Chapter 7 No.7

They stood outside the club by his car. The rain had stopped, leaving the pavement slick and black.

Isla typed on his phone. _Thank you. I will pay for the replacement._

She showed him the screen.

Julian didn't take the phone back. He leaned against the door of his Maybach, studying her. "Where did you learn to create such a precise diversion?"

Isla deleted the text. _I need to go._

"Get in," he said. "I'll drive you."

Isla hesitated. The paparazzi were circling like vultures down the block. She looked a mess.

She climbed into the back seat. Julian followed. The door shut with a heavy thud, sealing them in. The car smelled of sandalwood and expensive tobacco.

He handed her a handkerchief. It was white, monogrammed with JC. "Your neck."

Isla pressed the cloth to the scratch. It stung.

"Brande told me she dug me out of the snow in Aspen," Julian said suddenly.

Isla's heart skipped a beat. Her fingers tightened on the handkerchief. A clause from the NDA Elena had forced her to sign after the incident flashed in her mind: _Disclosure of events... will result in the immediate forfeiture of the maternal trust._ She kept her face blank.

She typed. _So?_

"The person who dug me out," Julian said, his eyes locking onto hers, "had a strange calm in the middle of that blizzard. A focus. It felt... familiar. Like the way you just handled Sterling."

Isla forced herself to breathe evenly. _Lots of people know first aid. Brande is full of surprises._

Julian laughed softly. "Brande cries if she breaks a nail."

Isla turned to look out the window. The city lights blurred into streaks of gold and red.

He didn't press. He let the silence stretch, heavy and charged.

The car pulled up to Isla's apartment building. It was a modest place, her safe house away from the mansion.

Isla tried to hand him the phone and the bloody handkerchief.

He caught her wrist. His grip was firm, his thumb resting on her pulse point. It was racing. He had to feel it.

"Keep the phone," he said. "My private number is in it. If you want to finish destroying your family, you'll need it."

Isla looked at the phone. It was a lifeline. And a leash.

She nodded.

She got out of the car and hurried inside.

Julian watched her go. He picked up the handkerchief she had left on the seat. He looked at the smear of red blood.

He dialed his assistant. "Pull the flight records for Aspen, 2019. Cross-reference Isla Pruitt."

Inside Isla's apartment, she slid down the door until she hit the floor. She clutched the emerald ring in one hand and Julian's phone in the other.

She was in deep.