Chapt 4. Taking It All

“Why?”

Amy frowned in confusion. She joined the Dream Club around the same time as Isabella, and after half a month of working together, she had formed a fairly good impression of the quiet young woman. Isabella wasn’t like the other hostesses and greeters who came and went with the seasons—she was prettier than most, but without the arrogance that often accompanied beauty. Her temper was mild, her voice was soft, and she never once caused trouble. By all logic, someone like her should be well-liked by the people she surrounded herself with wherever she went.

And yet…

The front desk manager targeted her relentlessly. No breaks. No shift changes. The most disgusting jobs always landed on her shoulders. Cleaning up vomit in the bathrooms after drunken guests, mopping sticky footprints in the hallways when others refused, taking the late-night shifts nobody wanted. Half a month in, Isabella hadn’t seen a single kind look from her superior.

What surprised Amy even more was Isabella’s response—or lack of one. No complaints. No mutters under her breath. She accepted everything in silence, bowing her head, her posture calm, as though humiliation were as natural as breathing.

Amy couldn’t help herself. On their brief moment of pause between guests, she asked again, “Why do you put up with it? Anyone else would’ve walked out days ago. What are you staying for?”

“Because I don’t have money,” Isabella said quietly.

Her voice was calm, almost detached, but her hands gave her away. They curled slightly against her aching thigh, fingers stiff with cold. After a moment she forced them to relax, pulling her hand away as if ashamed of revealing weakness.

“At least here I get food and a roof over my head,” she continued with a faint, brittle smile. “And… I wouldn’t find another job anyway.”

The smile didn’t reach her eyes.

Amy bit her lip, frustration rising but held back by the other woman’s tone. Isabella wasn’t asking for sympathy. She wasn’t even trying to explain herself—just stating facts, as though she had already weighed every option and resigned herself to the only path left.

Noticing the fact that she wouldn’t elaborate, Amy let the matter drop with a soft sigh.

Isabella knew perfectly well how pathetic she must look to others. Spineless. Degraded. The kind of woman people dismissed with a shake of the head. But she didn’t care.

Dominic Lancaster was the largest shareholder behind the Dream Club. His people stretched over every inch of this place. Every move she made here, every word, every breath—if he wanted to know, he would.

And if she resisted? If she caused trouble or drew attention? It wouldn’t just be her who received the punishment.

The Carter family had already been dragged down once because of her. She had disgraced them with her arrest, her trial, her imprisonment. Even if they had long since cut ties with her, even if she had been cast out as nothing more than a discarded daughter—she couldn’t bear the thought of Dominic truly striking at them again.

So she choosed to endure.

She would endure everything.

From the entrance came the roar of two engines, low and aggressive. Isabella’s head lifted instinctively. Through the glass doors, two limited-edition luxury cars gleamed beneath the club’s floodlights, their polished bodies reflecting the snowflakes drifting lazily from the night sky.

Chauffeurs hurried forward to open doors. Out stepped three men and two women, all dressed in designer labels, the cut of their coats sharp enough to announce their wealth even without the watches glittering on their wrists. Their laughter carried across the marble floor, light and careless, like people who had never known the weight of consequence.

Isabella straightened at once, tugging down her uniform jacket, forcing her shoulders back. The standard smile—practiced, polished, empty—rose to her lips as they approached.

She bowed deeply. “Good evening. Welcome to the Dream Club…”

They didn’t even hear her. The group swept past without pausing, without sparing a glance at the girl who bent herself nearly in half for them. Their chatter echoed down the hallway as they made for the elevator.

Isabella was already straightening when the last woman stopped abruptly. The sharp click of her heels on marble ceased right in front of her.

The woman turned, lowering her chin, eyes narrowing as she studied Isabella’s face.

“Isabella Carter?” she asked, uncertainty lacing the syllables.

Isabella’s heart gave a single hard thump. She blinked, startled, and lifted her gaze just enough to take in the woman’s features. A face half-remembered, blurred by time, tugged at her memory. Recognition hovered, elusive.

The woman’s painted lips curved into a knowing smile. “So it really is you.” Her voice dripped with satisfaction. “Strange—your sentence ended so quickly? Out of prison already, and you didn’t even let your old friends know? I could have thrown you a party.”

Her mocking tone carried easily in the spacious lobby, making Amy’s eyes widen in shock.

Isabella did not react. Not a flicker crossed her expression.

The woman didn’t like being ignored. Her smile hardened, and she crossed her arms, giving Isabella a slow, deliberate once-over. “My, how you’ve changed. What happened? Was prison too hard on you? You look absolutely pitiful.”

Isabella kept her lips pressed together. The same faint smile stayed fixed in place, unshaken, as if her silence were armor against the barbs.

But silence, to the other woman, was the worst insult of all.

The cracks appeared quickly. Her painted brows drew tight, and her voice rose an octave. “What’s going on with the Dream Club these days? Standards dropping so low you’re hiring criminals now? Attempted murderers, no less! And look at this attitude—customers speak, and she just stands there grinning like an idiot! Where’s the manager?!”

The words lashed across the room, sharp and humiliating. A couple of staff at the far side of the hall froze, exchanging nervous glances.

And then—

“Charlotte, what are you doing?”

The voice cut through the tirade like a blade through silk.

Low. Cold. Measured.

Isabella turned instinctively toward the sound, and the moment her gaze landed on the tall figure striding into the lobby, memory slammed into her.

It was him.

Adrian Harrington.

Of all places, of all moments—she had not expected to see him here.

Back when she was in prison, the only person who had ever visited her had been Adrian. Not her family, not her so-called friends. Just him.

But she had never believed it was out of kindness. He was Sophia’s brother. And she was the woman who had nearly ruined Sophia’s life. How could he possibly look at her without resentment?

“Adrian!” Charlotte’s voice softened instantly, the shrill edge vanishing as if it had never been. She hurried toward him, manicured nails brushing possessively against his sleeve. “You’ll never guess who I just found.” She pointed at Isabella, smirk curving her lips.

Adrian’s gaze had already fallen on her.

Calm. Steady. Revealing nothing.

And yet Isabella felt herself shrinking beneath the weight of it, her spine instinctively stiffening, as though bracing for a blow.

The change in her appearance was undeniable. He frowned slightly, eyes narrowing. With a measured pace, he stepped closer until he stood before her.

“When were you released?” His voice was quiet, almost too quiet.

“Half a month ago,” Isabella answered evenly.

Her composure gave him pause. He had expected bitterness, defensiveness, guilt. Instead she stood calmly, hands folded neatly in front of her, as if nothing he could say could touch her.

He lowered his gaze, and it caught on the faint scars marring her once-flawless skin. Something inside his chest tightened, an ache swift and unfamiliar. He suppressed it immediately, looking away.

“Good,” he said finally, voice flat. “You’ve regained your freedom. Live well.”

“…Thank you.”

Her reply was soft, almost a whisper, yet it rang between them, heavy with meaning neither dared name.

Charlotte’s expression soured. She had expected Adrian to lash out, to humiliate Isabella further. Instead, his dismissal carried something almost gentle.

Her lips thinned, displeasure flashing in her eyes like a spark.

And Isabella—still smiling faintly, still bowing her head—felt her heart pounding, knowing this was only the beginning.