CHAPTER 3.

ISLA'S POV

The ring on my finger felt like ice.

I stared down at it, my heart hammering so loudly I was sure everyone could hear it over the low hum of the restaurant.

My mouth had opened, the word “yes” balancing on my tongue like a white flag. I was tired of fighting. I was jobless, terrified for my mother’s future, and drowning in the crushing realization that Victor Blackthorne had just thrown me away. Julian offered safety. He offered an escape from the constant, aching ghost of what could have been.

But just as I was about to surrender, the wooden doors of our private alcove didn’t just open—the entire illusion of my safe future shattered.

Darian Blackthorne walked into the room like he owned the very air we breathed.

He was taller than I remembered, his shoulders broader, the boyish vulnerability completely replaced by sharp, ruthless edges. His dark suit was tailored to perfection, emphasizing the cold power radiating from his frame. But it wasn't just his transformation that stole the breath from my lungs.

Clinging tightly to his arm, her fingers wrapped possessively around his sleeve, was Serena Ashworth. Her blonde hair fell in perfect, expensive waves, her lips curved in the same cruel, triumphant smile she used to wear when she bullied me in the academy halls.

My stomach dropped so fast I felt dizzy.

Dare’s gaze swept the room, freezing the air, before slamming straight into me. His eyes dragged down to the ring in Julian’s hand, then up to my pale face. For one fleeting second, something raw, violent, and deeply pained flickered in those dark depths I used to lose myself in. Then, it froze over into absolute malice.

Julian stood up, slipping a protective arm around my waist, though his grip felt suddenly tight. "Well, well. The prodigal heir returns."

The table fell silent. My mother stood frozen near the edge of the alcove, her hands trembling as she clutched a cloth napkin, her eyes wide with terror for me.

Dare didn’t acknowledge his cousin. He didn’t look at my mother or the balloons decorating the room. He only looked at me.

"Still trying to climb the social ladder, little maid?" His voice was low, cutting, laced with a venom that made my skin prickle. "I didn't expect you to aim for my own cousin. A bold move, even for you."

Heat flooded my cheeks, born of sheer, unadulterated shock. Six years of silence, of wondering why the boy who swore I was the only one in his heart had vanished without a trace, and this was how he returned? With insults and my worst enemy on his arm?

I lifted my chin, refusing to let him see how deeply the blade had cut. "And I didn't expect you to come back parading the girl who used to torture me. Serena? Really, Dare? The same girl you once forced to apologize to me?"

Serena let out a light, mocking laugh, pressing her shoulder against his. "Oh please, Harlow. That was schoolgirl nonsense. We’ve all grown up." Her eyes gleamed with malicious satisfaction. "Some of us just... upgraded."

Julian stepped slightly in front of me, his body acting as a shield. "You're interrupting a private celebration, Dare. Isla was just about to say yes to me."

My breath caught. I hadn't agreed yet, but the lie hung heavily in the air. In my state of utter exhaustion, I couldn't find the strength to correct it.

Dare’s jaw clenched, a muscle ticking visibly. His eyes darkened to a stormy black as they flicked between Julian and me. "Marry you?" A cold, humorless laugh escaped him. "How touching. Tell me, Isla—did you even wait for the tail lights of my plane to fade before you threw yourself into his bed?"

The words hit like a physical slap. My palm itched to strike his arrogant face. "You left!" The words tore out of me, raw and trembling with six years of suppressed agony. "You promised me everything and then disappeared into total silence! You don't get to stand there and accuse me of betrayal when you’re the one who abandoned me!"

"I had my reasons," Dare snapped, stepping closer, completely ignoring the rest of the room. His presence was suffocating—the familiar scent of cedar now mixed with something darker, and deeply dangerous. "Reasons I’m beginning to suspect you and my cousin helped manufacture."

"She doesn't owe you any explanations," Julian countered, his arm tightening around the small of my back, pulling me firmly against his side. "She has me now. And unlike you, I didn't run when things got difficult."

The tension between the two men crackled like electricity. I felt entirely trapped between them—Julian’s possessive hold on one side, and Dare’s burning, accusatory gaze on the other.

"Personal assistant," Dare said abruptly, the words dropping like an absolute command.

I blinked, thoroughly confused. "What?"

"You're unemployed as of yesterday, aren't you?" Dare’s lips curved into a sharp, predatory smirk. "The Blackthorne Group has an opening for my personal assistant. You start tomorrow morning. Eight o'clock sharp. Don't be late."

Julian laughed, the sound sharp and incredulous. "You can't be serious."

"I've never been more serious." Dare's eyes never left mine, boring into my soul. "Consider it an act of charity. Or nostalgia. Unless you'd rather live off my cousin's handouts while your mother strains her heart in a kitchen."

Humiliation burned through my veins like acid. He knew. He already knew his father had fired me. He knew about my mother’s health. He was using my desperation as a leash.

"No," I said, my voice shaking but fierce. "I'd rather starve than work for a tyrant like you."

Julian smiled triumphantly, squeezing my waist. "You heard her, Dare. She’s made her choice."

"We’ll see how long that choice lasts," Dare murmured, his voice dropping to a low, intimate threat that sent shivers down my spine. "By the end of the week, you’ll be in my office. And when you are... I’m going to enjoy every second of watching you remember exactly who you used to beg for."

Tears pricked the backs of my eyes, but I forced them back. "I hate you," I whispered.

He turned sharply on his heel, Serena trailing after him with one last victorious glance over her shoulder. As they reached the exit of the alcove, Dare paused, looking back over his shoulder.

"Oh, and Isla? Tell Julian to keep the receipt. That ring won't be on your finger much longer. And happy birthday."

The heavy velvet curtains fell shut behind them, leaving a suffocating silence in their wake. This is definitely the most traumatic birthday I've ever had.

I stood there, trembling, the ring on my finger suddenly feeling less like a promise of safety and more like a heavy, golden brand. Julian’s hand remained on my waist, but the warmth was gone. It felt possessive.

The restaurant seemed to tilt. The glittering chandeliers, the balloons, my mother’s worried face across the room—everything blurred.

Dare had returned, hardened by time and twisted by a belief that I had betrayed him, seeking absolute revenge. Julian stood beside me, offering a sanctuary that suddenly felt like a beautifully disguised trap.