Isadora spoke slowly, her tone openly pleading as she hurried through her words, telling him what had happened and how unlucky her father had been.
"His name is Don Tiberio. We can't go against him! If we do, he'll destroy us and kill us!" Isadora's voice wavered as her eyes grew misty with desperation.
She couldn't stop it. Tears filled her eyes at the very thought that by tomorrow she would be forced to belong to the old man—something she could not bring herself to accept.
"Please, I need your help!" she pleaded as she finished speaking, her heart sinking when the man before her still said nothing. The silence stretched unbearably—until at last, he began to speak, only after it was clear she had no more words left.
Her eyes lit with hope.
Only for that hope to be strangled to death by the sound of his words.
"Is that all?"
He might as well have reached forward and slowly squeezed the life out of her with his hand. Her mouth fell open in shock, her disbelief plain, unable to hide it even if she wanted to.
"What?" The single word slipped from her lips, broken, because there was nothing else she could think to say.
"Have you finished?" he asked again, his gaze fixed sharply on her. His eyes looked dark—and it wasn't only the low light of the room that made them so.
"Unless you have more to say… your five minutes is almost up." His voice was calm, too calm, as though nothing in the world could touch him. As though nothing could unsettle him.
Untouchable.
Isadora knew he was. But what gripped her chest with cold despair was the expression on his face. Detached. Merciless. As though she could collapse and die before him, and he would simply walk past, unaffected, because her suffering meant nothing to him.
"If—if it's money you want, we can pay!" she stammered, tears spilling faster, her voice breaking. The dismissive tone he used cut into her, but she was relentless. She had to be. Her family's life depended on it.
"We can borrow it—just tell me how much?" she spluttered out, panic seizing her as the words fell.
"Do I look like I want your money?" he asked, his tone carrying the weight of an annoyed sigh. "…Even if I charged you, do you have a billion dollars sitting somewhere?" His voice remained eerily calm, neutral, but the words struck with mockery all the same.
Isadora knew the truth. Her father didn't. Even if she sold everything her father and stepmother owned, it wouldn't come close. Not even half of what he had mentioned.
At that moment, she knew. If she waited for him to speak again, it would only be to remind her that her time was up—and to order her out.
Without hesitation, she dropped to her knees. Abandoning all pride, all dignity.
"Please!" she cried, her voice breaking. "I'll sell myself to you if that's what it takes!" Tears streamed down her face freely now, but she no longer noticed, no longer cared.
"I'll become your slave!" she swore, desperation thick in her voice, not even attempting to hide it.
He was cold, yes, but wasn't he still better than the mafia don who would chain her as one of his mistresses? This man could ignore her all he liked. She would endure it.
He was definitely no more than ten years older than her. That was something she could accept.
Her fists clenched into the fabric of her shirt before she finally let it drop. Her teeth ground together as she fought the instinct to cover herself, every nerve in her body screaming for her to do it.
"I'll do whatever!" she said again, her voice desperate, her face flushing crimson, her whole body burning with humiliation.
She had never been with anyone before. Never in a relationship. Showing a man the delicate pink, flowery bra she wore was more than she could bear. Still, she forced herself, gritting her teeth harder, refusing to gather her shirt back up.
"Whatever!" she repeated, raising her gaze to meet his, the plea in her voice trembling. He was a man—weren't men, especially men like him, supposed to want this?
But when her eyes met his, she faltered. There was no hunger in his gaze. Only cold calculation. If she looked closer, perhaps even annoyance.
Then he spoke again.
"I can have much prettier women than you. If this is all you have to offer, then you're wasting your time. I can have all the servants in the world if I wanted."
His voice was calm, still neutral, yet to her ears, it rang with arrogance, with pride. And though she knew deep down he was merely stating a fact, it didn't dull the sting.
Tears slid down her cheeks unchecked now. She had nothing left. No words, no bargaining power. How could she sway a man who already had everything?
"I—I…" she stammered, hating herself for the words she was about to say, but there was nothing else left to give.
"I'm a virgin," she whispered, lowering her head, her eyes fixed on the ground. Shame consumed her, flooding through every part of her body.
She had heard that some wealthy men treasured such a thing. She prayed silently that he might be one of them.
But she didn't dare look up. Her eyes remained on the floor as she heard him rise from the chair, his footsteps soft but steady as he came toward her.
When he spoke again, his voice was as cool and calm as before—only now it carried the weight of command, the authority of a man who was always obeyed.
"Are you also deaf? Your time is up. GET OUT."
The words crushed her, final and merciless.
Tears fell like rain as Isadora scrambled from the floor, bolting toward the door. She clutched her shirt tightly against her chest, unwilling to waste a single second fumbling with buttons.
Her vision blurred with tears, but she didn't need to see. The door was all that mattered.
She stumbled through the living room, her heart racing, and ran out of the suite, her body trembling, her tears trailing behind her.