Chapt 21. You need a Woman?

Isabella bit down so hard on her lip that she tasted blood. The metallic tang spread across her tongue, masking the sour bile that kept surging up her throat. She forced it down again and again, her body trembling with the effort.

The man in front of her grew impatient at her lack of response. His hand was still twisted in her hair, his eyes gleaming with cruelty. The jeering around them only grew louder, filling the smoke-filled room with lewd amusement.

And then—

Click.

The private room door swung open.

A tall figure filled the doorway, his presence immediately cutting through the chaos. Dominic Lancaster’s sharp gaze swept the room like a blade, his eyes finally landing on Isabella. For the briefest moment, his brows knit together—then smoothed, his expression was unreadable.

Behind him, Miranda leaned lazily against the wall, she smiled and her posture was casual yet charged with dangerous allure.

The shift was instantaneous. The rowdy laughter and vulgar remarks fell silent. Men who had been shouting a second ago now straightened their clothes, standing stiffly as though facing a military inspection. Two scrambled toward the windows, fumbling to push them open, desperate to clear the heavy air.

“Mr… Mr. Lancaster.” The man who had been taunting Isabella abruptly shoved her aside and stood at rigid attention like a schoolboy caught in trouble.

Isabella stumbled from the shove. The glass ashtray she had clutched for defense slipped from her bloody fingers and shattered against the ground. She hit the floor hard, the sound drowned by the crash of glass. Shards dug into her palm, slicing her skin open. Warm blood welled up and trickled down her wrist, drip by drip, to the carpet.

No one noticed. No one cared.

Dominic’s gaze lingered on her hand for a moment, his eyes darkening almost imperceptibly, before shifting away, cool and detached.

The room was suffocatingly quiet now, every breath held back in fear.

“You need a women?” Dominic’s voice was low, calm, but carried the weight of thunder. He walked past Isabella as if she were invisible, his eyes settling coldly on the trembling man. “Shall I bring you some?”

The man stammered, sweat already trickling down his temple. “N-no… no need to trouble you, sir.”

“It’s no trouble.” Dominic’s tone was flat, but his words coiled like a snake ready to strike. “You’re a guest. Your satisfaction is the responsibility of this club. Miranda.”

 “Consider it handled.” Miranda’s voice purred as she tilted her head, eyes glinting with mischief. “How about six handsome men to keep our friend entertained?”

The man’s face drained of color. His body shook violently, his hands twitching at his sides. The room’s stale air seemed to choke him, and cold sweat began dripping down his back.

Miranda sauntered forward, her heels clicking against the polished floor. She leaned closer, her perfume sweet yet suffocating. “Don’t be afraid,” she teased, her voice was syrupy and cruel. “I’ve got just the thing. A little something to help… heighten the experience. Free of charge. Think of it as me doing a good deed.”

The man’s breath came in shallow gasps. He darted a frantic look at the others in the room, pleading silently for help. But they all avoided his gaze, suddenly fascinated with the floor or their drinks. Not one dared to speak.

“Sorry, I—I was wrong, Mr. Lancaster,” the man stuttered, his words tripping over themselves. His Adam’s apple bobbed furiously as he swallowed. “I shouldn’t have caused trouble in your place. I swear, it won’t happen again, I—”

Dominic’s eyes narrowed. The man’s knees buckled under that gaze alone, and he collapsed with a thud, landing right in the foul mix of vomit and glass shards on the floor. He couldn’t finish his plea. His voice died in his throat.

Fifteen long minutes later, the room was spotless again. Isabella had scrubbed every corner, her hands raw and bleeding beneath the disposable gloves. She carried the bucket and mop outside, her body aching with exhaustion.

In the hallway, she froze.

Dominic stood with his back to her, one hand in his pocket, the other holding a cigarette he hadn’t lit. His posture was relaxed, but the air around him was sharp, oppressive.

Her instinct was to turn away, to put as much distance as possible between them. She clutched her cleaning tools tighter and began walking in the opposite direction.

“Come here.”

The command cut through the corridor like a whip.

Isabella’s steps faltered. Slowly, reluctantly, she turned and walked toward him, keeping her head bowed.

“About earlier…” she murmured, her voice hoarse. “Thank you.”

Dominic finally turned, looking down at her. His lips curved faintly, though there was no warmth in it—only mockery. “Really? You want to thank me? Or are you angry I ruined your fun?”

Her head snapped up, eyes wide. “What?”

His gaze was piercing, cold as steel. “Didn’t manage to snare Adrian that night, so you’ve set your sights elsewhere?” His eyes flicked briefly to her injured hand, where blood still seeped through the thin glove. His brows knit, just for a moment, then smoothed again as he looked away. “Isabella, you really are willing to put your mouth on anything.”

The disbelief in her eyes crumbled into something else—something heavier, sharper. A bitter laugh almost escaped her, but she held it in.

For one foolish moment, she had thought he’d stepped in out of concern. She had thought, however briefly, that he’d noticed her pain, her humiliation.

But of course not.

Even if that man had assaulted her right then and there, Dominic would only think she had seduced him first.

She lowered her gaze, the corners of her lips curling faintly in self-mockery. How pathetic she was, to expect anything else.