Chapter 5: Bite Back

The next few days were a brutal crash course in living as Mrs. Veylin. Isla barely had time to breathe. Breakfasts were formal, afternoons filled with fittings, and evenings spent parading on Ezekiel’s arm through corporate gatherings and charity functions. She was given a stylist, a posture coach, even a private etiquette instructor—all ordered by Ezekiel without so much as asking her opinion.

Her life was no longer her own.

But what Ezekiel didn’t realize was that every insult sharpened her resolve. Every judgment, every dismissive glance from the world around her fueled something stronger than fear—defiance.

On the fifth evening, Maddox appeared at her door as she was buttoning up a sleek emerald gown. “Mr. Veylin requests your presence in the library. Ten minutes.”

Isla’s stomach knotted. She hadn’t spoken to Ezekiel properly since their tense car ride from the estate. He’d been distant, colder than usual. Tonight felt… different.

When she entered the vast library, she found him by the floor-to-ceiling windows, nursing a glass of whiskey. His black shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, sleeves rolled up, revealing strong forearms inked with expensive watches and authority. He didn’t turn when she stepped inside.

“Come here,” Ezekiel ordered, voice thick with something dangerous.

Isla approached, wary but poised. Her heels clicked softly against the hardwood floor until she stood beside him. He finally looked at her, eyes trailing lazily down her body before settling on her face.

“I had a meeting with the board today,” he began, swirling the amber liquid in his glass. “They’re… unconvinced.”

“Unconvinced of what?” Isla asked.

“Of you. Of us.” His jaw clenched. “They think you’re a liability. A scandal waiting to happen. My mother is feeding them doubts.”

Isla’s pulse spiked, but her voice stayed steady. “And what do you think?”

Ezekiel’s gaze darkened. “I think you need to remind them why I married you.”

Her stomach dipped at the heat in his tone. He stalked closer, the air shifting between them.

“Tomorrow night,” he continued, “there’s a private gala. Veylin shareholders, key investors, politicians. You will attend not as my charity project… but as my equal.” He leaned in, voice dropping to a rough whisper. “Show them you can bite, Isla. Show them you belong.”

Isla blinked, caught between shock and growing determination.

“And if I do?” she asked quietly.

Ezekiel’s grin was slow, wicked. “Then you stop being a pawn. You become a weapon.”

Her heart thudded. He wanted her to fight? Fine. She’d fight—and she’d make them choke on their arrogance.

⸻

The following night, Isla stood in front of the mirror, staring at the woman reflected back. Her stylist had worked magic—a black satin dress, high neckline, dramatic open back, diamond earrings that kissed her jawline, hair swept up with precision. She didn’t look like the girl who scrubbed dishes in a rundown diner. She looked like power.

She walked into the ballroom on Ezekiel’s arm, head high, spine straight. The whispers came instantly, but this time, she met every stare without flinching.

Ezekiel’s hand tightened around her waist, his mouth brushing against her ear. “Beautiful,” he murmured. “Dangerous.”

As they made their rounds, Isla noticed the subtle shifts. People still whispered, but they hesitated when she met their gaze. Some smiles faltered when she spoke—confident, intelligent, refusing to let anyone corner her. She laughed at the CEO’s dull jokes, asked pointed questions to board members, and turned down advances with icy grace.

Ezekiel watched her like a hawk, pride and amusement flickering in his cold expression. She was performing exactly as he’d demanded—no, better.

But trouble always came knocking.

Midway through the evening, Vivienne Veylin approached, her lips painted in a perfect, poisonous smile. “You clean up well,” she purred. “Almost convincing.”

Isla smiled back, stepping forward before Ezekiel could interfere. “You’ll have to forgive me, Vivienne,” she said sweetly, “I didn’t realize you were the one I had to impress. I thought your son was running Veylin now.”

A few gasps rippled around them, curious eyes turning toward the confrontation.

Vivienne’s smile faltered just enough for Isla to savor it.

“And if you’re so concerned about the Veylin name,” Isla continued, voice calm, “maybe you should worry about the board’s falling trust in your decisions… considering last year’s failed project in Paris.”

Ezekiel’s grip on his glass tightened, but his grin sharpened.

Vivienne’s face turned a shade paler. “You’ve been… researching.”

“I like to understand the empire I married into,” Isla said softly. “I may be poor, Vivienne… but I’m not stupid.”

Vivienne’s lips thinned. “Watch yourself, girl.”

Isla leaned in, her whisper laced with steel. “No. You watch yourself.”

As Vivienne stalked away, Ezekiel turned to her, jaw slack for the first time since she’d known him. Then, a slow, wicked grin stretched across his face.

“Well,” he said, voice rich with something dark and satisfied. “Looks like my little wife has claws after all.”

Isla smiled, head held higher than ever. “You wanted a wife who could bite,” she whispered. “Careful, Ezekiel… I might bite you next.”

And for the first time since their marriage began, Ezekiel didn’t look like he wanted to break her.

He looked like he wanted to burn with her.