Chapter 2: The smooth Trap

~Isabel~(Thirty Hours Ahead)

I pushed open a pair of massive oak doors. The dining room was glowing under a giant crystal chandelier.

Arthur Sterling was at the head of the table, laughing at something my mother was saying. He looked exactly like his photos: silver at the temples, sharp suit, the kind of calm that comes from owning continents.

My mother looked like a totally different person. She’d ditched the struggling mom vibe and was draped in champagne silk with a diamond necklace. She looked like she’d been rich her whole life.

"Bel! You’re here!" She got up and kissed my cheek. She smelled like expensive rose oil, not the vanilla lotion I remembered. "Arthur, this is my Isabel."

Arthur stood up with a warm smile. His eyes were kind, but sharp. Like he was already calculating my worth. "Welcome, Isabel. I hope the flight was okay?"

"It was... fine. Thank you, Mr. Sterling. For everything."

"None of that. Call me Arthur. Come, sit. We were just waiting for—"

The heavy doors creaked open behind me. Suddenly, the room felt freezing. The scent of sandalwood and cold breeze filled the air.

"You're late," Arthur said, though he didn't sound mad.

"Meetings ran over."

That deep voice hit the back of my neck like a ton of bricks. I turned around slowly.

There he was. The guy from the New York cafe.

Without the dim diner lights, he looked breathtakingly dangerous. He’d taken off his jacket and rolled up his sleeves, looking perfectly polished even with a loosened tie.

He froze. For a split second, I saw it click in his eyes—he recognized the girl who’d spilled the espresso tray.

Then, his face turned into a mask of pure ice.

"William," Arthur said, totally missing the weird tension. "You remember I told you about Sarah’s daughter, Isabel? She starts her internship with you on Monday."

William didn't even blink. His eyes moved slowly over me. He looked at my face, then down at the floral dress I was wearing.

It wasn't a nice look; it was like he was inspecting a roach that had crawled onto his expensive rug.

He stepped closer, his voice dropping to a low, scary rumble as he passed me. "I remember. The girl with the tray."

He brushed his shoulder against mine—just hard enough to give me a jolt—and sat directly across from me. He stared right at me while he talked to his father.

"I didn't realize the Mayfield girl was part of the wedding package."

"William, be nice," my mother said with a nervous laugh. "Isabel is brilliant. She’s going to be a huge help at the company."

William leaned back, his fingers tapping a slow, annoying rhythm on the table. "Is she? Because usually, people in my office actually provide value, Sarah. They don't just sit there and waste my father’s money."

"That's enough," Arthur warned, his voice getting sharp.

Dinner was a nightmare. I stared at my plate, my throat feeling too tight to even swallow.

William watched me the whole time. He noticed every time I bit my lip or clenched my jaw. He was waiting for me to break.

"So, Isabel," he said, cutting off my mother’s talking. "Tell me. What exactly do you think you’re going to learn in my department? Besides how to spend my dad's cash?"

The New York temper I’d been trying to hide finally snapped. I dropped my fork, and it hit the plate with a loud clack.

"I expect to work," I said, looking him straight in his whiskey-colored eyes. "I’ve been working since I was fourteen, Mr. Sterling. I don't want hand-outs. I’m here for the job, and I’m going to earn every cent."

How did I get to London to be under the scrutiny of a cold billionaire stepbrother? Well, thirty hours ago...

—-

Joey had walked in after the call, still wearing her work smock and looking completely wiped. She leaned against the doorframe, letting out a heavy sigh that told me she already knew.

"She called, didn't she?"

"She’s married, Joey. To Sterling."

Joey let out a long, low whistle. "Well. She always did have a thing for the fancy life. What’s she after this time?"

"She wants me to move to London. There’s an internship... It pays for my school and everything. She even said Arthur would ‘invest’ in the salon if I went." I looked up at her, my eyes starting to sting. "She’s literally using you and my tuition f*e to persuade me to go."

Joey walked over and sat next to me, throwing an arm around my shoulders. She smelled like hairspray and peppermint tea.

"Bel, listen to me. You don't owe me a thing. Not a single cent. I didn't take you in because I wanted a paycheck later."

"But I’m five thousand pounds short for tuition, Joey. The college won’t hold my spot after this month. I’ve worked three jobs for three years. If I don’t take this internship, I lose everything."

Joey’s face went hard. "And you think scrubbing floors in Brooklyn NY is gonna get you that five grand? No. This Sterling thing is your shot. You take it."

"But the salon—"

"The salon has been struggling since before you were born, kid. But you? You’ve got a brain that could run circles around those people." She squeezed my arm hard. "If this is your ticket out of this neighborhood and into the life you deserve... you take it. You take every penny and you don't look back."

"I don't want to leave you," I said, finally losing it and starting to sob.

"I’m just a FaceTime call away. Go to England. Show those Sterlings what a Mayfield girl is made of." She gave me a small, tired grin. "And if any of them gives you trouble, tell them I’ve got a pair of thinning shears with their name on it."

That night, I didn't sleep a wink. I packed my entire life into one battered suitcase—my books, my graduation photo, and the few clothes I had that didn't smell like coffee beans. The floral dress Joey bought for graduation was what I planned to put on for the trip.

After hours on the plane, I landed safely pulling my suitcase, the squeak sound from the cracked wheel echoed across the pavement. The driver was already waiting, standing still and professional without saying anything or acting like he noticed the sound my suitcase made. He just grabbed it with a gloved hand.

"This way, Miss Mayfield. Mr. Sterling is expecting you for dinner." The ride to the mansion was quiet and fast.

When we got into the estate, it looked like a white limestone fortress. The housekeeper looked me up and down like I was an intruder.

"I am Mrs. Higgins. Your mother is getting ready. I’ll show you to your room. You have twenty minutes."

"Try not to be late," Mrs. Higgins warned. "The Master hates it when people are late."

—--

When she had said the Master, I knew this wouldn't be an easy stay. Now, sitting directly opposite me, the smirk on this Master's face was dangerous. I was already expecting his harsh rebuttal…

"Mr. Sterling is my father," William said, leaning forward. Then, whispering so the whole room could hear, "You can call me William. After all... we’re family now, right?"

He let the threat hang there for a second. Then his eyes flicked down to my dress one last time, his lip curling in disgust.

"And Isabel? Do me a favor. Don’t wear floral clothes in my office, or in this house. It’s cheap, and I won't have it."

Heat crawled up my neck. I thought of Joey, of the salon, of three jobs and five thousand pounds. I thought of him watching me spill that coffee like I was nothing.

I shoved my chair back, the wood screeching against the floor.

"I don’t wear cheap, William," I said, my voice shaking but clear. "I wear what I earned."

I didn’t wait for them to say anything. I turned and walked out, feeling his eyes burning into my back the entire way…