Chapter 3- Emotional Blackmail

3

Isabella 

“Sir, now I’m sure you are in the wrong room.” I said with certainty stepping back to the bed to grab my dress and cover what was left of my dignity.

He gawked at me, his brows high and eyes clearer than when he first stepped in, he was getting sober.

Thankgoddess.

“You need to leave,” I urged. “Now.”

Instead of leaving, he frowned and reached into his pocket. Slowly, he pulled something out and held it up between us.

A card.

My breath caught as he turned it so I could see. A room number was written clearly on it. Room 39. This room number.

“This is the room I was given,” he said. “And the name. Isabella” His eyes lifted to my face watching as the color drained from my face.

The sound of my name felt like a slap.

My stomach dropped, and my confidence flattered.

“It’s your name right?” He pressed. And for the first time I loathed my birth name.

“Yes,” I whispered, panic rising fast. “But… but this must be a mistake. I’m Isabella, but this—this isn’t right. My husband—”

He cut me off with a sharp laugh. “Husband? In a brothel like this? I’m not in the mood for games.” He gruffed, taking a step back which I immediately countered taking one back.

“I’m not playing,” I insisted, my voice breaking. A tiny part of me wanted to process that this was a high class brothel, the bigger part wanted to ignore everything and rectify the fallacy.

“Please, you have to believe me. My husband must have made a mistake. He wouldn’t—he couldn’t—” The words tangled in my throat. Saying them out loud made them feel impossible.

What were the chances another Isabella was somewhere in this hotel but there had to be. I refuse to believe it, this was a grave error.

He looked down at the card again, then back at me, his expression hardening. “I paid a hefty price to be treated with such disrespect.”

My chest hurt in the most disgusting way. Even when we were at the lowest of lows not once did I think to venture into this business. How could I commit such a great sin to my body and husband. 

“I promise there is a mishap. Let’s go see him, he’ll clear this up, you have to believe me.” I cried, driven to desperation.

He studied me for a long moment, like he was deciding whether I was worth the trouble. Finally, he scoffed. “Fine,” he said. “But if this is some trick, you’ll regret it.”

Relief rushed through me so fast my knees almost buckled.

I grabbed the hotel robe wrapping it tight around myself, the middle aged man didn’t even bother to look away. By the look in his eyes I could tell he was devising a way to make me pay and other unspeakable things that made my skin crawl.

I quickly stepped past him into the hallway, keeping enough distance between us as I frantically searched for room 43.

Every step felt unreal, like I was moving through someone else’s nightmare. I searched the corridor desperately, my eyes scanning every door.

41… 42… Bingo!

A sigh of relief escaped me as I stood in front of room 43.

Anxiously, I knocked hard.

“Honey please open up!” I knocked hard as the man’s shadow towered over me.

“Dear, please open up… 

Abruptly the door is pulled open.

Derek came into view sitting in his wheelchair looking slightly irritated, the back drop of his room pitch black but I didn’t notice.

“This man came into my room and… my voice cracked but I forced myself to keep talking.

“Please tell him he’s mistaken, he thinks I am…

“You act like a child at times,” he groaned, rubbing his temples. I froze flabbergasted.

Maybe he didn’t decipher what I was trying to say before I could open my mouth to explain he turned to the man.

“You must be Master Lorenzo,” He began and I felt a shiver run down my spine.

“Alpha Derek, I can’t believe it’s you, in the flesh, I thought you were dead,” the man teased but Rashford wasn’t having it.

“I’m very much alive,” he said curtly. “I apologize,” his sharp tone softened. “She’s a little emotional. Give us a minute. She’ll be ready.”

My ears rang at his utterance.

It felt like reality drowned me in a cold icy bucket of betrayal.

I couldn’t think.

My mouth fell open, but no sound came out. My mind lagged behind the moment, scrambling to catch up as pieces fell into place. The room, the box, the card with my name on it. And worst of all the way he hadn’t looked surprised. Not even for a second.

He had planned it.

The man beside me shifted, clearly uncomfortable now. He looked between Derek and me, his earlier confidence fading. “No,” he said abruptly. “I don’t like this.”

Derek stiffened. “What?”

The man shook his head. “This isn’t what I paid a ridiculous amount for. She doesn’t know. She’s your wife and I don’t want a newbie.” He stepped back, raising his palm as a peace sign. “I want a refund.”

For a brief moment, something like irritation crossed Rashford’s face. His jaw tightened, fingers gripping the armrest of his chair. Then he exhaled sharply.

“Fine,” he said. “I’ll return it.”

The man nodded once. “I hope we collaborate differently in future.” He took a bow and just like that, he walked off, his footsteps fading down the hall.

I stood there, frozen, my chest caving in on itself. Relief and horror tangled together until I couldn’t tell which hurt more. My legs trembled, barely holding me upright, so I had to hold the wall for support.

Derek didn’t look at me.

Instead, he scoffed. “How could you do this?”

My eyes widened to the point I feared they would pop out their socket. “You… you wanted me to agree to that?”

“He was a high-paying client,” Rashford snapped, finally turning his head toward me. His eyes held offense. “Do you have any idea how much money I just lost?”

The words knocked the air from my lungs.

I took a step back, my hands shaking as I clutched the robe tighter. “Tell me,” I whispered. “Tell me you had nothing to do with this. Please.” My voice cracked. “Tell me this was a mistake.”

He looked at me like I was exhausting.

“Oh, stop being dramatic,” he said coldly. “Everything with you has to be a performance.”

“No,” I said, shaking my head. “Derek, please. Tell me it’s a lie, you wouldn’t do this to me. The Derek I married would never do this!”

“I’m in debt,” he said flatly, cutting through my denial. “Deep debt. The pack is gone. The money is gone. And you”—his gaze hardened—“you brought bad luck into my life the moment you married me.”

The words landed like blows.

“This,” he continued, gesturing vaguely toward the hall, “was the fastest way to make money. And if you wanted to be a good wife, you would understand that.”

My heart shattered quietly inside my chest. Like he was tearing it apart piece by piece and crushed them.

“A good… wife,” I echoed.

“Yes,” he said without hesitation. “And don’t feel bad. Thankfully, I booked you for two men tonight.”

The world tilted.

Two. 

The number echoed in my head, over and over, until everything else blurred. I pressed a hand to my chest like I could physically hold my heart together, like I could stop it from breaking apart completely.

I should have screamed. I should have run.

Instead, I stood there, trying to breathe through the pain.

“If you piss off the next man, things will never go back to the way they were. I need this from you Isabella, true love makes sacrifice, a good wife is meant to submit to her husband's wishes and I’m asking this from you only for tonight, never again.”

I was conflicted. This was my only chance to show him how much I cared.

If I refused, I would only prove him right. That I was useless. That I was bad luck.

I lifted my head slowly, tears slipping down despite my efforts. “If… if this will make you stop seeing me as a curse, to be the man you were before the accident” I said quietly, “then I’ll do it.”

He nodded, satisfied. “Good.”

He turned his wheelchair slightly, already dismissing me. “Go back to the room,” he said. “And be useful for once in your life.”