Chapt 11. Whatever I Say Is Just in Vain

“You certainly know how to take responsibility,” 

Miranda arched her red lips into a half-smile. “There are more than a hundred employees at Dream Club. If everyone started infighting the way you two did, we’d have shut down long ago. Here’s what we’ll do—starting tomorrow, you’ll be transferred to the cleaning department. You won’t be working as a hostess anymore. As for your dorm, the company will arrange a new place for you. This way, you won’t run into your roommate, and there’ll be fewer conflicts. What do you think?”

As she finished, Miranda stared directly at her, waiting to see her reaction. After all, being a hostess was considered one of the “better” roles for young women—at least it looked glamorous on the surface. The cleaning department, on the other hand, was known for its grueling work, usually left to middle-aged women who had no other choice. Dirty, exhausting, and utterly thankless.

But Isabella’s expression didn’t shift. She simply nodded once. “Yes.” She offered nothing else.

The indifference made Miranda frown with disappointment. Tilting her brow slightly, she wondered, “Don’t you have anything to say?”

Isabella shook her head. “To me, work is just work—as long as it pays. Besides, this was Dominic Lancaster’s direct instruction. No matter what I say, it would be futile. Why should I risk making him unhappy?”

For a brief moment, Miranda actually admired her composure. Then she let out a bold laugh, her tone unexpectedly open. “Since you have no objections, then go ahead and pack up. Report to the cleaning department.”

“Thank you, Miranda.”

Once Isabella slipped back into the dorm to gather her things, Miranda stood alone in the corridor. After a moment of thought, she pulled out her phone and dialed a number.

The call connected quickly. “Yes?” came a low voice on the other end.

“Just as you instructed, I’ve transferred her to the cleaning department,” Miranda reported.

On the other side, Dominic Lancaster was leafing through a file. At Miranda’s words, his hand stilled mid-page. After a pause, he asked, “How did she react?”

“She didn’t cry or protest. She accepted it calmly.”

“Is that so?” Dominic’s brows furrowed. His fingers pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to ease the pounding in his temples. “In that case, make sure to give her plenty of work. She’s young compared to the rest of that department. It’s only fair she does more.”

Miranda hesitated, frowning slightly. “Dominic… isn’t that a little harsh? She’s still just a young woman—”

Her words cut off when she realized she’d spoken out of turn. Guilt flickered in her eyes, and she quickly shifted the subject. “By the way, next Monday is the birthday celebration for the heir of Crestview Realty. You’ll be attending, correct?”

“Mm.”

“Then I’ll prepare the wine you like.”

“You handle it,” Dominic said curtly.

The line went dead. Dominic stared down at the file in front of him, but the words blurred, refusing to sink in.

No tears. No outburst. She had simply… accepted it.

A mirthless laugh tugged at his lips. Isabella, you’re constantly rewriting my expectations. Did you really think your nature could change in just two years? No. He refused to believe it.

He would see how long she could keep up this act.

“Hey! The soap dispensers in the women’s restroom are empty. Are you just going to stand around? What are you waiting for, me to do it?”

The supervisor’s shrill voice sliced through the air. Isabella, who had just finished cleaning a private lounge where drunk patrons had vomited across the carpet, stiffened. Her back ached, her knees felt weak, and even straightening upright had become a challenge. She had only sat down for a moment to take a sip of water when the call came.

Without complaint, she picked up the replacement bottles and her cleaning kit, heading for the restroom.

“Useless,” the supervisor muttered behind her. “Those big eyes are just for show.”

Isabella ignored the insults. She’d been in the cleaning department for a week now. The work was exhausting, but at least she didn’t have to parade at the entrance where familiar faces might recognize her. Hard labor she could handle. Exposure—humiliation—she could not.

Her movements were swift and practiced as she replaced the soap dispensers. Then, gripping her supply box, she stepped back into the hall—only to find the sharp-tongued supervisor blocking the doorway.

“All done? Good. Head to the rooftop terrace and help out there.”

“The rooftop?” Isabella blinked, recalling that tonight a wealthy client had booked the entire rooftop for a birthday party. She frowned faintly. “Supervisor, it’s already half past eight. My shift should be ending. And… I haven’t eaten all day—”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” The woman’s voice rose several notches, echoing through the corridor. “We’re short-handed and you’re thinking about food? The company pays you to work, not to shirk off at critical moments! If you can’t handle it, maybe I should report you to Miranda and have her reassign you again!”

Reporting to Miranda meant the news would reach Dominic. She couldn’t let that happen.

“Don’t tell Miranda. I’ll go now. Please don’t be angry.”

“Tch. Thought so. Hurry up, then! Don’t dawdle!”