The cold tiles seeped through Isabella's thin clothes, biting into her skin, but she seemed unable to feel it. She just sat there limp, her stomach still churning with nausea and humiliation. Alexander Kane's final words—"learning obedience"—and the icy touch of his fingertips replayed in her mind like a nightmare. She scrubbed hard at the corner of her lips until the skin turned red and sore, trying to erase that disgusting touch and everything it symbolized.
The chilling calm of the high-efficiency suppressant once again took effect, forcibly suppressing the physiological response that had nearly spiraled out of control under her violent emotions. Yet the patch pressed against her gland felt more like a cold instrument of torture now, a brand reminding her of absolute obedience.
She didn't know how long she sat on the floor until her limbs turned stiff and numb. Outside the window, the false glow of dusk spread once again, casting the luxurious cage in a haze that was both ambiguous and suffocating. After lunch, no one brought food again, and no one disturbed her. This deliberate silence felt like a wordless mockery of her failed resistance.
She struggled to her feet, turned on the faucet, and splashed her face over and over with icy water, trying to force herself awake. The reflection in the mirror was ghostly pale, her emerald eyes hollow and lifeless. Only deep in their depths flickered a faint spark of defiance, still trembling weakly.
She could not surrender like this. One forced submission at the dining table did not mean forever. She needed information, needed to understand the rules of this prison, needed to find even the smallest crack. David… that meticulous assistant—he didn't seem to be just a cold enforcer. Yesterday, when she exploded, there had been that fleeting glimmer of assessment in his eyes… perhaps, just perhaps, that could be an entry point. Even the tiniest possibility mattered.
That thought had only just surfaced when, before she could dwell on it further, an unusual commotion suddenly came from outside the suite.
A slightly sharp, raised female voice, filled with obvious displeasure and arrogance, was trying to pierce through the thick soundproof door.
"…Let me in! I know he's hiding someone in there! Alexander has never stopped me before! David, do you dare block me?!"
Isabella's heart gave a violent jolt. She instinctively held her breath, straining to listen. Who was it?
The female bodyguard outside seemed to be holding her ground, her voice low and firm: "I'm sorry, Miss Olivia, without Mr. Kane's order, no one is allowed to enter."
"No one? Take a good look at who I am!" The woman's voice grew even sharper. "I'm Olivia Windsor! Alexander's fiancée! The future mistress of Kane Corporation! This entire top floor—where could I possibly be forbidden to go?! Move aside!"
Olivia Windsor? Fiancee?!
Those words crashed into Isabella's mind like a heavy bomb, making her ears ring and her vision blur, as though even her blood had frozen. He… he had a fiancée?! And yet he still locked her up here, spouting nonsense about her "belonging to him"?! A wave of indescribable absurdity and a deeper nausea surged through her, making it almost impossible for her to stay standing.
The argument outside the door grew louder, as though that Miss Olivia was trying to force her way in, but was being firmly blocked by the female bodyguard.
"Miss Olivia, please don't make things difficult for us. Mr. Kane has made it very clear, without his permission…"
"Permission? Permission for what? Permission for you to protect that little whore he's hiding inside?!" Olivia's voice was twisted with fury, dripping with jealousy and venom. "I want to see for myself, just what kind of trash dares…"
Before she could finish, that heavy door suddenly gave a sharp beep and was unlocked from the outside!
As the door slid open, Isabella was caught off guard, locking eyes with the intruder.
At the entrance stood an extraordinarily beautiful woman—tall, voluptuous, clad in an expensive, latest-season haute couture ensemble that perfectly outlined her provocative curves. Her golden, voluminous waves of hair were meticulously styled, her makeup flawless, every lash seemingly calculated to perfection. Her beauty was aggressive, like a blooming red rose bristling with thorns.
Yet at this moment, that beautiful face was filled with undisguised rage, jealousy, and scrutiny. Those finely lined eyes swept over Isabella in an instant like searchlights, from head to toe—standing in the middle of the suite, dressed in a shabby old nightdress, pale-faced, barefoot, and limping on one leg.
In Olivia Windsor's gaze, there first flashed a flicker of incredulous shock, immediately replaced by thick, unmasked contempt and mockery.
"Ha!" She let out a sharp laugh, her red lips curving into a viciously cutting sneer. "So this is the treasure he's hiding away? Has Alexander's taste… really become so… unique? Or is it that the company's doing so poorly lately he has to start picking up trash from the charity shelters?"
Clicking along in ten-centimeter stilettos, ta-ta-ta, she strode in. The sound of her heels striking the marble floor rang sharply in the silence of the suite. The heavy perfume she brought with her—a cloying, domineering blend of rose and patchouli—instantly polluted the otherwise relatively clean air, clashing unpleasantly with the lingering cold trace of Alexander's pheromones, forming a jarring dissonance.
Two female bodyguards followed close behind, their expressions severe as they tried to intervene: "Miss Olivia, please leave immediately!"
"Leave?" Olivia spun around suddenly, shooting them a vicious glare. "The one who should leave is this slut who crawled out from God knows where!" She turned her gaze back onto Isabella, her eyes burning into her like they would bore holes through her. "Speak. What's your name? What cheap trick did you use to crawl into Alexander's bed? Hm? With that malnourished, pitiful look of yours—like you'd blow over with the slightest breeze?"
Olivia's barrage of venomous insults hit Isabella off guard, draining the last trace of color from her face, her body trembling slightly—not from fear of this woman, but from the sudden humiliation and the information buried within her words. She clenched her fists tight, nails digging into her palms, forcing herself to stand tall, despite the pain in her ankle, despite the storm raging inside.
"I… I'm not…" she tried to speak, but her voice came out dry and hoarse.
"Not what?" Olivia pressed forward a step, almost close enough to touch Isabella's face, the cloying perfume choking Isabella with nausea. "Not a bed-climber? Then how are you here? In Alexander's private domain? Do you even know what this place is? Huh?!" She suddenly reached out her hand, actually trying to grab Isabella's hair!
Isabella recoiled in horror, dodging her touch, stumbling back and almost falling.
"Miss Olivia!" the female bodyguard barked sharply, stepping in between the two women, her stance firming. "Please control yourself! Otherwise we will take compulsory measures!"
"Compulsory measures? Just try laying a hand on me!" Olivia shook with fury, jabbing her finger toward Isabella as she shrieked at the guards. "And what is she? Some nameless slut! I am the daughter of the Windsor family! Alexander's fiancée!"
"Fiancée?" A voice, so cold it seemed to freeze the very air, came without warning from the doorway.
Everyone froze instantly, whipping their heads toward the entrance.
Alexander Kane stood there without anyone realizing when he had arrived, clad in a black suit like a king of the descending night. His face was terrifyingly grim, gray-blue eyes surging with a storm so fearsome it could drown, his gaze stabbing like ice picks directly into Olivia Windsor.
He walked in step by step, each step carrying crushing pressure. His searing, icy flame of pheromones no longer restrained, surged out like a tsunami, violently sweeping through the entire space, instantly overwhelming Olivia's cloying perfume, and pressing down on everyone present—except Isabella—until their faces went pale, their breathing ragged.
Olivia's arrogance was crushed down in an instant, a flicker of panic crossing her face, though quickly replaced by grievance and defiance: "Alexander! You're finally here! Look at them! And this woman from God knows where! They dared to block me! To be rude to me!"
Kane didn't so much as glance at Isabella. All of his attention seemed fixed on Olivia, but the extremity of his rage lowered the temperature of the entire room by several degrees.
"Who gave you the right to step into this place?" His voice was low and steady, yet more terrifying than a roar. "Who told you, you are my fiancée?"
Olivia faltered, her face paling. "I… our families have always had the intention of a marriage alliance, haven't they? And… and my father…"
"Intention?" Kane cut her off, the corner of his lips curving in an icily cruel arc. "The Windsor family's one-sided, delusional fantasy, and my decisions as Alexander Kane, are two entirely different things. Do I need to remind you—and your father—what happened last time, to that Omega who tried to use filthy pheromone tricks to get close to me?"
Olivia's face drained of all color instantly, her pupils contracting with fear. She seemed to recall something unspeakably terrifying, her body beginning to tremble slightly.
"Now. Immediately. Get out of my place." Kane's voice was not raised, yet it carried absolute, annihilating authority. "Do not make me say it a second time. Otherwise, what the Windsor family will lose will not be merely a futile illusion."
Olivia Windsor was utterly cowed. The arrogant flame from moments ago vanished without a trace, leaving only fear and humiliation. Her lips trembled, but she could not form a single word, nor did she dare look at Kane again. Under the female bodyguard's inviting gesture, she stumbled, fleeing in utter disgrace from the suite, not daring to look back even once.
The noisy intruder was gone, and the suite instantly returned to dead silence, yet the atmosphere grew even tighter, more terrifying, than before.
Kane stood where he was, the aura around him still icy and terrifying. Slowly, excruciatingly slowly, he turned his gaze toward Isabella, who had been frozen in place the whole time, her face pale as paper.
His eyes swept over her, taking in her ashen face, disheveled hair, injured leg, and those turquoise eyes filled with shock, humiliation, and a trace of helpless confusion.
The storm of rage in his eyes seemed to subside somewhat, but became deeper and more unfathomable.
"It seems," he spoke, his voice still cold, yet laced with an indescribable mockery, "that even when locked in a cage, a pretty bird can't escape the coveting and harassment of stray cats outside."
He walked toward her step by step.
Isabella instinctively retreated, her back pressing against the icy wall, nowhere left to go.
He stopped before her, looking down at her from above, his gaze finally landing on her slightly parted neckline and the suppression patch there.
"Frightened?" He stretched out his fingers, not to touch her, but to lightly lift a damp lock of her chestnut hair with his fingertips, the gesture carrying a chillingly intimate insolence. "Or are you worried about your 'future mistress's' position?"
His mockery was like poisoned needles, piercing Isabella's pride, already riddled with wounds.
She jerked her head aside, avoiding his touch, her voice trembling yet carrying a thread of defiance: "I never thought that way! I just want to know… what is going on? Who is she? You… since you have… why did you still lock me up here?!"
Kane's gray-blue eyes narrowed slightly, as though assessing the truth in her words, or perhaps savoring her present chaos and pain.
"Who she is, is not important." He withdrew his hand, his tone indifferent. "All you need to remember is that the only one who can decide your fate, who owns everything about you, is me."
His gaze once again grew unbearably oppressive.
"As for why I keep you here…" He leaned down slightly, his face nearing her ear, the icy breath brushing against her sensitive earlobe, sending a shiver through her. "Because your scent can soothe my pain, because your existence amuses me."
"And you," his voice sank lower, like the whisper of a demon, "have no right to question. You only have the duty to accept and obey."
"Today's little episode, I hope it teaches you one thing." He straightened, restoring the cold distance. "Without my protection, there are plenty outside who would tear you apart—whether fools like Windsor, or others."
Finishing, he no longer looked at her, turning toward the door.
"Clean this up," he tossed to the guards, before his figure disappeared beyond the doorway.
The door closed once more.
Isabella slid slowly down the cold wall to the floor. Olivia's venomous humiliation, Kane's icy mockery and declaration of possession, tangled together like a grotesque nightmare.
She wrapped her trembling body in her own arms, her stomach hollow yet filled only with nausea.
So, she was not only a caged canary, but also a prey to be fought over, an outlet for resentment in the eyes of others. And the man who imprisoned her, only did so because she was "amusing," because she could "soothe his pain."
A single cold tear finally fell, striking the luxurious yet icy carpet, vanishing without a sound.