Chapt 8. That Woman, She Really Has Changed

Dominic Lancaster lifted his eyes, his lips curving in a smile, but it’s obvious that wasn’t a real smile.

“Manager Miranda of Dream Lounge,” he drawled lazily, his tone laced with mocking amusement. “Since when did you learn compassion? To speak up for someone who has nothing to do with you?”

Miranda arched her delicately shaped brows, her expression sultry yet sharp. She was about to reply when a knock came at the door. Pausing, she set down the porcelain teacup in her hand, the faint clink echoing in the office.

“Compassion isn’t really my style,” she replied lightly, her voice smooth as silk. “But that girl… she’s hardworking, resilient. If she were to die at my doorstep, that would truly be a pity.”

With a sway of her hips, Miranda rose gracefully and walked to the door, her silhouette a blend of allure and authority.

Dominic’s eyes narrowed slightly as he watched her leave. His mind, however, was not on her. Instead, it replayed Isabella Carter’s trembling voice as she knelt before him, the words she had spoken earlier still lingering.

That woman… she really has changed.

He lifted the teacup and took a small sip. The bitterness spread across his tongue. Somehow, it didn’t taste like tea at all—it tasted like irony.

When Miranda returned, she hesitated for a brief moment at the sight of Dominic, elegant as ever, sitting there with an air of innate nobility. The faintest flicker of something unreadable crossed her face before she composed herself again.

“She lost consciousness,” Miranda reported.

Dominic’s hand, poised around the teacup, stilled almost imperceptibly. “And Adrian Harrington?”

“I heard he panicked and personally drove her to the hospital.”

Dominic pressed his lips together, his expression unreadable. After a long moment of silence, his voice was calm, almost detached.

“Send two men to follow them.”

Isabella drifted into unconsciousness like she was sinking into a dream.

But it wasn’t a sweet dream.

She was back in that suffocating prison. The heavy fists of the overweight cell bully came crashing down on her. Unable to endure it anymore, she had started a fire in desperation. The flames roared and consumed everything—the bullies, the prison walls, and even herself.

For a fleeting moment, she had thought it was liberation. But as soon as she opened her eyes again, reality dragged her back down into another kind of hell.

The sterile smell of antiseptic filled her nose. A plastic IV bottle hung overhead, dripping cold liquid into her veins. Isabella frowned slightly, disappointment flashing in her eyes. She was alive.

A nurse, changing her bandages, noticed her expression and chuckled dryly.

“What? Upset that you survived?”

Isabella didn’t answer. Her gaze drifted toward the bleak trees swaying outside the window. The silence stretched until the nurse shook her head and left, carrying away the empty IV bottle.

The ward fell quiet, leaving Isabella alone. Perhaps it was exhaustion, perhaps the painkiller taking effect—before long, she slipped back into a hazy sleep.

When she woke again, darkness had fallen outside the window. The world was quiet, the kind of quiet that pressed against her chest and made her restless.

Her body ached with every movement. She blinked slowly, trying to adjust, when a low, magnetic voice pierced the silence.

“You’re awake?”

Isabella’s heart jolted. She turned her head—and there he was.

Dominic Lancaster sat on the sofa not far from her bed with long legs elegantly crossed, his posture relaxed yet commanding. The stark white hospital walls reflected the cold light onto his face, casting sharp shadows that made his expression unreadable. His lips curved ever so slightly, but his eyes… his eyes were mocking.

“Two years in prison, and if you’ve learned nothing else, Isabella, you’ve certainly mastered the art of playing the victim.” His tone was silky smooth, but every word cut deep.

Her lips parted as though to defend herself, but she stopped. In his eyes, her dignity, her explanations—they had all long since lost meaning. To him, she was guilty, and nothing could change that.

Her silence only seemed to provoke him. A flicker of irritation crossed his aristocratic features.

“What? Nothing to say?”

Isabella’s dry lips trembled slightly as she finally answered, her voice hoarse but steady.

“You already have your own answer in your heart, Mr. Lancaster. What could I possibly say?”

Dominic’s brows furrowed. The woman before him looked obedient on the surface, but deep down, he sensed something untamable. Rebellious. Slipping out of his grasp.

He rose slowly, his tall figure casting a shadow over her frail body.

Before she could react, he reached down and grasped her chin firmly, tilting her face upward. His grip was cold, merciless. His voice dripped with disdain.

“Isabella, this pathetic act of yours—it makes me sick.”

Pain radiated from her jaw, but she didn’t flinch. Her body stiffened, enduring it silently. Her lips curved into the faintest of smiles, bitter and self-deprecating.

“If Mr. Lancaster thinks I am lacking… I can change.”

His eyes narrowed, falcon-like, scrutinizing her.

Two years had stripped away the baby fat that once made her face innocent and charming. Her eyes, once filled with unshakable confidence, now carried only fatigue and scars carved by time.

She was still Isabella Carter, recognizable by features alone. But the proud, untouchable heiress of the Carter family was gone. In her place stood a shadow of that girl, broken and hollow.

Dominic didn’t say anything. He just held her there, his grip unyielding, as if searching for some trace of the past in her expression.

The atmosphere in the room thickened, oppressive and suffocating.

At last, a knock broke the silence.

With a faint click of his tongue, Dominic released her and straightened, adjusting his cufflinks with deliberate slowness. His voice was sharp and impatient.

“Come in.”

Isabella expected a nurse. Instead, the door opened to reveal Adrian Harrington.

Her breath caught. Words hovered on her tongue, but she swallowed them back down. Sometimes, silence was the only armor she had left.