The conference room at Pruitt Enterprises was a glass box suspended over the city. Isla was early. She sat at the head of the table, not as a participant, but as an observer. Julian Curtis was already there, across from her. He had called this meeting. He looked at her, his gaze analytical, as if trying to solve a complex equation. He hadn't mentioned the gala, but the 2% dip in his own stock was a silent accusation hanging in the air between them.
Isla wore a white suit. Sharp tailoring. No jewelry.
Chase walked in. He looked like he hadn't slept in two days. His tie was loose, his eyes bloodshot. When he saw Isla, he flinched. Then he saw Julian, and his arrogance deflated like a cheap balloon.
"What is this?" he spat, slumping into a chair. "Where's Robert?"
"Mr. Pruitt has been advised by his father to delegate this matter," Julian said, his voice a low baritone that commanded the room. "And I'm here because my company's interests are now entangled in your... domestic dispute."
James, Arthur's personal attorney, slid a document across the polished mahogany table toward Chase.
Chase flipped it open. "Termination of Engagement... repayment of funds..." He looked up, incredulous. "Two million dollars? For emotional distress? You're out of your mind."
Isla tapped her tablet. The text-to-speech app she used had a voice that was cool, synthetic, and utterly devoid of mercy.
"That is ten percent of what you stole. Sign it, or I send the full ledger to the District Attorney."
Chase paled. He looked at the door, as if expecting Robert to burst in and save him. But the door remained closed.
He stood up, balling his fists. "I'm not signing this."
Isla's bodyguard, a wall of muscle named Kael, took one step forward. Chase sat back down.
"There is a second condition," the mechanical voice said.
Isla slid another document toward him.
Chase read the title. His jaw dropped. "Joint Statement of Engagement... to Brande?"
He looked at Isla with pure hatred. "You want me to marry that idiot? After everything?"
The door opened. Brande rushed in, trailed by a frantic Elena.
"Who are you calling an idiot?" Brande screeched. She lunged for Chase, her nails aimed at his face.
Elena grabbed Brande's arm, holding her back. "Stop it! You're making it worse!"
Isla rapped her knuckles on the table. Hard.
The room went quiet.
"It is the only way to stabilize the stock," Isla's tablet spoke. "A wedding distracts the press. You two deserve each other."
Chase looked at the pen. His hand was shaking. He knew Isla had him. If he didn't sign, he went to prison. If he signed, he went to Brande.
He grabbed the pen and scribbled his name, tearing the paper.
"Brande," Isla typed. "Sign."
"I won't!" Brande sobbed. "I hate him!"
"Sign," Elena whispered, her voice trembling. "Or we lose the house."
Brande wept as she signed her life away.
Isla stood up. She didn't say goodbye. She walked out of the glass box, leaving them in their self-made hell.
"You think you won?" Chase shouted after her. "Julian Curtis won't let this slide! He hates being played!"
Isla paused. She didn't turn around. She kept walking.
Outside, the sunlight was blinding. She leaned against the building's stone facade, feeling a sudden wave of dizziness. Her knees felt like water.
Simone, her best friend, was there. She handed Isla a bottle of water. "You did it, Is."
Isla drank, the cold liquid shocking her system back to life. She typed on her phone. _Not yet. I need Mom's jewelry._
Across the street, a black sedan idled. The windows were tinted, opaque to the world.
Inside, Julian Curtis watched Isla through the reinforced glass. He had seen the way she leaned against the wall, the momentary weakness she thought no one saw.
"She's interesting," he murmured. His voice was low, a baritone that vibrated in the quiet car.
"Shall we intervene, sir?" his assistant asked.
Julian watched Isla straighten up and mask the exhaustion. He smiled, a predator spotting prey that might actually put up a fight.
"No," he said. "Let her run. I want to see how sharp her teeth are."
