Chapter 3 An Unforgivable Game

The rain came the next night-hard and unforgiving, drumming against the glass walls of Isla's apartment like a warning.

She stood barefoot in the living room, staring out over the city as lightning carved the sky. Her reflection glared back-flawless makeup, black silk dress clinging to curves she didn't want to waste on regret.

Ethan had underestimated her.

But Damien.......Damien was another matter entirely.

She'd barely turned from the window when her phone lit up.

Unknown Number: There's a car waiting downstairs. Wear red.

No name. No location. Just a demand wrapped in smoke.

She didn't hesitate.

The drive was silent, save for the steady beat of the storm. The driver said nothing-just handed her a sleek umbrella and gestured toward the private glass elevator inside the Voss Tower.

When she stepped out at the top floor, the world shifted.

Damien stood at the far end of the penthouse, back to her, city lights framing him like a god carved from night.

"You came," he said without turning.

"You summoned," she replied, walking in like she owned the ground beneath her stilettos.

When he finally faced her, his gaze fell to the red dress. "You understood the assignment."

"I understood the power of color." She smiled, slow and sharp. "And blood looks better on silk."

He moved closer, each step deliberate. "Do you always dress for war?"

"Only when I plan to win."

Their eyes locked, tension coiling like smoke around kindling. Then Damien extended a glass of wine.

"To the game we're playing," he said.

She clinked her glass against his. "And to the rules we'll break."

Hours blurred.

Words. Wine. Sharp questions. Sharper answers.

Until Damien finally asked, "What exactly do you want, Isla?"

She set her glass down. "I want you to make him watch."

Damien's smile was cruel and quiet. "You want your revenge to taste like temptation."

"I want him to see what he threw away," she said. "And what you picked up."

Silence.

Then Damien closed the distance between them.

"He'll hate me."

"I'm counting on it."

He reached for her wrist, pulling her gently, possessively, into him. His mouth hovered just above hers, voice low and velvet.

"Then let's give him something unforgettable."

When their lips met, it wasn't sweet-it was war. Bruising. Breathless. A declaration of everything forbidden.

She didn't pull back.

She pushed forward.

And in that moment, Isla crossed a line she could never return from.

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