Isla's POV
It's 1 AM on a Friday night and table twelve won't stop grabbing my wrist.
Come on, sweetheart, just one drink after your shift, the man slurs, his breath reeking of expensive whiskey. His friends laugh like it's the funniest thing they've ever heard.
I pull away smoothly, keeping my smile plastered on. I'm flattered, but I can't. Can I get you gentlemen anything else?
Yeah, your number. More laughter.
I escape to the bar, my hands shaking as I enter their order. Tips. I need tips. Can't afford to upset customers, no matter how disgusting they are.
You okay? Sarah, the other server, asks quietly.
Fine. I'm always fine. Have to be.
That's when I notice him.
Corner booth. Seventeen. Tucked in the shadows where most people wouldn't even see it.
A man sits alone, perfectly still. Expensive black suit that probably costs more than I make in six months. Dark hair. Strong jawline. And eyes, even from across the restaurant, I can feel them watching me.
He has a glass of scotch in front of him. Untouched. Hasn't moved since I noticed him twenty minutes ago.
Just watching.
A chill runs down my spine.
Sarah, who's the guy in booth seventeen?
She glances over. Came in around eleven. Ordered top-shelf scotch and hasn't touched it. Hasn't looked at his phone. Just... sits there. It's weird.
Has he asked for anything?
Nope. Just watching the room. She pauses. Actually, I think he's watching you.
My stomach tightens. That's not creepy at all.
Want me to tell Marco?
No. It's fine. Probably just some businessman killing time.
But I can't shake the feeling. Every time I glance toward booth seventeen, his eyes are on me. Not leering like table twelve. Not casual like a bored customer.
Intense. Focused. Like he's studying me.
By 1:30 AM, the restaurant finally empties. Table twelve leaves a fifteen percent tip after I dodged their advances all night. I pocket the cash and start cleaning tables.
Booth seventeen still hasn't moved.
Marco notices. Isla, go check on him. See if he needs anything or wants his check.
I approach slowly, suddenly nervous. Up close, he's even more intimidating. Maybe thirty years old. Devastatingly handsome in a cold, sharp way. The kind of face you see on billionaire magazine covers.
Can I get you anything else, sir? My voice sounds steadier than I feel.
He looks up. His eyes are dark brown, almost black. They pin me in place.
No, thank you. His voice is smooth, educated. Old money accent.
Would you like your check?
Not yet.
Silence stretches between us. He's still staring at me with that unsettling intensity.
Is there... something I can help you with? I finally ask.
A small smile touches his lips. Not warm. Not friendly. Just... knowing.
Actually, yes. Sit down, Isla.
My blood runs cold. How do you know my name?
Your name tag. He gestures to my chest where my plastic tag reads ISLA.
Right. Of course. I'm being paranoid.
But then he adds quietly, Isla Thornton. Twenty-six years old. Formerly of the Manhattan Thorntons. Now living in a studio apartment in Queens, working three jobs to pay for your mother's medical care.
The floor tilts under my feet.
Who the hell are you?
Sit. Down. It's not a request.
I should run. Should scream for Marco. Should do anything except obey this stranger who somehow knows everything about me.
Instead, I slide into the booth across from him, my heart hammering.
You've been watching me, I whisper. For how long?
Three weeks. He says it casually, like it's perfectly normal to stalk someone. I needed to be sure.
Sure of what?
He picks up the scotch glass, first time he's touched it all night—and takes a slow sip. That you'd lost everything. That your father had abandoned you completely. That you were desperate enough.
My hands clench into fists under the table. Desperate enough for what?
To make a deal.
Those words trigger a memory. Six months ago. Standing in the rain outside my father's mansion. The threatening texts from an unknown number.
When you have nothing left, I'll find you.
The texts, I breathe. That was you.
He nods once. I told you I'd come. I just needed to wait for the right moment.
Who ARE you?
He sets down the glass and looks at me with those cold, calculating eyes. My name is Lucas Kane. And ten years ago, your father destroyed my family.
Lucas Kane. The name triggers something in my memory. A scandal when I was sixteen. A hostile takeover. A suicide.
Oh God.
Kane Industries, I whisper. The takeover. Your father—
Jumped from his office window after your father stole our company through fraud and blackmail. Lucas's voice is eerily calm. My mother had a complete mental breakdown watching it happen. She's been institutionalized ever since.
My throat closes. I remember the news coverage now. The business community called it a brilliant strategic acquisition. My father was praised for his ruthless efficiency.
I was sixteen. I didn't understand what it really meant.
I'm sorry, I say quietly. I didn't know—
You were a child. I don't blame you for what Edward Thornton did. He leans forward. But you're not a child anymore. And I need something from you.
I don't have anything. You clearly know that already.
You have thirty percent controlling shares in Thornton Media. Locked in a trust your father can't touch until you're thirty.
How does he know about the trust? Nobody knows about that except—
You've been investigating me.
For eleven years. Lucas's smile is sharp as broken glass. I've been building my empire, waiting for the perfect moment to take everything from Edward Thornton. And that moment is now.
He slides a folder across the table. I open it with shaking hands.
Inside: medical bills. My mother's entire file from Bright Hope Nursing Facility. Documentation of the experimental heart surgery she needs. Cost: three hundred thousand dollars.
How did you get these?
I get whatever I want, Isla. That's what happens when you spend a decade becoming a billionaire for the sole purpose of revenge.
I stare at the papers, my vision blurring. What do you want from me?
Marry me.
The words hit me like a slap. What?
Marry me for one year. Sign over your controlling shares of Thornton Media. In exchange, I'll pay for your mother's surgery. The best cardiac specialists in the world. Full medical care for the rest of her life.
My brain can't process this. You want to buy me.
I prefer to think of it as a mutually beneficial arrangement. You get your mother's life. I get my revenge.
By marrying me? How does that
Because the best way to destroy Edward Thornton isn't by taking his company. Lucas's eyes burn with cold fury. It's by taking his daughter and making her Mrs. Lucas Kane. Forcing him to watch his daughter marry his enemy. Using you to dismantle everything he built.
I should be horrified. Should be furious. Should throw the folder in his face and walk away.
But all I can think about is my mother. Dying. Alone. While I work three jobs and still can't save her.
What happens after the year? My voice sounds hollow.
Divorce. You walk away with nothing except your mother's medical care.
Nothing? No settlement? No
You're not in a position to negotiate, Isla. His voice is ice. Your mother needs surgery within six weeks or she dies. You have seventy-two dollars in your bank account. You're three months behind on rent. Your landlord filed eviction papers yesterday.
My stomach drops. How do you
I know everything about you. What you eat for breakfast. How many hours you sleep. The fact that you cry in the bathroom at Sterling Finance every Tuesday after your boss takes credit for your work. He leans closer. I've been watching you fall apart for months, Isla. Waiting for you to hit rock bottom. Because that's when people make desperate choices.
Tears burn my eyes but I refuse to let them fall. You're a monster.
Yes. He doesn't even deny it. But I'm a monster who can save your mother's life. So the question is: how much is she worth to you?
I look at the medical bills. The surgery date that's already passed. The FINAL NOTICE stamps on every page.
My mother is all I have left. The only person who didn't abandon me. Who loves me despite everything.
If I say yes... I swallow hard. What exactly would this marriage entail?
Lucas pulls out another document. A contract. He slides it across the table.
Read it. You have until closing time to decide.
I stare at the papers, my hands shaking. Behind me, Marco starts turning off lights. It's almost 2 AM.
And if I say no?
Lucas stands, buttoning his suit jacket. Then your mother dies in six weeks. Your father wins. And you spend the rest of your life wondering if you could have saved her.
He drops a business card on the table. Simple black lettering: LUCAS KANE, CEO, KANE INDUSTRIES.
The car outside will wait until you're ready. Take your time reading the contract. But remember His eyes bore into mine. Every minute you wait is another minute your mother doesn't have.
He walks away, leaving me alone in the empty restaurant with a contract that promises to save my mother's life.
And destroy whatever's left of mine.
My hands shake as I open the contract. The words blur together but certain phrases jump out:
Marriage duration: one (1) yearCompensation: Full medical care for Emma WalshUpon divorce: No alimony, no settlement, no assets
I flip to the last page. Two signature lines.
Lucas Kane. Isla Thornton.
Marco appears beside my table. Isla? We're closing. You okay?
Am I okay? A stranger just offered to marry me for revenge. To use me as a weapon against my father. To buy me like property.
But he's also offering to save my mother's life.
Yeah, I hear myself say. I'm fine.
I'm not fine. Haven't been fine in six months.
But maybe, just maybe—I'm desperate enough to make a deal with the devil.
My phone buzzes. A text from an unknown number: The car is waiting. Choose quickly, Isla. Your mother doesn't have much time.
I look out the restaurant window. A black town car idles at the curb. The driver stands beside it, holding an umbrella against the rain.
Rain. Just like six months ago when my life fell apart.
Maybe this is my chance to put it back together. Even if it costs me everything.
I grab the contract, shove it in my bag, and clock out.
Marco watches me leave, concern written all over his face. Isla, are you sure you're
I'm fine. See you tomorrow.
I push through the door into the freezing night. The driver opens the car door without a word.
I hesitate on the sidewalk, contract clutched to my chest.
This is insane. I should go home. Sleep on it. Talk to Maya. Think rationally.
But rational thinking doesn't save dying mothers. Rational thinking doesn't pay three-hundred-thousand-dollar medical bills.
Sometimes survival means making desperate choices.
I slide into the car.
The door closes behind me with a soft click that sounds like a prison cell locking.
And Lucas Kane sits in the shadows across from me, waiting.