Chapter 3

Damien began, "Tonight some creep was trying to take me away, and Isla couldn't just stand by, so she—"

"Are you done?" I couldn't stomach the performance anymore—the fake innocence, the wounded look. I cut him off with nothing but contempt. "Actually, I think I'm the one who should be apologizing to you two. After all, you're the legally married couple. That makes me the other man, doesn't it?"

"Nate!" Isla's face went white. She stepped in front of Damien, shielding him behind her, and fixed me with a furious glare. "We're in public. There's a limit to how far you can take a tantrum.

"I already explained everything this afternoon, and Damien just explained what happened tonight. What more do you want?

"Damien, don't apologize to him. You didn't do anything wrong. Go home. I'll have my driver take you."

She signaled her assistant to take Damien out, and just before he left, he glanced back at me. In that single look, I caught the faintest flicker of triumph and challenge.

Damien was no innocent man. He'd been playing this game from the start. It hit me then that I'd only come to the bar in the first place because he'd called me. I was just another piece he'd moved into place.

Isla and I drove home together. She didn't say a word the entire ride.

I watched the scenery blur past the window and found myself thinking about the last time she'd been this angry. That time, it had been because of me.

We'd been together for seven years. I knew her inside and out. She was composed, rarely swore, and was nothing like the spoiled heiress people expected.

She carried herself with grace, always gave people an out, never burned bridges. And she would never make a scene like she did tonight. She cared too much about her reputation, and after a blowup like this, the gossip would be everywhere by morning.

Yet the only other time she'd ever lost control like that, she'd done it for me.

It was our third year together. Things were good between us. We were at a party with friends; everyone was drinking, and one woman had had too much. She grabbed my arm, leaning in all loose and flirtatious.

"Nate, what's your secret? How do you have Isla so wrapped around your finger? I've never seen her this crazy about anyone. How about you let me have a taste too?"

The words were barely out of her mouth. Isla, who'd been across the room taking photos with friends, was on her feet in an instant.

A bottle shattered over the woman's head.

Glass went everywhere, and the private room went dead silent. Every single person stared at Isla in disbelief.

She pulled me behind her, bent down until she was eye level with the woman, and spoke in a voice that was still perfectly calm—the kind that made everyone in the room go still.

"Had a bit too much?"

The woman was too shocked to care about the blood running down her face. She stumbled over herself to apologize.

"I'm sorry, Isla. I was drunk. I was just joking. I didn't mean anything by it. Nate, I'm sorry, I swear I wasn't serious."

Everyone assumed that would be the end of it. They were all part of the same circle. Nobody would actually let things get ugly over something like this.

But the next day, news broke that the woman had been in a car accident. She'd been left permanently paralyzed.

When I found out, I asked Isla in disbelief whether she was behind it. She didn't even flinch. She just nodded, her gaze still soft as she looked at me.

"I gave her the choice. Something happens to her family, or something happens to her. She picked herself. That's not on me."

From that day on, everyone in the circle knew I was off-limits when it came to Isla Farrow.