Chapter Four: Tangled in Glamour

The moment I stepped inside the house, Clara was already waiting in the living room, her legs crossed, phone in hand, looking as if she had been expecting me. She jumped up the instant she saw the shopping bags dangling from my arms, her eyes widening with excitement.

“Isabella!” she squealed, rushing over to me. “Oh my God, look at all this! He really spoiled you today, didn’t he?”

I laughed softly, though it sounded more nervous than joyful. My arms ached from carrying the designer bags, but it was my heart that felt heavier. Dickens had gotten me clothes, jewelry, even a watch I knew cost more than my father’s yearly salary. Yet his words—You’re mine now—echoed louder than anything else.

Clara grabbed one of the bags before I could stop her, pulling out a silk dress wrapped in tissue paper. “Wow… this is gorgeous. He bought you this?”

I nodded, collapsing onto the couch. “Yes. He bought everything.”

She whistled, shaking her head. “Girl, you’ve hit the jackpot. I told you, didn’t I? Men like him don’t just spend this much unless they’re serious. Just enjoy it. Eat his money, take what you can, and don’t stress yourself about the rest.”

Her words stung. Something inside me wanted to protest, to say it wasn’t just about money. That it felt like more, that sometimes when he looked at me, I felt… chosen. But then, other times, when his grip was too tight or his voice too sharp, I wondered if I was nothing but his possession.

Still, I forced a smile. “You’re probably right.”

Clara plopped down beside me and leaned in. “Of course I am. Men are all the same. Don’t fall too deep, Isabella. Just take what you can get.”

Her tone was playful, but something about the way she said it made me glance at her twice. Then, as if to change the subject, she reached behind the chair and pulled out a small jewelry box.

“Look what my boyfriend got me,” she announced, flipping it open. Inside lay a delicate silver bracelet, sparkling under the light.

I blinked. “Wow… it’s beautiful. I didn’t even know you had a boyfriend.”

Clara grinned and shrugged. “Well, I didn’t think it was serious enough to mention. He just… likes to spoil me sometimes.”

I leaned back, studying her. This wasn’t the first time Clara had shown up with something expensive out of nowhere. A perfume last week, a new handbag the month before. Every time, she had casually brushed it off as something her “boyfriend” bought. But tonight, with the weight of Dickens’s phone buzzing in my memory and Vicky’s name still haunting me, I couldn’t help but feel a chill creep into my bones.

Trying to shake it off, I told her everything about the restaurant—the chandeliers, the music, the way everyone treated Dickens like royalty. Clara’s eyes sparkled with excitement, peppering me with questions.

“What did you eat? Did he really take you to that restaurant? Isabella, that place is for the super-rich. Even governors go there.”

I laughed, recalling the moment the waitress bowed and called him “Mr. Dickens.” But the laugh quickly faded when the image of blue eyes came rushing back—the stranger who had caught me in the hallway.

My fingers itched toward my handbag where his card was hidden. Just thinking about it made my pulse race.

Clara must have noticed something shift in my expression because she leaned closer. “What’s wrong? You look… distracted.”

I shook my head quickly. “Nothing. Just… tired.”

But I wasn’t tired. I was restless. Restless with questions, with secrets, with things I couldn’t tell her—or anyone.

Later that night, when I was finally alone in my room, I pulled out the card. My thumb traced over the name and number again and again. I should throw it away. I should forget him.

But I didn’t.

Instead, I placed it carefully inside my diary and hid it under my pillow.

As I switched off the light, Clara’s words replayed in my mind—Just enjoy it. Eat his money. Don’t stress about the rest.

But something in the way she had said it earlier nagged at me. Like she knew more than she was letting on.

And when I closed my eyes, it wasn’t Dickens’s face I saw. It was the stranger’s. His blue eyes, steady and kind, locking onto mine as though he already knew I needed saving.

The next morning, Clara and I dressed up to go to the supermarket. I had barely fastened the last button of my blouse when Clara stepped out of her room, twirling like she was on a runway.

My heart stopped.

The dress she wore—the emerald-green bodycon with thin straps—I knew that dress. I had seen it once, neatly displayed on a mannequin at the boutique where Dickens had taken me. I remembered how my hand lingered on the fabric, how I admired the way it shimmered under the lights. Dickens had been quick to shut it down.

“No. That’s too revealing. Not for you. Leave it.”

So I had left it.

And now, here it was, hugging Clara’s figure perfectly.

I blinked, stunned. “Clara… where did you get that dress?”

She looked at me like it was the most ordinary question in the world. “This? Oh, I bought it some time ago. I’ve had it for a while.”

I frowned, studying her carefully. “Really? I don’t remember seeing it before.”

Clara smiled, a little too casually. “Well, you don’t see everything I own, Isabella. Don’t overthink it.”

Something didn’t sit right, but I forced a laugh, brushing off the uneasiness. “Fine. It looks good on you.”

“Of course it does,” she winked, grabbing her purse.

We headed to the supermarket. The aisles were bright and noisy, filled with chatter and beeping carts. I tried to focus on picking groceries, but Clara’s energy was different today. Halfway through, she excused herself to make a phone call.

I thought it would take a minute. It didn’t.

I checked my watch. Ten minutes. Then fifteen. My eyes darted around, searching for her. Finally, she returned, sliding her phone back into her bag like nothing happened.

“You okay?” I asked.

“Yeah,” she said quickly, her tone light. Too light.

I let it go. Maybe she had her own life, her own secrets. Who was I to question?

We finished shopping and pushed our cart outside. The September heat hit my face as I adjusted the bags in my hands—then my phone buzzed.

Mr. Dickens.

My stomach tightened.

I answered, pressing the phone to my ear. “Hello?”

“Come outside,” his voice commanded, smooth and unyielding. “I’m in front of the mall.”

I froze, my eyes darting to the road. A sleek black car was parked directly outside.

“How do you know I’m here?” I whispered.

He chuckled, low and dangerous. “There is nothing you can hide from me, Isabella. Just as nothing is hidden under the sun. I always know where you are.”

My pulse quickened. Clara glanced at me curiously, but said nothing. Together, we walked out, and Dickens stepped out of the car like a king, opening the door for us.

The ride home was quiet, almost suffocating. Dickens asked a few questions about what we bought, but Clara sat silently beside me, her gaze sharp, almost too watchful.

I couldn’t read her.

Just before the car stopped in front of our house, Clara finally spoke, her voice soft, almost playful.

“It’s funny,” she said, looking at Dickens through the rearview mirror. “You really do always know where she is. Almost like… someone tells you.”

My heart skipped.

Dickens gave a low chuckle, his hand tightening slightly on the wheel. “Or maybe I don’t need anyone to tell me.”

The car fell silent again, but the words hung heavy in the air, wrapping around me like a cold chain.

Clara turned to the window, hiding a small smile I almost didn’t catch.