Chapter 4

The private dining room at the Upper East Side club smelled of expensive perfume and old money.

Isla walked in exactly on time. The moment she crossed the threshold, the loud, piercing laughter of the socialites abruptly stopped.

Collette sat at the center of the table. She looked Isla up and down with absolute disgust.

Isla stood frozen near the door. She looked like an ugly duckling that had wandered into a swan enclosure. "Good afternoon," she whispered.

Jaylene pointed a manicured finger at the smallest chair in the darkest corner. "Sit there. Don't block the waiters."

Isla walked over and sat down. She kept her hands folded tightly in her lap. She pulled the trust fund documents from her bag and slid them across the table to Collette.

Collette ripped the folder open. Her eyes scanned the new asset-freezing clauses Curtiss had added. All the color drained from Collette's face.

Collette slammed the folder onto the table. The silverware rattled.

"You useless piece of trash!" Collette hissed. "You can't even control your own husband in bed to protect your family!"

Isla's eyes immediately filled with tears. Her bottom lip trembled. "I... I can't tell him what to do. I'm scared of him."

The other wealthy women at the table raised their napkins to hide their cruel smiles. They loved watching the fake Coffey wife get humiliated.

To change the subject and show off, Jaylene snapped her fingers. A waiter pushed a black velvet mannequin into the room.

Draped over the mannequin was a shimmering, silver starry-night gown.

"This," Jaylene announced proudly, "is the unreleased autumn haute couture from Verve."

The room erupted in gasps. The women crowded around, praising Jaylene's incredible connections and flawless taste.

Isla looked up. The moment her eyes locked onto the dress, her heart stopped.

It was the leaked design. The trash she had discarded.

Isla's trained eyes immediately caught the flaws. The stitching on the hem was jagged. The fabric lacked the true weight of Verve silk. It was a cheap, pathetic knockoff.

Jaylene strutted over to Isla. She sneered, looking down at Isla's gray sweater. "Don't stare too hard. People who wear rags will never touch Verve fabric in their lifetime."

Isla ducked her head. She forced a look of pure awe onto her face. "It's... it's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen."

Collette leaned forward, her eyes narrowing. "There is a charity gala tomorrow night. You will make Curtiss introduce Jaylene to the London fashion executives."

Isla shook her head frantically. "Curtiss never takes me to those events. He won't listen to me."

Collette's voice dropped to a lethal whisper. "If you don't make it happen, I will stop paying the maintenance fees for your parents' graves."

Isla's breath hitched. Her fingernails dug so hard into her palms that the skin broke. A violent, murderous rage flared in her chest.

She forced the rage down, burying it deep. She looked up, letting a tear spill over her lashes. "Okay. I'll beg him."

When the lunch ended, Isla practically ran out of the room. The second she turned the corner into the empty hallway, she pulled out her phone. She snapped a high-resolution photo of the fake dress through the cracked door.

She sent the photo to Kristy with one text: Prepare the PR kill squad.

Just as she hit send, K. Jennings walked around the opposite corner, escorting a client.

Isla shoved her phone into her pocket. She aggressively wiped at her eyes, making sure they looked red and swollen. She hunched her shoulders, letting out a soft, pathetic sniffle.

K. Jennings stopped. He frowned, watching the boss's wife crying in the hallway of a private club. It was his job to report everything.

Isla kept her head down and hurried past him. As soon as she was behind him, the corners of her mouth curled up into a dark, calculating smile.

She knew Curtiss. He didn't love her, but his ego was massive. He would never allow anyone to publicly humiliate a woman who carried his last name.

Isla got into a yellow cab. She stared out the window, already planning Jaylene's execution at the gala.

Meanwhile, inside the top-floor office of Coffey Group, Curtiss listened to K. Jennings's phone report.

The gold-plated fountain pen in Curtiss's hand snapped completely in half. Ink bled across his fingers.