The soft clink of porcelain pulled Isla out of her thoughts.
She had been sitting motionless on the edge of the bed, the silk dress still untouched beside her, her heart sinking from the maid's words. The truth about the selection lingered like poison in her veins. Her fingers clutched the sheets as if trying to ground herself in a reality that no longer felt hers.
Then the door creaked again.
This time, it wasn't a maid. It was someone else entirely.
Calista.
She glided in, elegant and composed, as if the world itself bowed in her presence. Her long hair was twisted into a perfect knot, her red lips curved into a smile too sweet to trust. In her hands, she carried a silver tray with two delicate tea cups and a small teapot.
"Poor thing," Calista cooed. "Oh dear, it seems you're injured quite badly, dear Belle."
She placed the tray carefully on the table beside the bed with the grace of a queen. Then, without waiting for permission, she sat beside Isla—close, too close. Her perfume filled the air, soft and flowery, with something sharp beneath it… something almost metallic.
She tilted Isla's chin up with two fingers, her touch both gentle and possessive.
"You're playing a deadly game, Ms. Isla," she said, voice low and musical. "You think this is your playground, hun?"
Her smile widened, cold and mocking.
"It isn't. Let me remind you of who you are."
Calista leaned in, her voice now a whisper laced with venom.
"You were a girl sold to Lord Luciano because you're worthless. Just another pretty face to decorate his halls… or his bed."
Isla's lips tightened, but her eyes didn't waver. She stared right back at the woman beside her.
"Pity," she said softly, "you were sold too. Just like me."
That hit the nerve.
With a sudden snap, Calista stood up, her hand flying across Isla's face with a sharp slap that echoed in the room.
"Don't you dare talk back to me," she hissed, eyes wild with rage.
Isla winced, her cheek stinging, but instead of crying out—she laughed.
A low, almost bitter sound.
"Oh, you're mad," Isla said through a chuckle. "Mad that I reminded you of your past."
Calista's hands trembled. In one swift motion, she reached forward and grabbed Isla by the neck, her fingers tightening.
"Look here, Belle," she snarled, "I can kill you right now, and no one—absolutely no one—will say a word."
Isla's breath caught, but her eyes didn't lose their fire. She grabbed Calista's wrist with both hands and shoved it away with surprising strength.
"Funny," Isla said, breathless but bold. "I heard we're the same age. You really think Lord Luciano favoring you makes you more than what you are?"
Calista's brows furrowed.
"You think you're above everyone because you warm his bed? You're not," Isla said coldly. "You're just a tool. A slave, like the rest of us. A body used to satisfy a man's hunger."
She tilted her head, her voice calm, cutting.
"Doesn't that shame you, Calista?"
Calista stared at her with hatred burning in her eyes. Her chest rose and fell quickly. For a moment, she said nothing. Then she leaned down, lips near Isla's ear.
"Don't tell me…" she whispered, "you have your eyes on Luciano?"
Isla smirked. "Well, now that you've said it… I think I might be interested."
Calista pulled back and let out a dry, mocking laugh.
"You?" she said with a sneer. "You look like someone who'll die with one thrust, Belle. Stop trying to amuse me."
Her voice dropped lower.
"And if you do have your eyes on him, you'd better look away. Unless you want to end up roasted like an animal in front of everyone."
Before she could continue, the door opened.
A hush fell over the room.
He stepped inside.
Lord Luciano.
It was the first time Isla saw him properly—no shadows, no whispers. He was tall and composed, with dark eyes like carved obsidian. He moved with slow confidence, the kind that didn't need to prove anything. Power clung to him like a second skin.
Calista immediately turned, rushing to him like a moth to flame. She threw her arms around him, her voice sugary sweet.
"My Lord," she said breathlessly. "She's so stubborn. I was kind enough to bring her tea and even came to apologize for the way I acted earlier, but she… she's so rude."
Luciano didn't answer. He looked at Isla instead.
His gaze was unreadable.
Then, his eyes shifted back to Calista.
"Leave us."
Calista hesitated. "But—"
"I said leave."
She bit her lip, bowed slightly, and walked out slowly. As she closed the door behind her, her eyes lingered on Isla with a promise of pain.
The door shut with a soft click.
Luciano walked further into the room, his steps quiet but heavy with authority. He stopped at the chair beside the bed and sat down, eyes never leaving her.
"I see you're stubborn," he said calmly. "But you won't last long if you continue like this."
His voice was smooth, collected—but there was steel beneath it.
He crossed one leg over the other.
"I came to inform you personally… next week, you'll be performing for my guests."
Isla stiffened. Her mind raced.
"By then, I believe your wounds will have healed."
She opened her mouth slightly, voice hesitant.
"What performance are you talking about?"
His eyes narrowed. His stare sharpened like a blade.
"Did I tell you to speak?"
Silence fell.
Isla froze.
He leaned back slightly in the chair, still watching her.
"You'll perform," he repeated. "That's all you need to know for now."
The weight of those words settled in the room, thick and terrifying.
And as he sat there, calmly planning her fate, Isla realized one thing with certainty:
She was inside the lion's den now.
And the lion had taken interest and she doesn't know if she's going to survive this.