4

Isabel winced awake. She blinked, looking around her, trying to understand what was happening and that was when the ache settled in, the slow, low burn between her legs and the stiffness in her hips reminded her exactly what had happened the night before.

Her eyes went wide and then she sat up fast. The sheets fell off her body, her hand flew to her chest, realizing she was completely naked. She looked around the room frantically, the room was empty.

She looked to the other side of the bed. There was no sign of him, not even a shirt.

Her fingers curled in the blanket, tugging it around herself as if she could somehow pull her dignity back on too.

“Shit,” she whispered, rubbing her face.

The memories came slowly at first, his hands on her hips, the heat of his mouth against her neck, the way he’d said her name like it belonged to him. She could still feel his breath on her skin, the sound of their moans, her legs wrapped around his waist.

Her head dropped into her hands. “What the hell is wrong with me…”

It wasn’t just sex. It hadn’t felt like just sex.

It had felt… alive, she hadn’t touched a man since before her brother’s debt wrecked their lives. She hadn’t had time or desire or the space for desire, she had been busy trying to find ways out of this problem.

But last night...  It felt like she was wanted but he was gone.

Her eyes flicked to the nightstand, maybe hoping for a note, or anything to soften the awkward silence he left behind.

Instead, her breath caught in her throat. There, neatly stacked, held together with a sleek black clip, was a fat wad of hundred-dollar bills.

Her stomach twisted. She didn’t touch it right away. She just stared blankly at it, processing it as first and then denying it. Her hand moved slowly, fingers brushing over the edges of the bills, lots of it.

Her throat burned. He'd paid her for her service like she was some fucking prostitute.

The heat in her chest wasn’t lust anymore...it was shame and rage, she felt stupid.

She pushed the money away, kicked the sheets off, grabbed her jeans and pulled them on fast, shirt hoodie and shoes, she didn’t bother with makeup or fixing her hair, she just needed to get out.

She didn’t even know where she was going until her fingers dialed the only person who would understand.

“Hello?”

“Mercy.” Her voice cracked.

“What’s wrong?”

“I can’t...I can’t stay here.”

“What happened?”

“I just… please. I’m coming over.”

“Of course. Come.” Mercy sounded like she'd been woken up from her sleep at first but now her voice was as clear as it could get.

She hung up without saying goodbye.

Her hand shook as she clutched her bag, her eyes burned. She hadn’t cried yet, but the tears were building.

Downstairs, she made it past the hallway before two security staff stepped into her path.

“Miss Manor,” one of them said, eyes flicking to the bag on her shoulder. “Are you heading out?”

“Yes.”

“We don’t have confirmation on your departure.”

“I don’t care. Move.”

“We’re under strict instruction...”

She exhaled sharply, cutting him off. “I’m not a prisoner. Open the gate or I’ll call the press myself and tell them the billionaire upstairs is holding women hostage. You want that headline?”

The guards looked at each other.

“We just need to make a quick call...”

The security guards eventually let her pass, not because they agreed, but because Isabel wasn’t backing down. She stood her ground, arms crossed, face locked in a look that dared anyone to touch her.

They moved aside with a warning glance, one of them muttering something about notifying Mr. Dun but she didn’t look back.

She stepped through the gate, with her head low, every part of her filled with regret and shame. She dug into her hoodie pocket, trying to grab her phone again and text Mercy, but...

A hand caught her wrist.

She barely had time to blink before her back hit the cold brick wall, hard and sudden.

“Got you,” the voice hissed.

*

Isaac leaned back in the backseat of his car, his eyes was shut, the taste of whiskey still lingered at the back of his throat.

Last night hadn’t been planned. Hell, it hadn’t even been wanted.

He hadn’t touched anyone in two years, not since Vera, not since she walked out of his life with his money, his trust, and half his goddamn soul.

He swore he wouldn’t let another woman near him and yet Isabel...

He’d been drunk, yes but he wasn't blind. His fists curled, what the hell was she thinking? He was drunk but she wasn’t. She knew what she was doing, she let it happen and now he didn’t know who he was more angry at...her, or himself.

He sighed, rubbed his face with one hand, and opened his eyes, his head leaning against the window and that was when he a woman struggling across the street, his eyes shifted into a frown.

A man had her by the wrist, she was trying to yank free, her face was turned away, but the way she jerked her arm, the way her body leaned back, she was clearly trying to escape.

Isaac sat forward, it was her, Isabel.

“Stop the car!” he barked.

The driver flinched, but he hit the brakes immediately. Isaac was already throwing the door open even before the driver did it.

He didn’t feel the sidewalk under his feet, he didn't hear the traffic or the startled gasps from people walking by. All he saw was the man with his hands on her.

Isabel looked up just as Isaac stormed across the street, her eyes wide, mouth open in surprise. The man holding her didn’t even see him coming.

Isaac reached out, grabbed the guy by the back of the collar and yanked him backward so hard he stumbled. Isabel was pulled free instantly, gasping as she staggered back out of the way.

“what the fuck man...” the guy started, but he didn’t get far.

Isaac pushed him hard to the pavement and dropped on him, his hand locked around the front of his shirt and his knee dug into his chest, pinning him with effortless force.

The guy struggled under him.

“Touch her again and I’ll break your fucking jaw,” Isaac growled.

He pulled his arm back, his fist curling, ready to hit him with a punch when she cut in.

“Mr Dun!” Isabel shouted.

His eyes flicked to her.

“Don’t,” she said breathlessly, shaking her head. “Don’t hit him.”

“Why the hell not?” His tone was sharp, but his hand froze mid-air.

She hesitated, “because…” her voice dropped, “he’s my boyfriend.”