Chapt 3. Living Under Someone’s Roof, One Must Bow

Her numb fingers trembled as they curled into fists. The icy wind cut through her thin prison-issued coat, stinging her skin like knives. She forced herself to draw in a shaky breath, then raised her head, meeting his gaze with what little courage she had left.

“It was my fault back then,” Isabella whispered, her voice hoarse from the cold. “I’ve received my punishment. Mr. Lancaster, please… just pretend you didn’t see me today. Spare me this once. Please?”

The man standing above her was as immaculate as ever, every line of his tailored coat precise, every gesture controlled. He tilted his head slightly, as if her words amused him, and a mocking curve touched his lips.

“What?” His tone was flat, his smile sharp as glass. “You think two years in prison settles our account?” His eyes hardened, cutting into her like blades. “Sophia’s leg will never be the same. Isabella, do you honestly believe that’s enough punishment for you?”

The name hit her like a hammer. She froze, her heart lurching painfully. Underneath her thin pants, her leg throbbed in familiar agony. Pain shot upward, burning and biting in the marrow of her bones. All of this—every shattered piece of her life—had been for Sophia.

But Dominic only knew Sophia’s tragedy. He didn’t know about hers. He didn’t know that when his golf club had swung down that night, it hadn’t only broken her bones—it had struck her heart too. That blow had left her with a wound that would never fully heal. If debts were to be counted, she had already paid hers in blood, pain, and dignity.

But she dared not speak the truth. Dominic Lancaster was not a man to reason with, not a man who showed mercy. He was like a storm sweeping through the city—unyielding, unpredictable, and devastating. Anyone who stood against him was to be crushed.

Her lips trembled. “And what would you have me do, Mr. Lancaster? I already took my punishment.”

The snow whipped harder, carried by a bitter wind. Dominic didn’t answer immediately. He stood still, black umbrella angled above him, a figure of power and command against the storm. Then, with a slight flick of his wrist, he shifted the umbrella.

Secretary Lee, who had been waiting silently nearby, stepped forward, his expression uneasy. “Sir?”

Dominic’s eyes remained locked on Isabella. His gaze was as cold and fathomless as a winter night, filled with a chilling detachment that made her shiver more than the snow. Perhaps he was remembering Sophia’s cries during rehabilitation, the endless agony of learning to walk with crutches. Whatever thought passed through him, it darkened his expression into something cruel, almost demonic.

“Isabella,” he said softly, his voice threaded with malice, “the law punished you. My punishment has yet to begin.”

The words robbed her of breath. She stood there, shivering, her entire body stiff with dread.

Dominic turned slightly, addressing Secretary Lee without sparing her another glance. “Clean her up and send her to the Dream Club.”

The command was delivered with the same ease as ordering a meal. But to Isabella, it was a death sentence. Her blood ran cold, and she staggered back. It’s unbelievable!

The Dream Club. Everyone in the city knew its reputation. A playground for the wealthy, a golden cage dripping with luxury and sin. For men like Dominic’s circle of friends, it was a paradise. For women like her… it was a pit, a place to be humiliated and discarded.

He wanted to strip her of the last bit of her pride. To remind her that she was no longer the Carter family’s little princess, but a convict, a disgrace, a woman branded with criminal charges.

Her teeth clattered, more from fear than the cold. “Dominic…” She swallowed hard, her voice breaking. “Do you have to be so merciless?”

For the briefest moment, surprise flickered across his expression—as if he hadn’t expected her to question him at all. Then, slowly, his lips curved into a smile, one devoid of warmth.

“Merciless?” His laugh was soft, almost charming, but it cut into her like steel. “Isabella, after two years you still haven’t learned. Living under someone else’s roof means bowing your head. Haven’t you understood that yet?”

Her lashes lowered, shadows hiding her eyes. She bit her lip so hard she tasted blood, but she kept silent.

She understood. She had always understood. In prison, she’d been forced to kneel, to obey, to surrender every fragment of the arrogance she once wore like a crown. The heiress of the Carter family had been shattered into dust.

And yet even her submission seemed to irritate him. His brows drew together faintly, as though her silence was an insult. Without another word, Dominic turned on his heel, his coat flaring slightly in the wind.

“Tell Miranda,” he instructed coldly, “that Miss Carter requires her personal attention. Don’t disappoint me.”

The Bentley’s taillights disappeared into the snow, swallowed by the storm.

For a long moment, the world was silent except for the wind. Finally, Secretary Lee approached, hesitant, his expression flickering between duty and pity. He bent down and helped her up gently.

Two years ago, this same woman had been unapproachable—proud, radiant, and untamed. Now, in his arms, she felt fragile, broken; her spirit was ground down to ashes.

Isabella’s lips parted, a question trembling on her tongue. “Is… Sophia doing all right?”

Secretary Lee stiffened, caught off guard. His gaze shifted away. “A dancer who can no longer take the stage…” His voice trailed off, deliberately vague. “How well do you think she could be?”

The answer hit harder than if he’d told her outright.

Isabella’s chest tightened, but a hollow, bitter smile curved from her lips. She had expected as much. As long as Sophia suffered, Dominic would never release his hatred of her.

The days blurred together. Isabella remained at the Dream Club for over half a month. Dominic never once appeared. Sometimes, when she lay awake in bed at night, the memory of that snowy encounter felt surreal—like a cruel dream from which she would soon wake.

But then morning came, and she stood once more beneath the gilded arches of the club’s lobby, bowing and greeting guests until her back ached and her leg throbbed with every step.

“Welcome to the Dream Club,” she recited automatically, her voice stripped of life.

She no longer knew how many times she had repeated those words. Each bow felt heavier, each smile emptier. When the latest group of patrons swept past her, perfume and laughter trailing in their wake, she pressed a hand discreetly against her left leg. The pain had grown so sharp it blurred her vision.

A soft voice broke through her haze.

“Manager’s really something, isn’t she? Everyone else gets breaks, except you.” Amy, a fellow hostess, gave her a sympathetic glance. “If you ask me, she’s just jealous. You’re prettier than the rest of us, so she wants to grind you down.”

Isabella forced a faint smile, though her lips barely moved. “I can’t quit.”

And she meant it. No matter how unbearable the pain is, and how cruel the humiliation is, she couldn’t afford to lose this job.

Because for her, survival was no longer about pride. It was about enduring one more day, and paying for …