Chapt 6. Does ruining yourself feel good?

Adrian Harrington sat back on the sofa, he stared at Isabella. All the people presented here were all masters of evil ideas—every glass they handed her was a cruel mixture of the strongest liquors. Even for someone with a decent tolerance, those drinks were enough to tear apart her stomach.

Across from him, Charlotte Sinclair straightened her spine, preening like a victorious peacock. When spotted another chance, she grabbed a fresh glass of burning liquor, ready to shove it at Isabella.

That was when Adrian finally lost patience. His brows knit together as he reached past Charlotte, snatched the glass from her hand, and downed it in one breath. The liquor scalded his throat like a blade and seared all the way into his gut.

“Adrian?!” Charlotte’s voice shot up, her face twisting with shock. “What are you doing? That was for Isabella!”

Adrian silenced her with a single glare. Then, without a word, he stood and strode over to Isabella. His hand clamped around her wrist, firm enough to make her wince, and he yanked her off the sofa.

“You’re coming with me.”

The world blurred around her. By the time she caught her breath, Adrian had dragged her out of the private room and down the stairs. Only once they reached the freezing air outside the Dream Club did he finally release her.

Her weakened leg couldn’t hold her weight. With a thud, she collapsed onto the icy stone pavement. The cold seeped through her dress, cutting straight into her bones. Dazed, she looked up at him, confusion clouding her eyes.

Adrian stared down at her, his expression dark with something that looked like disappointment. His voice was low, threaded with anger.

“Does ruining yourself feel good?”

She froze.

“If you loved this life of flashing lights and luxury so much,” he pressed, “why stoop to being a greeter mocked by everyone? Why crawl back here, when you could have stayed away? Tell me, Isabella—why ruin Sophia that night? For Dominic Lancaster? Was it worth destroying her future… and your own?”

“Adrian…” Her lips trembled.

Charlotte burst out of the entrance behind them, heels clattering against the steps. She carried yet another glass of wine, but the sight before her made her grip falter.

Back then, Adrian had pursued Isabella with the same devotion Isabella had once wasted on Dominic. If not for her reckless mistake—if not for the crash that shattered Sophia’s legs—Adrian might never have given up on her.

And that thought terrified Charlotte. She could not allow Adrian’s heart to soften.

Just as she opened her mouth, headlights slashed across the snowy night. A silver-gray Ferrari pulled up to the curb, brakes screeching as it stopped sharply. The driver barely had time to roll away before a familiar figure emerged.

“What’s going on here?”

The voice was cool, authoritative, and sent a chill down Isabella’s spine.

She turned, and there he was.

Dominic Lancaster.

He crossed the distance in long, unhurried strides, his presence heavy and commanding as ever. His gaze swept over Isabella, sharp and disdainful. “Half a month of training, and you still can’t manage a simple greeting?”

The reminder jolted her into action. Heart hammering, she forced herself upright, fighting the weakness in her leg. She bowed deeply, voice steady despite the tremor running through her.

“Good evening, Mr. Lancaster.”

He didn’t respond. The silence stretched, heavy, until her bent posture made her stomach churn. Her body quivered with the effort to remain still.

Then Dominic’s eyes narrowed, his nostrils flaring faintly. The stench of liquor clung to her breath.

“You drank on the job?” His voice cut like glass. “Do you not know the rules?”

“I… I’m sorry, I—”

Before she could finish, Adrian moved. His body edged forward, instinct placing him between Isabella and Dominic. His tone deceptively mild. “What a coincidence, running into you here.”

A coincidence? Hardly. Everyone present knew Dominic rarely set foot in his own club, too indifferent to bother with such places. And yet here he was, perfectly timed. No one would believe it wasn’t deliberate.

Dominic’s gaze flicked lazily toward Adrian, then back to Isabella. “I heard you’d just returned from Canada. Thought you’d have better things to do than involve yourself with this.” His lips curved into a cold half-smile. “But tell me—did your manager never explain how to handle a guest’s dissatisfaction?”

At once, Isabella understood. Her lips pressed together before she forced herself to turn. She walked stiffly to Adrian, then bent low in another bow.

“I apologize, Mr. Harrington. Please forgive me.”

Adrian’s jaw tightened. He didn’t speak.

Dominic tugged at his cufflinks, his smile chilling. “Looks like he isn’t satisfied. Fine, then—kneel here. Stay down until he says he’s no longer upset. Only then may you rise.”

The world tilted.

Isabella’s teeth sank into her lip, the sting of blood sharp against her tongue. Her eyes burned, tears threatening to spill, but she refused to let them fall. Slowly, she turned her head—straight into Dominic’s icy gaze.

And she understood.

He wasn’t punishing her for breaking rules. He wasn’t teaching her a lesson as her employer.

No.

He wanted her on her knees. Broken. Stripped of dignity.

Because to Dominic Lancaster, Isabella Carter was meant to have no pride left at all.