"Miss Isla, you have a visitor."
The maid's voice was hesitant, eyes lowered like she knew something ugly was about to happen.
Isla looked up from the etiquette binder sprawled across her lap. "A visitor? Who would even …."
Before she finished, the glass doors to the sitting room opened. A woman stepped in like she owned the air itself, draped in a blood-red designer dress that clung to her like it had been stitched on by arrogance.
Seraphina.
Of course.
"Well," she purred, eyes sliding over Isla with a smirk. "Aren't you .... quaint."
Isla stood slowly, every movement guarded. "You are?"
"Oh, darling. Surely you know me. Unless Ares really has tucked me that far out of sight. Seraphina Vaughn. His ex. The real one."
The word "real" stabbed deeper than Isla expected.
"He's not home," she said, keeping her voice even.
Seraphina's smile turned sharp. "Obviously. He wouldn't let me near his new investment otherwise."
"I'm not an investment."
"Oh, sweetie." Her voice dripped with sugar and venom. "You signed a contract. You are exactly that."
Isla's hands clenched at her sides. "What do you want?"
Seraphina took a single, deliberate step closer. "I wanted to meet the girl all over the headlines. The one he chose over me. Though, clearly, he was just .... bored."
"Then why are you here?" Isla's voice dropped.
The smile vanished. "To remind you what he really likes. And to let you know this little fantasy ends with you losing."
She turned at the doorway. "Nice robe, by the way. Looks borrowed."
Later, in the backseat of a black SUV, Isla sat stiff beside Ares. He scrolled his phone like nothing existed outside it.
"Your ex came to see me."
"I know."
She turned sharply. "You knew? And you let her?"
"She asked for ten minutes. I gave her five."
"She called me an investment."
"You are. For now."
Her throat burned. "Do you always treat women like transactions?"
He looked up, indifferent. "Only the ones who sign contracts."
"You're cruel."
"You agreed to this. Don't forget that."
"That doesn't give you permission to treat me like garbage."
His expression didn't waver. "You think I'm heartless because I won't coddle you?"
"No. I think you're heartless because you enjoy watching me drown."
The event venue was dim, rich with candlelight and expensive perfume. Velvet suits and glittering dresses brushed past her. Isla clutched her clutch like it might anchor her.
Ares leaned in. "Smile. They're all watching."
"I don't know anyone."
"Perfect. Less chance of embarrassing me."
She flinched. "Why bring me if you don't trust me?"
"Because you're mine. Even if you fall apart, they'll know who you belong to."
While Ares schmoozed with two gray-haired men, a woman in emerald approached Isla.
"You're Isla, right? The .... engagement surprise?"
"Yes."
The woman chuckled. "Didn't expect him to go for someone so... ordinary."
Isla's spine stiffened. "Excuse me?"
"Just saying. He used to like them taller. And richer."
"People change."
The woman smirked. "They don't."
Back in the car, Isla let out a harsh breath. "That was awful."
Ares didn't glance at her. "It was necessary."
"Everyone stared at me like I was a joke."
"And?"
"Do you enjoy humiliating me?"
"Not really. But I enjoy shutting people up."
"You could've defended me."
"You could've stood your ground."
The elevator ride back was heavy with silence. Isla cracked it open.
"Why did you pick me, Ares? Honestly?"
He didn't look at her. "Because you were desperate. And desperation is loyal."
She hit the emergency stop button. The elevator jolted.
He turned, slowly. "What the hell are you doing?"
"Look at me."
He did. Calm. Unmoved.
"You can insult me, use me, own me, fine. But don't pretend I don't feel this."
"Feel what?"
"Small. Disposable. Worthless. You make me feel like trash, Ares. And I still show up."
A long pause.
"Why do you think that is?"
"Because you needed money."
"No," she whispered. "Because I thought... maybe... maybe you'd see me."
He stepped closer, fingers lifting her chin.
"I see you. I just don't care."
Tears filled her eyes.
"Then why are you shaking?" she breathed.
His jaw clenched. "Start the elevator."
She did.
The next morning, the stylist arrived. Isla stood motionless as three women circled her, prodding and pinning like she was a mannequin.
"She's got good cheekbones. But the posture …."
"Fixable."
"Too soft."
"I can hear you," Isla snapped.
The lead stylist didn't even blink. "You're in his world now. Soft doesn't survive."
Later, she found a new phone on her bed. One contact has already been saved.
Ares.
She stared at it. Her fingers hovered like they had minds of their own.
Instead of calling, she texted.
Isla: When's the next humiliation scheduled?
Three dots.
Ares: Friday. Gala. Wear a silver dress.
Isla: Will your ex be there?
Ares: She's always watching.
Down the hall, Ares stood at the window.
His assistant entered. "She's adjusting. Better than expected."
He said nothing.
"You think she'll break?"
"They all do."
"And when she does?"
His grip tightened on his glass. "Then she becomes useful."
In her room, Isla faced the mirror. The silver dress clung to her like it was made from fire and ice. She looked expensive. Convincing.
But her eyes.
Still scared.
Still hollow.
She reached out, fingertips brushing the mirror.
"Don't break," she whispered. "Not yet."