CHAPTER 5

Isabelle's POV

His gaze locked on me. He didn’t speak, just let his eyes travel slowly over me, lingering in a way that made my skin prickle. The intensity of it was overwhelming; it felt as though he was memorising every inch of me without lifting a finger. His gaze trailed from my wavy blonde hair spilling over my shoulders, down to my round breasts with my tits visibly hard, to my lower abdomen, and my coochie.

For a heartbeat, I wanted to step closer, to feel his hands on me again, the way he’d touched me earlier. But instead, instinct took over. I reached for the duvet on the bed and wrapped it tightly around myself.

I didn’t want to hide—not from him. Being near him had always made me feel strangely safe. But the look in his eyes now… it wasn’t something I knew how to read. I’d never stood naked before any man, and the weight of the moment pressed hard against my chest.

When I finally met his eyes again, his expression had changed. He looked furious, though whether at me, himself, or the situation, I couldn’t tell.

“Are y-you a witch?” he muttered, scowling. “Why the hell are you moving around like—like a whore?”

My breath caught. For a moment, the shock hit harder than the insult. I wanted him, yes. But I wasn’t throwing myself at him. And he was the one who’d barged into my room, stared at me for God knows how long, and I’m not even mad at him.

He didn’t get to be angry.

If anything, I should be the one screaming.

“What? Me? A whore?” My voice trembled with a mixture of outrage and hurt. “You storm into my room without warning, and now you think you can call me that?”

He stepped closer.

The shift in the air was immediate. It was heavier, colder, charged with something dangerous. His presence towered over me, muscles tense beneath his shirt, his shadow swallowing mine. I lowered my gaze, my eyes landing on his shoes as heat crept up my neck.

“Don’t you ever raise your voice at me,” he growled. “And this is my room. What made you think you deserved one?”

Tears blurred my vision. I never imagined this was his room; nothing in it even hinted at him.

 “I—I didn’t know I’d be sharing a room with you,” I stuttered. “If I knew, I… I wouldn’t have been so comfortable.”

He took a step closer as if he wanted to say something, but before I could meet his gaze, he turned and stormed out, slamming the door behind him.

I fled into the closet, sinking my petite body to the floor with my face in my hands. Tears streamed down my cheeks as Adrian's words echoed in my head.

What makes you think you deserve a room?

I whimpered.

He’s right. He paid me to marry him… maybe that’s why he called me that. I didn’t mean to stand there like that. I thought this room was mine. He hates me already.

My phone rang, but I ignored it. I was tired of crying today. I’d lost count of how many times the tears had come, and if I’d saved them all, I swear they could fill a river.

So, I wiped my tears and stood. I opened the closet, only to see Adrian’s clothes hanging neatly.

Oh no… my suitcase hasn’t been brought up.

I pushed his suits aside, searching for something simple to wear. My eyes landed on a brown Louis Vuitton hoodie and shorts. I slipped them on, tied my hair into a messy bun, and crawled into bed, making a mental note to ask Adrian for the money tomorrow.

I miss my mother so much; it’s just eighteen hours without her, and I’m already so drained. I literally can’t do life without her.

“Oh, Mom… I can’t wait to see you healthy again,” I murmured as I drifted off.

*************************************

 “Are those my clothes?!”

A loud voice jerked me from sleep, my bun falling loose around my shoulders as I blinked at him, confused and intimidated.

“Who told you to touch my things?” he snapped.

“—I’m sorry. My suitcase wasn’t brought up yet,” I whispered.

“Don’t ever touch my things,” he ordered coldly before disappearing into the bathroom and slamming the door.

“I think he has a problem with doors,” I muttered to myself.

I really don’t like the way he speaks to me in a harsh tone. A small sigh escaped me as I covered my face with my hands, only to realize fresh tears had slipped down my cheeks. I wiped them away quickly.

I stood up and opened the curtains, letting sunlight warm the room, then checked my phone.

OMG!  Eight missed calls from Miranda. I called back immediately.

“Hey, I’m so sorry. I fell asleep right after I changed.”

“It’s fine, babes. What time are you paying for your mom’s surgery?” Miranda asked.

“Once he gives me the money, I’ll head to the hospital. Can you stay with her until I get there?”

“You don’t need to ask. I’m already on my way.”

“Thank you, Mira. I’ll call you as soon as I leave.”

I’m so blessed to have Miranda by my side; she just effortlessly does things for me. We both have different personalities, but she doesn’t seem to care.

I sat on the bed, rehearsing how to ask Adrian for the money.

He scares me so much. And he’s angry all the time. But… something about him makes my stomach flutter. I feel safe around him, even when he yells. I don’t understand it.

My thoughts vanished when my Greek god stepped out of the closet, sharp in a dark-blue tuxedo, hair slicked back, the room filled with his cologne.

I stared, breath catching.

“Wow,” I whispered.

He turned. “Did you say something?”

I clamped my hands over my mouth, mortified. “Um… I wanted to ask for the money. For my mom’s surgery.”

Adrian’s brows knitted. “Your mom is in the hospital?”

“Yes.”

He stared at me for a moment, something that looked like concern—and maybe even doubt—shifting in his blue eyes.

 He slipped a black card from his pocket and handed it to me. “Everything we agreed on is in here. The pins are on the back.” He didn’t wait for my reaction; he walked out.

“Thank y—”

The door slammed before I could finish.

“Hold on, Mom. I’m coming.” I muttered to myself.

I hopped off the bed like a child, walked to the bathroom, feeling steadier than before.

Daniel’s POV

I’ve been standing outside, waiting for this asshole, who thinks he’s my best friend, to come out. I hate the way he thinks, the way he acts like he’s in control, his ego, and the way he talks down to me.

I heard footsteps approaching and looked up to see him walking straight toward the foyer.

“Hey, man,” I said, keeping my voice casual while masking the hatred underneath.

“Is Isabelle’s mother sick?” Adrian demanded. “How did you miss that? Is that why she agreed to the marriage contract?”

I hesitated but only for a second.

How the heck did he find out?!

 “Yes, but her father already paid the bills before she agreed.” The lie came easily. “Don’t tell me one night around her made you think she’s some innocent girl in need of saving.” I scoffed.

“She doesn’t seem like what you described. She’s… too fragile,” Adrian said.

Fuck! My plan feels like it’s unraveling before it even begins. I want him to burn with anger and rage toward her, to focus all his energy on destroying her, thinking he’s punishing a father who doesn’t care for her, and who isn’t responsible for the accident. I planted that idea in his mind because I caused the accident, and if I let him dig into it himself, he might discover the truth.

“That bitch is acting,” I replied, clapping Adrian on the back. “Don’t fall for it. She has no real reason to need that money.”

Adrian sighed. “I’m heading to work. You coming with me?”

Now there he goes, insulting me again. Because I don’t have a Ferrari or a Rolls‑Royce, I’m supposed to ditch my Mercedes and trail after him?

Fine. Let him brag. Let’s see how long he can cling to all that wealth, because I’ll tear it down to nothing.

“I’ll take my car,” I said, heading towards my black Mercedes.

I sat inside my car and dialed a foreign number.

“He found out her mother is sick,” I reported. “And I think he’s getting soft.”

“What?” a woman’s voice hissed. “He cannot think she’s innocent. His anger is what keeps him from investigating the accident himself.”

“That’s the problem,” I said, tapping the steering wheel nervously. “Now he feels she had a reason to accept the contract.”

“He only feels that way because of her sick mother, right?”

“Yes.”

“Then kill her mother.”