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.

The courier arrived at 7:00 AM.

Isla signed for the envelope. Inside was a summons.

Plaintiff: Chase Sterling.

Charge: Aggravated Assault.

He had attached a medical report claiming permanent knee damage. It was a lie, but a dangerous one.

"That bastard!" Simone yelled, reading over Isla's shoulder. "He attacked you!"

Isla went to her computer. "Get the club footage," she typed.

Simone's fingers flew across the keyboard. Then she stopped. "It's gone. The server was wiped an hour ago. Physical overwrite."

Chase had bought someone off.

Isla's phone buzzed. A text from Chase.

_Give me the ring and apologize on TV, or you go to jail. A mute girl in prison? You won't last a day._

Isla looked at the emerald ring on her finger. No.

She looked at the black phone on her desk. Julian's phone.

She picked it up. Her thumb hovered over his contact.

_I need the footage from last night._

The reply was instant.

_Cost?_

Isla closed her eyes. She knew what he wanted. Access.

_Pruitt Logistics' Q3 vulnerability report. The one my father buried._

_Done. Check your email._

A ping. The file downloaded. 4K resolution. Crystal clear audio. It showed Chase swinging the bottle. It showed Julian stepping in.

Isla forwarded it to her lawyer. Then she forwarded it to TMZ.

Ten minutes later, Chase called. Isla declined it.

The news broke within the hour. _Sterling Heir Caught in Assault Scandal._

Simone hugged Isla. "You're a genius!"

Isla didn't smile. She looked at the black phone.

It buzzed.

_Logistics isn't enough. Interest is due. Tonight. 8 PM. My office._

Isla's stomach dropped.

She dressed carefully. A high-necked blouse. Armor.

Isla stood in the elevator of Curtis Tower. The numbers climbed higher and higher. Her ears popped.

She was walking into the lion's den.