other.

She was in deep.