Chapt 10. Money Is More Reliable Than Anything Else

Isabella had spent two days in the hospital. The doctor advised her to remain under observation for at least another forty-eight hours, but her wallet said otherwise. One glance at the accumulating medical bills was enough to make her decide. She forced herself to sign the discharge papers even with a fever.

The Dream Club paid fairly well compared to other places, but once rent, food, and basic expenses were covered, there wasn’t much left. Every cent she saved was precious, tucked away for the day she might need it most.

Two years ago, she had been naive enough to think money was trivial—something dirty, even. But lying sick in that hospital bed with no one to turn to and bills piling up on the counter, she realized money was more dependable than any person, any promise, any fleeting emotion.

When she finally dragged herself back to the staff dormitory, the four-person room was silent. Empty. It wasn’t time for a shift change, yet her roommates were nowhere to be found. The stillness unsettled her. Still, exhaustion weighed down her limbs, so she quickly changed into fresh clothes.

As she bent down to place her shoes in the locker, a wave of dizziness swept over her. She pressed a trembling hand against the metal for support, forcing herself to breathe. Her head throbbed; the fever was far from gone.

Suddenly, the sound of hurried footsteps echoed down the corridor. Before she could react, the door burst open and a hard shove sent her stumbling forward. Her lower back slammed against the edge of the desk, pain blooming sharp and hot. A muffled groan escaped her lips.

“Isabella!”

Amy’s shocked voice cut through the haze. She had just entered behind the other woman and hadn’t expected to see such a scene.

Tiana stood with her arms crossed, chin tilted proudly, eyes flashing with venom. “That’ll teach you to keep your filthy hands off my locker.”

Amy rushed forward, catching Isabella before she could collapse. Isabella’s face had gone ghostly pale, her lips trembling as she clutched her side.

“What are you doing?!” Amy snapped at Tiana, fury in her eyes. “She’s sick! Can’t you see she can barely stand?”

“She’s sick?” Tiana sneered, her voice dripping with contempt. “She’s a murderer. What if she was trying to plant something in my things? Who knows what kind of disgusting tricks someone like her is capable of?”

Isabella’s lashes fluttered. Her mind spun at the word—murderer. So the rumor had spread. She had known it was inevitable. The night’s scandal had shaken the entire club; whispers moved faster than wildfire in a place like this.

Still, hearing it thrown so casually in her face made her stomach twist. Humiliation pressed down on her chest, heavy and suffocating.

“I wasn’t…” Her voice came out hoarse, almost inaudible. She lowered her gaze and forced the words out. “I wasn’t doing anything. I felt dizzy and leaned on the locker. That’s all.”

But Tiana only snorted. “Excuses. Living with you is like sleeping next to a ticking time bomb. One of these nights, I’ll probably end up dead without even knowing why.”

“Enough!” Amy barked, her anger flaring. “We’ve all lived here for half a month. Has she ever done anything to you? You’re perfectly alive and well. Stop acting like she’s some monster.”

Spinning back to Isabella, she frowned at the unhealthy flush in her pale cheeks. Instinctively, she reached out and pressed the back of her hand to Isabella’s forehead. Heat burned against her skin.

“You’re burning up!” Amy gasped. “You left the hospital like this? Why didn’t you stay longer?”

“It’s just a cold,” Isabella murmured, her lips curving into the faintest smile. “Nothing serious.”

“Cold, my ass.” Tiana spat at the ground, her expression twisted with disgust. She yanked open her locker, checked it quickly, then slammed the door shut with a deafening bang. “I’m done with this. I’ll go to the manager right now. If she stays in this room, I’m moving out.”

Without waiting for a response, she stormed off, her heels clacking angrily against the floor.

Amy’s eyes filled with unshed tears of frustration. “What the hell is wrong with her? Acting like she’s some high-born lady. She’s working here, just like the rest of us.”

Isabella blinked at her, startled by the fire in Amy’s defense. For so long, she had grown used to silent stares, whispers behind her back, and outright contempt. But now, warmth spread slowly through her chest, easing the sting of humiliation.

“Thank you, Amy,” she whispered.

For reminding me… maybe the whole world isn’t completely cruel.

A knock sounded at the door. Amy moved first, pulling it open.

“Ms. Miranda?”

Miranda, the owner of the Dream Club, stood framed in the doorway like a vision out of place in the drab dormitory. Her sharp almond-shaped eyes swept the room, immediately fixing on Isabella.

This was only the second time Isabella had seen her, but she would never forget her presence.

Miranda had a reputation for being decisive and ruthlessly efficient. Today was no exception. She didn’t waste time with pleasantries. Her manicured finger lifted, pointing directly at Isabella.

“You. Come with me.”

Her voice was low, commanding, leaving no room for refusal.

Isabella’s heart tightened. The first time she had seen Miranda was two years ago, when she had secretly come to the Dream club to confirm a rumor. Back then, she didn’t know Dominic Lancaster was the club’s hidden investor. Gossip linked him to Miranda, the glamorous owner. Desperate, Isabella had wrangled a membership card just to catch a glimpse of her.

But that night, she’d only seen Miranda from a distance, her impression blurred by smoke and music.

Half a month ago, when Isabella had been dumped here, it was the vice manager who arranged her assignment. Miranda had not appeared once. Until now.

Looking at her now—so stunningly beautiful, so effortlessly commanding—Isabella couldn’t help but admire her. Some women were born with power etched into their bones. It wasn’t just beauty; it was presence. No wonder Miranda could build and control a place like the Dream Club.

“Your roommate just made a scene in the manager’s office,” Miranda said, her arched brows lifting slightly. “Demanding a transfer. Judging by your expression, I assume you know why.”

She let the words hang for a beat before her eyes narrowed. “So, Isabella, do you have anything you want to say for yourself?”

Isabella hesitated. For a long moment, the only sound in the room was her faint, uneven breathing. Finally, she lowered her lashes.

“No,” she said softly. “It’s my fault. I’ll move out of the dormitory.”