Chapter 7: She Is Isla Khan

Training grew even harder by the day. Elise drilled her on walking gracefully in heels, dining like a socialite, public speaking, and handling the media. A personal trainer was assigned to her, and she exercised morning and evening. She also took self-defense classes.

There were times when Isla fantasized about giving up. No one had warned her it would be this hard to train as an heiress. She hurt herself often during both social and physical training, her arms, legs, and knees bore visible bruises.

“Take five, Isla,” Alexios, her personal trainer, instructed.

She stopped punching the heavy bag, grabbed a napkin from the bench, and dabbed at the sweat on her face.

“I must commend you, you’re doing really well,” Alexios praised warmly, a smile softening his features. “You deserve a break until next week.”

Isla’s eyes brightened. “Really?”

“Yes. Elise and I already discussed it. She appreciates your efforts,” Alexios added.

“She does?” Isla was surprised, and secretly relieved. Elise never smiled at her. With each passing day, she seemed only stricter, harder to please.

“I know she doesn’t give much away, but trust me, she commends your progress. That’s why she agreed you should rest.” Alexios assured her while packing up his things.

“Thank you, Coach. Please thank Ms. Elise for me too. We’ll meet again next week,” Isla said cheerfully. He nodded, and she waved him goodbye before picking up her workout bag and leaving the training room.

When she reached the penthouse, she noticed another car parked in the garage. A familiar man leaned casually against it, twirling his keys, a warm smile lighting his face.

Isla’s grin stretched ear to ear. She had missed Gareth terribly. Training had consumed nearly all her time, leaving her little chance to speak with him. She climbed out of her car and ran straight into his arms.

“How are you, princess?” Gareth asked softly, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face so his eyes could meet hers.

Isla blushed as he leaned closer. She closed her eyes, waiting for his lips to brush hers. But seconds passed, nothing happened. When she opened her eyes, she caught him staring at her bruised arms with concern.

“How hard did they work you?” he asked, displeasure lacing his voice as he traced the marks gently.

Isla tried to pull her hands away, but Gareth held them firmly.

“Do you want me to speak to Graham about this?” His tone was deep, protective.

“There’s no need,” Isla whispered. “They’re just doing their job.”

“But they’re hurting you!” His jaw tightened as he gritted the words out.

“It’s fine,” she insisted softly. “It’s for the best.”

Sensing her tension, Gareth changed the subject. “What if I want you to meet my mother?”

The question caught her off guard. Isla’s eyes widened, lifting quickly to his.

“She wants to meet you,” Gareth explained, his expression serious.

“She does?” Isla’s heart began to race. She wasn’t used to meeting a man’s family. “What if she doesn’t like me?”

“She will.” Gareth’s smile was reassuring. “Come on. You’re tired from training. Take a hot bath, and I’ll order something for you to eat.” He squeezed her hand and led her inside.

Isla tried to calm her nerves. Gareth was a good man. His late father had been generous and kind, maybe his mother would be the same.

“Don’t stress, Isla. Just be yourself. Everything will be fine,” Priya’s voice encouraged through the phone screen.

“But what if I’m too awkward, and she doesn’t like me?” Isla worried aloud.

“Then she’ll have to deal with it,” Priya teased. “You’re marrying her son anyway, and you’re becoming a rich heiress…”

“Priya!” Isla hushed her quickly. “You promised not to say that out loud. I don’t want to get into trouble.”

“Fine…” Priya rolled her eyes dramatically. “Don’t overthink it. She’ll love you. Be positive.”

“Yeah… I don’t know why I’m so nervous,” Isla murmured, pressing her lips together. Just then, a text from Gareth popped up: On my way princess.

“I’ve got to go,” Isla said.

“Sure. Love you!”

The call ended. Isla glanced at her reflection. Elise had already taught her styling and manners. She had even bought Gareth’s mother a small gift.

A knock sounded at the door. Selene’s voice followed: “Mr. Gareth is here.”

“Thank you, Selene.” Isla drew a deep breath, grabbed the gift, and stepped out.

As always, Gareth leaned against his car, waiting. His eyes lit up at the sight of her.

“You look incredible,” he said softly.

“Thank you.” She blushed.

He opened the car door for her, and they set off. Isla’s nerves lingered, so Gareth played soft jazz to soothe her.

The car soon stopped before a towering mansion, easily ten thousand square feet or more. Isla thought she had seen extravagance with the penthouse and the companies, but this place left her speechless.

Every Khan property she discovered seemed grander than the last.

Inside, her gaze immediately landed on a dining table overflowing with thousands of dishes, maids still adding more.

“I thought I was only meeting your mother?” Isla asked, confused.

“Of course. She just likes to be dramatic. She won’t even eat half of this,” Gareth sighed.

Sharp heels clicked across the marble floor. An elegant woman appeared in a sparkling green knee-length bodycon dress. Her thick, wavy black hair framed her face, and her strong perfume announced wealth and power.

“Baby,” she cooed, kissing Gareth’s cheek before turning to Isla. For the briefest moment, a look of disdain flickered in her eyes, though she masked it quickly.

“You must be…” She blinked, pretending to recall.

“Isla Pereira,” Isla supplied politely.

“My God, how could I forget? I’m Zaria. How has life been treating you in this world?” Zaria asked as she swept toward the dining room.

“It’s been good,” Isla forced a smile, though unease coiled in her stomach.

“Of course it has. Not like you had a choice,” Zaria said dryly, before breaking into exaggerated laughter.

Isla was starting to feel uncomfortable but still tried to keep calm.

“Help yourself. I had the maids prepare so much since I wasn’t sure what you liked,” she added.

“It’s fine, ma’am. I’m not a picky eater,” Isla assured her, keeping her tone polite.

“Of course not. You barely ate food from where you’re from—”

“Mom!” Gareth snapped, glaring. “Not now.”

Isla’s smile wavered. Her lips trembled as she reached for a soup spoon. Her hands shook, spilling drops onto the table.

“Oh, my God. Graham told me you were taking etiquette classes, yet you can’t even eat soup?” Zaria’s irritation cut through her voice.

Isla pressed her lips together. It felt like university all over again, students mocking her for being poor.

“Excuse me,” she muttered, rising quickly, though she could still hear Gareth scolding his mother.

“You couldn’t behave for even a few seconds!”

“I don’t understand why your father would give our property to her! She’ll only disgrace the Khan family!” Zaria snapped.

“Enough!” Gareth shouted before rushing after Isla.

“Who’s going to finish all this food?” Zaria’s voice rang out behind them.

Isla was waiting outside when Gareth caught up.

“I’m so sorry about her,” he murmured, shame heavy in his voice.

Isla shook her head. Not everyone would accept her, she already knew that.

“It doesn’t matter if she likes me or not. I believe she’ll come around someday. But what matters is that my father chose you, and I like you. That’s enough,” Gareth tried to comfort her.

“I understand,” Isla whispered. “If she doesn’t want to know me now, we shouldn’t force it.”

“You’re right,” Gareth agreed. “Let’s go somewhere else for dinner. I’ve missed you so much.” He swung her arm gently.

But Isla had lost her appetite. “Just take me home, Gareth. We’ll have breakfast, lunch, or dinner tomorrow, whenever you’re free. I’m too tired tonight.”

He didn’t press her further. After dropping her off, he left.

Alone, Isla reminded herself not to give up. This family was her only chance to change her life, to escape humiliation and desperation. Her Nana would finally be healed and happy.

She was determined to take her training seriously and master her emotions as Elise had taught her. An heiress never stuttered. An heiress commanded elegance and power. An heiress controlled every room she entered.

Isla wanted to be that woman, the one people respected with a single glance. Not a girl struggling to fit into anyone else’s standards.

She was her own person.

She was Isla Khan.