Chapter 3 3

Isabella POV

I looked at the three men standing in my parlor, waiting for them to speak. But the suffocating silence was broken by the heavy oak doors groaning open once more.

My father, Arthur Rowland, strode in. Behind him trailed my stepmother, Catherine, her posture rigid with aristocratic pretense, and my stepsister, Clara, looking perfectly demure in pastel pink. The true purpose of this visit had finally arrived.

Catherine didn't bother with pleasantries. She took the velvet seat opposite me, meticulously smoothing her skirt. "Isabella," she began, her voice dripping with a saccharine sweetness that made my stomach turn. "Your marriage to Damien Franco is a delicate matter. To ensure the Rowland family maintains its leverage and doesn't appear weak before the *Cosa Nostra*, we must consolidate our strength."

She paused, her eyes gleaming with barely concealed greed. "Your late mother's trust fund and the deeds to her properties need to be transferred to your father's name. It will serve as a unified family asset-a proper dowry to secure your standing."

"A dowry?" Liam exploded, his face flushing a violent red. He slammed his whiskey glass onto a side table, the crystal ringing sharply. "This isn't an alliance! It's a shakedown! We are legitimate businessmen, not their *Associates*!" He whirled on me, his eyes blazing with contempt. "You're dragging our name into the gutter with these thugs, Izzy. You're a stain on this family."

I didn't flinch. I just stared at him, cataloging his hypocrisy.

"Liam, please," Catherine sighed, playing the weary matriarch. "This is a sacrifice Isabella must make. It is for her own protection in this... environment."

"She's selling us out!" Liam shot back, turning to our father. "Tell them, Father. Tell them we won't be bled dry by the mafia."

Before Arthur could speak, Clara stepped forward. She placed a gentle, restraining hand on Liam's arm, her doe eyes wide with manufactured distress. "Liam, don't be so harsh. You're hurting her." She looked at me, her expression a perfect mask of pity. "Izzy knows she has to do this. She has to think of the greater good of the family, not just herself."

It was a masterful performance. In two sentences, Clara had isolated me, painting my stolen inheritance as a moral obligation.

Arthur finally spoke. His voice was the crack of a whip, cold and absolute. "The papers are already drawn up. You will sign them today, Isabella. And you will show some gratitude for Catherine's tireless efforts to manage this mess."

He looked at me not as a daughter, but as a bad investment he was finally liquidating.

Liam opened his mouth, ready to launch into another self-righteous tirade, but Connor suddenly moved. He grabbed Liam by the shoulder, his grip tight enough to make our brother wince, and yanked him back.

"Enough, Liam," Connor muttered, his tone dark and final. "The decision is made."

As Connor turned his head away from Liam, the dim light of the parlor caught his profile. For a fraction of a second, a smile curved his lips-a sharp, secretive, and deeply satisfied smirk.

My breath caught in my throat.

Connor wasn't just a bystander. He was actively facilitating this robbery. Why? What did he gain from Catherine stripping me of my mother's wealth? The anomaly of his behavior regarding Harrison Davies and his actions now collided in my mind, forming a terrifyingly clear picture. Connor was playing his own game, and he had just become the most dangerous person in this room.

Sean, who had remained a silent, calculating observer by the window, finally stepped forward. He looked down at me, his pragmatic eyes searching for any sign of rebellion. He was waiting to see if I would fight, if I would make this difficult.

I slowly uncrossed my legs and folded my hands neatly in my lap. I looked at my father, then at Catherine, burying my hatred beneath a flawless veneer of submission.

"Whatever father and mother decide," I said, my voice hollow and compliant.

Sean gave a curt nod, satisfied. The tension in the room evaporated, replaced by the smug relief of thieves who had just gotten away with the heist.

They thought they had broken my wings. They didn't realize they had just severed the last frayed thread of loyalty I had left for the Rowland name.