Chapter 14

The lady stepped right on her hand. Hard.

Isabella gasped.

"Are you blind?" the woman snapped.

Or stupid?" still standing on her hand. "Can't you see where you're going?"

One of the sales ladies rushed over, panicking.

"Sorry Mrs. Lara! I'm so sorry ma! Please ma!"

Lara finally lifted her foot off Isabella's hand and hissed.

"Why do you allow poor people into this place? Look at her! Can she even afford anything here? You people just let anybody walk in!"

"I'm so sorry ma, I'm so sorry," the sales lady kept apologizing. She quickly picked up Mrs. Lara’s bags and clothes and walked her to the other side of the boutique.

Isabella finally stood up from the floor, looking at LARA walking away. Her hand was red. Burning.

The sales lady came to her, whispering.

"Sorry... sorry dear. That's just how she is. Very rude. She's our boss's sister."

Isabella didn't even answer. She just nodded slightly. Her eyes were still on LARA and chose to ignore her and continue shopping

She just picked up some stuff. Black dresses, according to Adrian’s taste.

Then Charles came to pick her up. He pulled up, she entered, and they drove straight home.

Immediately she got home, she saw Adrian . He was sitting outside, close to the lake. Just sitting alone, and laptop on his lap.

she was trying to walk inside, he looked up at her.

"Hope you got everything," he said calmly. "Because soon we are going to my family house.

Isabella nodded. "Yes."

Adrian looked down. He noticed her hand. It was red. Swollen. But he didn't say anything then. He just let her walk inside.

Inside, Isabella was frustrated. Pain, embarrassment, everything mixed together.

She went into the bathroom to shower. She just wanted to wash off the whole day —

After bathing, she opened the bathroom door and stepped out. Her hair was wet, a towel wrapped tight around her.

And she froze.

Adrian was already in her room. Sitting on the chair, legs spread, watching her Like he owned _her_ ohh of course he owned her.

"How did you get in?" she said, clutching her towel tighter. "I didn't hear the door open."

She glanced at the door. It was unlocked. She forgot to lock it.

He didn't answer. He just stood up slowly and started walking toward her.

"Stop. Stop right there," she warned, stepping back. "This is a lady's room. You should knock."

He tilted his head, a small smirk on his face.

"My house. My rules. I don't knock for what's mine."

"What do you want?" she said, her voice shaking a little.

Then his eyes dropped. To her hand.

The red mark was darker now. A little swollen.

His whole expression changed. The smirk was gone.

"What happened to your hand?" His voice was low. Cold.

Her back hit the wall. She had nowhere else to go.

She hid her hand behind the towel. "Nothing. It's nothing."

"Don't lie to me, Isabella." He was right in front of her now. Not touching her, but close enough that she could feel his breath. His eyes were scanning her face, her shoulder, the way she was holding the towel like armor.

"I don't like repeating myself," he said, his voice dropping even lower. "What Happened. To. Your. Hand?"

She swallowed. "Someone stepped on it. At the boutique. By mistake."

"By mistake?" He let out a short, dark laugh. "Who in my boutique has the guts to step on you by mistake?"

He gently — but firmly — took her wrist and pulled it out from behind the towel. She tried to pull back, but his grip was firm.

"Let go —"

"Stay still."

He led her to the bed. "Sit."

She sat. He crouched in front of her, still holding her wrist, his thumb lightly brushing just below the red mark. His touch was careful, but his eyes were burning.

"Who did it, Isabella? Give me a name."

"It doesn't matter. It's over."

"It matters when someone touches what belongs to me." He looked up at her. That intense mafia stare. "In my world, no one touches my things and walks away."

"I'm not your thing," she whispered, stubborn.

He smiled then. That dangerous, possessive smile.

"Are you sure? You're in my house, and don’t forget you accept the contract of being my slave and toy”

She had nothing to say. Her heart was beating too fast.

He stared at her hand for another second, then his voice went dead calm. The kind of calm that is scarier than shouting.

" tell me the name, Isabella.”