All Chapters of The Debt Collector's Price: Chapter 1 - Chapter 10

ISLA'S POVThe smell hits me before I even push through the kitchen doors—a heavy, humid wall of garlic, searing onions, and the sharp, chemical tang of lemon-scented cleaning fluid that never quite masks the grease. It coats the back of my throat, a taste I can’t scrub off.Six hours into my shift and the arches of my feet are screaming, a hot, throbbing ache that shoots up my calves with every step.I balance four plates on my left arm—the heat of the lobster risotto seeping through the ceramic, the seared duck sliding dangerously, two filet mignons heavy as bricks—and navigate the maze of tables at Aurelio's. Friday night. The dining room is a sea of noise and movement, packed with Manhattan's elite celebrating the end of another week they didn't have to struggle through.My phone buzzes against my hip bone, muffled in my apron pocket. Once. Twice. Third time.The hospital. Again.I reach down and silence it without looking, my fingers slick with condensation from a water pitcher.

ISLA'S POVEighteen months.The words hang in the recycled air of the office like a sentence handed down from a judge's bench.Gabriel opens a leather folder on his desk. He slides a stack of papers across the mahogany surface toward me. The sound is crisp, final—the friction of expensive paper on expensive wood."Your father, Patrick Bennett. Small construction company. Five employees. Specialized in residential renovations."Each word is a scalpel, stripping away the privacy I’ve tried so hard to maintain."Six years ago, his business partner Richard Morrison embezzled $180,000 and disappeared. Your father was left holding the loans. The stress caused a fatal heart attack. You were twenty-three."My throat closes up, tight and hot. I say nothing. I can’t."You co-signed three loans trying to save him. Total debt: $250,847.36."He recites my failures like he’s reading a quarterly report. Clinical. Precise. There is no judgment in his voice, just a recitation of facts, which somehow m

ISLA'S POVHunt Capital's legal department smells like ozone and expensive paper.Elena Vasquez doesn't look up when I enter. She's reviewing documents, her red pen moving with surgical precision across dense paragraphs. Mid-forties. A silver streak cuts through her dark hair like a scar. She’s wearing a suit that costs more than my car would if I owned one.When she finally looks at me, it's not with Claudette's condescension or Gabriel's clinical assessment.She looks at me like I'm a legal liability she's being paid to manage."Ms. Bennett." She offers her hand. Her grip is firm, testing for weakness. "I'm Mr. Hunt's general counsel. I'll be walking you through the contractual arrangement."Gabriel pulls out the chair beside me. He sits too close. The air between us fills with that sandalwood cologne and something else—dark, expensive coffee, maybe.Elena slides a document across the polished surface. Forty-three pages."You should have independent legal counsel review this before

ISLA'S POV"Can I trust you, or are you my latest liability?"The question hangs in the cold, recycled air of the hallway, heavier than the marble floors. Gabriel looms over me, the light from his office cutting a sharp line down his face, casting half of him in shadow. He looks ready to evict me. To sue me. To dismantle me like a failing subsidiary.My heart hammers against my ribs, a frantic, wet thudding, but the survival instinct that’s kept me alive through unpaid bills and eviction notices kicks in."I’m not a liability." My voice comes out steadier than I feel, though my hands are ice cold. "And I’m not a spy. I’m someone who just saved you from overpaying by forty-seven million dollars."Gabriel’s eyes narrow. He doesn't step back. The air between us feels pressurized. "Explain.""The Milan portfolio." I gesture toward the laptop screen glowing faintly through the open door. "You’re valuing the Via Monte Napoleone properties based on 2023 projected yields. But the comps below

ISLA'S POVThe elevator doors slide shut, sealing us in the sudden silence, and I round on him."Revenge plot?"Gabriel loosens his tie, the silk hissing against his collar. He doesn't look at me. "Ignore them.""Ignore them? Everyone at that party thinks I'm a prop in your war with Victoria Sterling.""Everyone at that party is a vulture looking for carrion." He stabs the button for the penthouse, his movement sharp and annoyed. "Their opinions are irrelevant.""Are they? Because that's the story now. Poor stupid Isla, too naive to realize she's being used."He finally turns his head. His eyes are cold. Flat. A wall I can't climb."You signed a contract, Isla. You knew what this was."The words hit like a slap to the face, stinging my skin."Right. Business arrangement," I snap, my voice tight. "How could I forget?"The elevator opens directly into the penthouse. The air inside is cooler than the hallway, sterile and quiet. He walks out without waiting.I follow, the navy silk sudden