CHAPTER 3.

ISLA'S POV

I stared at the imposing glass tower of the Blackthorne Group, my stomach twisting into knots. The morning sun glinted off the building like a mocking smile, reminding me exactly where I stood—far below the people inside.

Swallowing my pride tasted like ash. Yesterday, after the disaster at the restaurant, I’d gone home ready to burn every bridge. But reality hit harder than Dare’s cruel words. Mum’s health had worsened overnight, and I'm broke. Mom's business hasn't been going smoothly, recently.

Mum had taken my hands in hers, her voice soft despite her fatigue. "“Isla, love, pride won’t pay the bills. If Darian is offering a job, take it. For us.”"

Thea had been even blunter over the phone. “Girl, you’re drowning. Go to the office. Work for the devil if you have to—just don’t let Julian or Dare own you completely."

So here I was. At eight o’clock sharp, like Dare had commanded.

The lobby screamed cutting-edge power—marble floors, sleek black accents, and the Blackthorne crest etched into everything. My heels clicked too loudly as I approached the reception desk.

“Name?” the receptionist asked without looking up.

“Isla Harlow. I’m here for the personal assistant position.”

Her perfectly sculpted eyebrow arched. She typed something, then smirked. “Take the private lift to the penthouse floor. Someone will meet you.”

The elevator ride felt endless. My reflection in the mirrored walls looked pale, determined, but terrified. "You can do this. It’s just a job. Survive him long enough to stabilize Mum's life."

The doors opened directly into a sleek executive suite. And there she was—Serena Ashworth, perched on the edge of a massive desk, scrolling through her phone. She wore a tight designer dress that probably cost more than my entire wardrobe, her blonde hair gleaming under the lights.

When she saw me, her red lips curled into a delighted, predatory smile.

“Well, well. If it isn’t the little maid’s daughter crawling back for scraps.” Serena stood, circling me slowly like a shark. Her heels clicked with deliberate menace. “Didn’t expect you to actually show up. Thought you’d have more dignity than this.”

Heat flooded my face, but I kept my voice steady. “I’m here for the position, Serena. Not your opinion.”

She laughed, loud and sharp, drawing the attention of two assistants hovering nearby. “Position? Darling, this isn’t an interview. It’s charity. Dare felt sorry for you after last night’s little scene. Or maybe he just wants front-row seats to watch you fail spectacularly.” She leaned in closer. “Tell me, Isla, how does it feel knowing the boy who once defended you now needs you to fetch his coffee? Does it sting? Knowing you’ll be watching him and me together every single day while you type up his schedule?”

The two assistants snickered softly. One even pulled out her phone, pretending to check messages but clearly trying to capture my humiliation.

My fists clenched at my sides. “Where is Mr. Blackthorne?”

Serena waved a dismissive hand. “Busy. But he left instructions. Said to test if you’re even qualified for basic tasks.” She snapped her fingers at one of the assistants. “Bring the filing from last quarter. The messy one.”

Before I could protest, a thick stack of disorganized folders was dumped into my arms. Papers spilled everywhere, fluttering across the marble floor.

“Sort them by date, client, and project. And do it quickly.” Serena’s eyes sparkled with malice. “Unless your mother taught you only how to scrub floors, not organize anything more complicated than a cleaning schedule.”

The humiliation burned hotter than the slap I wanted to deliver. I dropped to my knees to gather the scattered documents. Serena’s laughter rang out again.

“Look at her. On her knees already. Some things never change.”

I bit my tongue until I tasted blood. "Don’t react. Don’t give her the satisfaction."

The elevator dinged. Dare strode out, commanding the space without effort. His dark suit fit him like armor, his dark eyes sharp and unreadable as they landed on me—still kneeling on the floor, arms full of papers.

Serena immediately brightened, sauntering over to him and sliding her arm through his. “Dare, darling, your new assistant is here. I was just giving her a little welcome test. She seems… enthusiastic about the floor work.”

Dare’s gaze flicked over me, cold and assessing. He didn’t tell Serena to stop. He didn’t defend me. Instead, a faint, cruel smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “An efficient use of resources, Serena. Though I expected her to at least make it to the desk before groveling.”

The words sliced deeper because they came from him—the same boy who once told me I was worth more than any title or money. Now he watched my humiliation like it was entertainment.

I shoved the papers into a neat pile and stood, spine straight even as my legs shook. “If this is how you treat your employees, maybe I should leave.”

I turned toward the elevator, my heart pounding with a mix of rage and shame.

“Not so fast.” Dare’s voice cracked like a whip. He moved faster than I anticipated, his hand shooting out to grip my wrist. His touch burned—familiar yet terrifyingly new. “You’re not going anywhere, Isla.”

“Let go of me,” I hissed, trying to yank free. His grip only tightened.

His eyes bored into mine, dark with something far more dangerous than mere revenge. “Your mother is finally free of our service, Isla. But one word from me to the commercial landlords, and her restaurant's lease is gone. And good luck finding anyone in this city willing to hire you after that. The Blackthorne name reaches far.”

The threat hung heavy between us. I could see it in his eyes—he meant every word. Power radiated from him, cold and absolute. This wasn’t the Dare I knew. This was a man forged in six years of bitterness.

“You’re despicable,” I whispered.

His smirk returned, sharper this time. “Desperate times, little maid. Your desk is over there. Start working. Or watch everything your mother built fall apart.”

Serena watched the exchange with open glee, but Dare didn’t even glance at her. His focus remained locked on me, intense and suffocating.

I swallowed hard and nodded once, jerking my wrist free. “Fine. But this changes nothing. I still hate you.”

“Good,” he murmured, his voice low enough for only me to hear. “The feeling is mutual."

He released me and strode into his office without another word, Serena trailing after him like a satisfied cat. The door clicked shut, leaving me alone with the mess of files and the weight of my new cage.

I had barely settled at the small desk outside his office—sorting papers with trembling hands—when the main elevator doors opened again.

Julian stormed in, his usually calm face twisted with fury. His eyes found me instantly, narrowing at the sight of me behind the desk.

“Isla.” His voice was tight, a controlled anger simmering beneath. “What the hell are you doing here?”