Isla immediately dropped her head. She bit down on her lower lip so hard she tasted copper. Her chest heaved. The ghost of the boy who had abandoned her five years ago was suddenly standing in the same room.

Curtiss didn't hesitate. He stepped sideways, placing his massive frame directly in front of Isla, blocking her from the stranger's view. His muscles coiled like a spring ready to snap.

Karson stopped two feet away. He completely ignored Curtiss. He leaned to the side, trying to catch Isla's eye. His gaze was filled with a sickening mix of agony and desperation.

"Isla," Karson said. His voice was raw, intimate.

The temperature in the room plummeted.

Curtiss's eyes narrowed into lethal slits. "Who the hell are you, and why are you addressing my wife by her first name?"

Karson finally looked at Curtiss. He tilted his chin up defiantly. "I'm the future son-in-law of the Morales family. Jaylene's fiancé."

Isla's stomach violently rejected the words. Jaylene's fiancé. Her fingernails dug into her palms until she felt wet blood. The betrayal was a physical knife twisting in her gut.

Curtiss felt the violent trembling of the woman behind him. He reached back without looking and grabbed Isla's freezing hand, his grip crushing and absolute.

Curtiss let out a dark laugh. "You have terrible taste in women, Cantrell. Your fiancé is currently the laughingstock of the ballroom."

Karson's jaw clenched. But he didn't care about Jaylene. He took a step forward, reaching his hand out toward Isla's arm. "Isla, please. We need to talk."

Curtiss slapped Karson's hand away with brutal force.

"Touch her," Curtiss snarled, the veins in his neck bulging, "and you lose the arm."

The two men stared each other down. The air crackled with violent male aggression. A physical fight was seconds away.

Isla knew she had to kill the situation before Curtiss started digging into Karson's past. She took a deep breath and stepped out from behind Curtiss.

She looked at Karson. She forced her eyes to widen in pure, unadulterated terror.

"Mr. Cantrell," Isla said, her voice shaking violently. "I don't know you."

Karson looked like he had been shot in the chest. He stared at her blank, terrified eyes in absolute horror.

Isla turned to Curtiss. She grabbed his lapels, tears spilling down her cheeks. "Please, Curtiss. Take me home. I feel sick."

Curtiss looked down at her wet face. The tears short-circuited his rage. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders and pulled her toward the balcony doors.

Karson tried to follow, but two massive Coffey bodyguards stepped out of the shadows, slamming their hands into his chest, pinning him to the doorframe.

Out on the freezing balcony, the autumn wind whipped around them.

Curtiss grabbed Isla by the shoulders and slammed her back against the cold stone pillar. He boxed her in, his arms caging her against the wall.

"Who is he?" Curtiss demanded, his voice a low, terrifying rumble. "Why are you shaking?"

Isla's brain raced. She couldn't tell him the truth.

She let out a pathetic sob, letting her shoulders tremble violently. "He... he runs in Jaylene's circle. I've seen him at their parties... People in that circle, they always look at me with those eyes, making me feel so small and dirty. I just... I don't want to be near him. Please, I just want to go home."

Curtiss stared into her eyes, searching for the lie. But Isla's terror was real-she was terrified of being exposed.

Curtiss's jaw ticked. He didn't fully believe her. But seeing her shivering in the cold wind, his chest tightened. He stripped off his tuxedo jacket and threw it over her bare shoulders.

He grabbed her chin, forcing her to look at him. "Coffey women do not lie, Isla. Remember that."

Isla nodded frantically, burying her face into the warm silk of his jacket to hide her heavy breathing.

Through the glass doors, Karson watched them. He saw Curtiss's jacket draped over Isla. Karson's hands curled into fists so tight his knuckles turned white.

Chapter 8

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