Chapter 3 The Devil's Favor

The third morning in the Vale estate arrived with no knock.

No tray.

No music.

Just silence.

Isla rose cautiously, wrapping her robe tighter around herself. Her body was sore from tension, her mind scattered from too little rest and too much thought.

She opened the door.

Nothing.

The hallway, usually patrolled, was deserted.

Another test, she thought.

Or a trap.

She stepped out. The estate felt different today-less like a fortress, more like a stage where the actors had stepped out between scenes.

As she rounded the corner to the dining wing, voices drifted from the drawing room.

Low. Heated.

She pressed her back to the wall, creeping closer.

"...she's just a girl, Dom," Jules was saying. "You can't keep dragging this out."

"She's not just anything," Dominic replied. "She's the leverage Violet left me."

"She's breaking."

"She hasn't even begun."

Isla's nails dug into the wall.

So that was it. Violet had tossed her into a den of wolves, and Dominic planned to use her like a bargaining chip. Or bait.

But the word that stung most wasn't leverage.

It was breaking.

⸻

Dominic emerged minutes later, his expression unreadable.

He stopped when he saw her standing in the hallway like a defiant ghost.

"You skipped breakfast," he said.

"No one brought it."

He raised an eyebrow. "You've learned to speak again."

"Only when it matters."

He studied her. "And what matters today?"

"Truth."

"You'll have to be more specific. I deal in many flavors of truth. Painful. Useful. Selective. Ugly."

"I want to know why you're really keeping me here."

He stepped closer, voice dropping into something quieter. "I already told you."

"No," she said. "You told me what you want me to believe."

A beat passed.

Then a slow smile spread across his face.

"There may be hope for you yet."

⸻

He took her to the east wing-an area she hadn't seen before.

All stone and shadow. Vaulted ceilings. A long corridor filled with weapons behind glass cases. Blades. Guns. Artifacts.

It wasn't a hallway.

It was a warning.

At the far end stood a steel door guarded by two men in black.

Dominic typed a code into a keypad and pressed his palm to a biometric scanner.

The door opened.

Inside was a dim, cold room-lined with monitors, surveillance feeds, and files. A control center.

Dominic gestured to one of the chairs.

"Sit."

She hesitated, then obeyed.

He pulled a folder from the drawer and set it before her.

Her name was printed on the cover.

ISLA HART – AGE 22 – NYC

She opened it slowly.

Her college transcripts. Photos of her apartment. Bank records.

A page detailing her brief hospital stay after the accident that killed their parents.

"What is this?" she whispered.

"Your life," he said. "From the outside."

"You've been watching me?"

"Since Violet ran."

Rage surged up her spine.

"You had no right-"

"I had every right," he said coldly. "She took from me. And then she hid behind you."

He leaned down until his face was inches from hers.

"You don't even know what she really did, do you?"

She stared up at him, eyes sharp.

"Then tell me."

⸻

He didn't answer.

Instead, he handed her another file.

She opened it slowly.

Inside were photos of arms deals. Coded shipments. Offshore accounts. A digital drive buried in the corner.

Dominic sat beside her and inserted the drive into a port.

The screen flickered.

Surveillance footage. Violet. Breaking into a data room. Extracting files.

"She stole half the key to a deal worth seventy million," Dominic said. "Encrypted routes. Contact names. Codes that would allow any syndicate to intercept the shipment."

"And she gave it to you?"

"No," he said. "She vanished."

"But you think I know where she went?"

"You will know. Eventually."

Her chest tightened.

"You think I'd betray my sister?"

Dominic leaned back.

"No. I think your sister betrayed you."

⸻

She returned to her room hours later with the file in her hands and fire in her chest.

Dominic hadn't lied. Not entirely.

The footage was real. The theft was real.

But the motive?

Still hidden.

She lay on the bed staring at the ceiling, replaying Violet's last message in her mind.

"Don't trust anyone, Isla. Especially the ones who offer protection."

Was she talking about Dominic? Or someone else?

⸻

That night, Dominic summoned her again.

But this time, he didn't take her to the music room.

He led her down the garden path-through thorns and moonlight-to a greenhouse at the edge of the estate.

The air inside was thick with heat and scent. Roses. Lilies. Poisonous orchids.

He picked a black blossom and held it out to her.

"Do you know what this is?"

"No."

"Nightshade. Beautiful. Toxic."

She didn't take it.

"I'm not here to garden."

He stepped closer, voice dipping lower. "No, you're here to rot or bloom. I haven't decided yet."

She lifted her chin. "You talk in riddles because you're afraid to say what you really want."

"And what do you think that is?"

She stepped close, nearly chest to chest with him. "You want someone to belong to you. Not out of fear. Out of choice."

He didn't respond.

Didn't move.

Didn't blink.

But something in his eyes darkened.

"You're starting to understand," he said.

"And you hate it," she whispered.

He reached out and touched her cheek.

Just once.

A stroke of knuckles against skin.

Soft.

Deadly.

Then he turned and walked away, leaving her alone with the flower.

⸻

She stayed in the greenhouse for an hour after he left.

Trying to understand him.

Trying to erase the sensation of his touch.

Trying not to remember how it felt to be seen by someone so dangerous.

Dominic Vale wasn't just trying to control her.

He was trying to claim her.

Piece by piece.

Fear by fear.

But Isla had made a decision.

She might be trapped here.

She might be hunted.

But she would not be broken.

Not yet.

Not by him. The morning light seeped weakly through the heavy curtains. Isla lay still, eyes open, mind racing. The silence of her room was heavier than the night before. There had been no knock. No breakfast tray. No music to haunt the halls.

She forced herself up, wrapping the black silk robe tighter around her frame. Her skin still bore the invisible bruises of the night before, but her spirit, fragile though it was, had not been crushed.

Cautiously, she cracked open the door.

The hallway was empty.

The usual guard-Luca-was nowhere to be seen.

Her footsteps echoed softly on the marble floor as she ventured out, drawn by a faint murmur of voices in the distance.

She paused at the corner, heart thumping, and peeked into the drawing room.

Dominic's deep voice was unmistakable, carrying the weight of authority and something darker-rage? Hurt?

"...she's just a girl, Dom," Jules' calm tone countered. "You can't keep dragging this out."

Dominic's voice was cold, unyielding. "She's not just a girl. She's the leverage Violet left me. And if I don't break her, someone else will."

Isla's breath caught.

Leverage.

Her.

Violet's betrayal wasn't just about money or power-it was personal.

And now she was the pawn caught in their deadly game.

She slipped back to her room, heart pounding.

The word "breaking" echoed in her mind.

Was she already cracked?

⸻

Dominic found her there later that day.

His presence filled the room like a storm.

"You're awake," he said simply.

She met his gaze without flinching. "What do you want from me?"

He stepped closer, voice low. "I want you to understand. To see why Violet ran."

She swallowed hard. "I want the truth."

He hesitated, then said, "Follow me."

⸻

He led her through corridors that twisted like a labyrinth until they reached a heavily guarded wing she had never seen before.

Steel doors, surveillance cameras, armed men flanking the entrance.

Inside was a high-tech control center.

Screens displayed live feeds from cameras scattered across the city and the estate.

Dominic motioned to a chair. "Sit."

She obeyed, heart pounding.

He handed her a folder with her name printed on the cover.

"Your life, Isla Hart," he said.

She opened it with trembling hands.

Her college transcripts.

Photos from her apartment.

Bank statements.

Medical records from the accident that had taken her parents.

"Why do you have all this?" she demanded.

"Because Violet wanted to protect you by hiding you."

He tapped a file marked "confidential."

"She took half of something very valuable. Something that threatens many powerful people."

Isla's eyes narrowed.

"Why did she disappear?"

Dominic's eyes darkened. "Because she stole from the wrong people."

⸻

Hours later, Isla lay on the bed, clutching the file.

Her sister's warning echoed in her mind.

Don't trust anyone, Isla.

But who was the enemy?

Dominic?

Or someone darker lurking beneath his cold exterior?

⸻

That night, Dominic summoned her again.

But this time, instead of the music room, he took her through the moonlit garden to a greenhouse.

The air was thick with floral scent and shadows.

He picked a black nightshade blossom and held it to her.

"Beautiful," he said, voice low, "but poisonous."

She refused to take it.

"I'm not here for games."

He smiled thinly. "Neither am I."

She met his eyes, steady and defiant.

"You want me to belong to you."

"More than that," he whispered.

"You want me to choose you."

"And I will have you."

⸻

Isla's heart raced.

She hated him.

She feared him.

But a small, terrifying part of her wondered if she might one day choose him.

Because monsters were sometimes born from broken angels.