Chapter 1
He thought she would be nothing more than a passing thought, a fleeting season swept away. But as fate would have it— “Hey, man, with a gorgeous girl like Beatrice Harding in your life, why haven’t you introduced us?” his loud-mouthed friends laughed as they lounged around his living room, barely noticing her stepping out from the Public Baths, her hair damp and clinging to her neck like an unceremonious afterthought. He jabbed a finger at one particularly obnoxious buddy, “Cut it out. She’s mine.” From that moment on, she was trapped within his realm, forever branded as "William Fletcher’s girl." But life had a way of wedging itself between them, and it wasn’t long before she found herself caught in the vice grip of her parents’ demands yet again. Exhaustion washed over her as she confessed tearfully to him what they had put her through. With an air of reluctant affection, he pulled her into his arms. “What’s mine is yours. Five hundred grand? Just consider it my down payment to buy you back from your family. Think of it as a dowry. I’m not losing anything here.” As she sobbed, he swallowed her heartbreak whole, each wail a reminder of the weight of her burdens. “I swear, in the next life, I’m coming back as one of your teeth,” she promised, her voice cracking. “That way when you’re in pain, I’ll feel it too.” He pressed a kiss to her eyelids, smiling softly. “Well, hey there, cavity.”
Chapter 2
William Fletcher strode purposefully out of the High Court in Ravensport, his tall, commanding figure instantly catching the attention of the horde of reporters waiting outside. With his chiseled jawline, deep-set black eyes, and relaxed yet confident demeanor, he was a figure that drew gazes and sparked whispers. “William! We hear you’re representing Morgan Whitaker in his divorce from Margaret. Is that true?” one journalist shouted, pushing forward with his microphone. “William, you’ve got a winning track record in divorce cases, but word is Margaret has a big-name lawyer as well. How confident are you about this case?” another pitched in, eager for a scoop. “Margaret’s after a fair property settlement and a hefty alimony. What’s your take on that, William?” a third reporter asked, practically bouncing with enthusiasm. With a devilish grin, William leaned slightly into the cameras, his smooth, magnetic voice slicing through the chaos. “I must remind a few friends that the marriage laws aren’t just about preserving what you call ‘love.’ They also protect personal assets.” With that, he turned on his heel, flanked by his assistant Beatrice Harding, leaving a flurry of raised eyebrows and whispers in his wake. “Was that a jab at Margaret?” someone murmured from the crowd. *** By the next morning, William’s words had already made the front pages of every gossip rag in town. The articles danced around the subject, but everyone could see the thinly veiled mockery aimed straight at Margaret. “Ugh!” Margaret slammed a magazine down on the table, her porcelain features flushed with anger. “Why does he have to help that jerk?” “Ma’am, Morgan and William have been friends since childhood,” Thomas Rivers, her assistant, reminded her delicately. Margaret huffed, her almond-shaped eyes narrowing dangerously. “I’m still his… Never mind, just get rid of these.” With a sigh, Thomas gathered the scattered papers, but as he turned to leave, Margaret’s voice cut through the air like a knife. “Call William. Set up a dinner for tonight.” When Thomas returned, his expression was an odd mix of hesitation and anxiety. “William said he’s not available to meet tonight, so—” CRASH. A glass shattered on the floor as Margaret hurled it against the wall, her face twisted in fury. “He thinks he can dodge me? William, just you wait!” *** As the sun began to dip low, casting elongated shadows, Isabella Sterling walked home from the market, balancing her bags while keeping an eye on her silhouette on the sidewalk. “Isabella!” a voice called from behind her. She turned to find Edward Green pedaling up on his bike. “How was your first day at the new job?” he asked, a friendly smile lighting his face. “It went well! The people are great.” She smiled back, her grip on the bags shifting. “Good to hear.” Edward let out a slight sigh of relief, then pulled out a tissue to dab at her sweaty brow. “You’re glistening. Let me help you home.” Before she could say a word, he reached for her grocery bags, and she chuckled bashfully as she climbed onto the back of his bike, gripping his shirt for balance. Once they reached her apartment, Edward handed her the bags and kindly tucked a stray hair behind her ear that the wind had blown out of place. Isabella’s mother, Genevieve Porter, leaned against the railing of the balcony, her eyes narrowing as she watched the scene below unfold. “Mom, I got some groceries today and—” Isabella began as she walked through the door. But before she could finish, Genevieve appeared out of nowhere, her hand swung hard, landing a stinging slap across Isabella’s cheek. “Who the hell do you think you’re dating?” Genevieve screamed, her eyes blazing with rage. “A broke nobody like him? You’re better than that!” Isabella blinked in shock, the warmth on her cheek mixing with a sudden surge of defiance. “You don’t understand—” “Understand? A loser like him? He doesn’t deserve you!” Genevieve spat, her voice shaking with fury. With her heart pounding in her chest, Isabella clenched her jaw, refusing to back down. “You don’t get to decide who I see, Mom!” And with that, their clash was set, echoing like a distant storm on a barely stable horizon.
Chapter 3
"I’m not interested," he said flatly. The sting of humiliation burned against her cheeks as Isabella braced herself for the impending blow. She instinctively raised her hands to shield her face as Genevieve’s palm swooped down again. "How dare you put up a fight!" Genevieve was furious now, yanking the grocery bag from Isabella’s grasp, sending its contents crashing to the floor. Vegetables rolled away as Genevieve hurled them back at Isabella, shouting, "You worthless little thing! I’ve wasted my life on you. Why don’t you just disappear?" "Mom, stop!" Isabella pleaded, her voice thick with shame, yet she couldn’t bring herself to move out of the line of fire. She let the food rain down on her—bruised tomatoes and squash splattering against her skin. Out of breath and exasperated, Genevieve finally collapsed into a chair, casting a frustrated look at Isabella. "Listen, Isabella, we may not be living the high life anymore, but you are still my daughter. Stay away from losers like Edward. He’s nothing but a deadbeat!" Isabella bit her lip, staring at the floor, feeling the weight of her mother’s disappointment. "Do you hear me?" Genevieve jabbed her finger forcefully towards Isabella’s forehead, her voice rising in anger. "If I catch you with that useless boy one more time, I swear I’ll break your legs!" But Isabella didn’t have anything with Edward… She swallowed the words that could have come tumbling out, standing there in silence, head bowed. Seeing her daughter like that only fueled Genevieve’s ire. She waved her off dismissively. "Get your act together, clean this mess up, and make us some dinner!" --- Grandhall Apex, the presidential suite. Victor held two glasses of red wine, handing one to William as he casually inquired, "I hear Jordan's been trying to get you to dinner a few times, but you keep turning him down." Jordan was Genevieve’s sister and would soon be Victor’s ex-wife, making her William’s distant cousin by some family quirk. "Yeah," William replied coolly, swirling the wine in his glass and taking a sip. "Not my thing." Victor chuckled, leaning back against the couch, gazing at the ceiling. "I'm really curious what kind of woman would catch your interest." William shrugged nonchalantly, smirking like someone who was perpetually unfazed. He closed his eyes for a moment, envisioning a petite figure swirling through his thoughts. Ever since Samuel's business collapse left him drowning in debt, he had morphed into someone almost unrecognizable, obsessing over making it back to the top of the social ladder. Gambling had become Samuel’s crutch, and if he lost big, he'd storm through the door, spoiling for a fight. Even worse, if he was tipsy, all hell could break loose. By the time Samuel staggered back home each night, Isabella was usually already tucked in for bed. Tonight, Genevieve jolted awake at the sound of the front door creaking open and instinctively curled back into her pillow. "Get up." Samuel’s voice, surprisingly cheerful for once, cut through the darkness. Genevieve knew better than to disobey. She bolted upright, fumbling for the bedside lamp. As the dim light flickered on, she blinked in disbelief. Samuel seemed oddly buoyant tonight, a spark in his eyes reminiscent of happier days. "Isabella’s working at Fletcher & Hartwell Law Chambers today, right?" he asked, surprising her with his sudden interest. Since moving to Ravensport, Samuel had barely acknowledged Isabella’s world. Genevieve nodded slowly, unsure of where this was headed. "Is this it?" Samuel tossed a magazine onto the bed, the pages wide open to a spread that featured a sleek building. He pointed to one image, and Genevieve leaned closer to squint at it. The front of the building displayed a sign—Fletcher & Hartwell Law Chambers. "I think…," Genevieve exclaimed, a light bulb flicking on in her mind. "Yes! This is it! Isabella mentioned that Fletcher was one of her bosses’ last names." Samuel flashed a grin, his hands rubbing together nervously. He shifted his finger to another picture on the page, beckoning her to take a closer look. "Check out this guy." Samuel’s sudden enthusiasm was enough to spark Genevieve's curiosity. She stared at the photograph for a solid thirty seconds before her eyes widened in shock. She covered her mouth with trembling fingers. "No way. It can’t be him—he’s—"
Chapter 4
Isabella Sterling groaned as her alarm clock buzzed insistently, jarring her from an uncomfortable sleep. She rubbed her eyes and swung her legs over the side of the bed, stifling a yawn as she forced herself to get up and freshen up for the day. In the kitchen, her mother, Genevieve Porter, was already hard at work. Life had shifted dramatically for the Porters since the Sterling Family Estate went belly-up, leaving them grappling with a reality that felt foreign. They had moved to Ravensport, where the opulence of their past felt like a distant memory. With no staff to cater to their needs and her father, Samuel Sterling, stuck in a rut of despair, Isabella had stepped up to manage household chores. “Up and at ’em?” Genevieve called out cheerfully, emerging from the kitchen carrying two bowls. The aroma of breakfast wafted through the air, a stark contrast to the chaos of their new life. “Mom, why are you up so early?” Isabella asked, surprised to see a spread of almond milk, crispy fried dough, and fresh vegetables laid out on the table. “Your father has a business meeting today,” Genevieve replied smoothly, sitting down at the table as if it were just another morning in their former life. “Come on, Isabella, don’t just stand there. Breakfast will get cold.” Isabella hesitated, a pang of nostalgia tugging at her heart. How long had it been since her mother had called her by that name so affectionately? She quickly masked her melancholy and joined her mother at the table, filling her plate before she picked at the food. “Look at you—you’re way too skinny. Eat up,” Genevieve urged, scooping more vegetables onto Isabella’s plate. “How’s work? Is everything busy? What are your colleagues like?” Caught off guard by her mother’s attentiveness, Isabella swallowed her bite, feeling a mix of anxiety and excitement. “They’re all really nice, but it was a bit quiet yesterday since the boss wasn’t in. I mostly had some smaller tasks—not too overwhelming.” Genevieve nodded, her brow furrowing slightly in thought. “So that lawyer you work for, Beatrice Harding, what’s her deal? Is she the type who just caters to the boss?” “Mom, Beatrice specializes in divorce cases. I’m just helping out, handling some of the day-to-day stuff,” Isabella explained, feeling a flutter of happiness at her mother’s interest. “Ah, gotcha,” Genevieve said, her gaze drifting as she made small talk about inconsequential matters. Meanwhile, across town, Charles Marshall and William Fletcher met at Fletcher’s office. They chatted over coffee, briefly catching up on their respective cases. “Oh, by the way,” Charles said, putting down his cup. “When I came in, some guy in the lobby was asking for you.” “Really?” William switched positions in his chair, flipping through a folder. “Didn’t hear the doorman call about it.” “Guess they sent him on his way,” Charles shrugged. “He looked to be in his forties or fifties and just kept saying he needed to talk to you. Made the security guard suspicious.” “Interesting,” William replied, showing minimal interest. Charles pressed on, a smirk forming as he recalled the odd encounter. “He kept repeating that all he wanted was to ask if you remembered a little girl from East City ten years ago.” William’s indifference shifted, a flash of tension creeping into the room. “Really? And you let him go?” “Yeah, it was kinda funny, actually. I told the guard to toss him out,” Charles chuckled, oblivious to the sudden change in atmosphere. “It sounded like something out of a bad soap opera, right?” Then came the sound of a chair clattering to the floor. William shot out of his seat, gripping Charles by the collar, his eyes darkening with urgency. “What did he look like?” “What?” Charles stammered, taken aback. He’d never seen William this worked up in the eight years they’d known each other. “His appearance! Describe him!” William insisted, his patience waning. Charles paused, gathering his thoughts before he recounted his memory of the man. As he spoke, the light drained from William’s face, his expression darkening like an impending storm. Suddenly, he released his grip and was out the door in a flash, leaving Charles staring after him, confusion knitting his brow.
Chapter 5
Isabella Sterling hurried across the street with a shopping bag in one hand and a Frappuccino in the other, her mind preoccupied with thoughts of the day ahead. She was on her way to the Hartwell & Fletcher Offices, the towering glass structure where she spent most of her waking hours. Suddenly, a figure burst through the entrance, nearly colliding with her. “Watch out!” Isabella barely managed to sidestep in time, but her Frappuccino splattered all over his crisp white shirt. “What the hell?” William Fletcher’s jaw clenched as he surveyed the coffee-stained fabric. “Are you blind? You couldn’t even bother to move out of the way?” Isabella rolled her eyes and fished a napkin from her bag. His self-righteous tone only made her more irritated. “Yeah, clearly I’m the one at fault here,” she snapped, stuffing the napkin back into her purse. “You stormed out like a bull in a china shop.” “Who do you think you are—” William’s gaze sharpened, his brow furrowing. There was something infuriating about this woman… Ignoring him, Isabella turned her back and headed for the elevator, her shopping bag swinging at her side. “Damn it!” William cursed as he wiped at his shirt. Not only had he lost track of her, but he now smelled like a sugary coffee disaster. Cringing at the cloying scent, he stalked toward the elevator, hoping to escape her presence. Finally, the elevator doors slid open, and Isabella stepped inside, grateful to leave the scene behind her. “Wait!” a voice called out. Isabella instinctively hit the close button, peeking out to see William, now looking like he had fallen into a coffee pot. The moment their eyes met, she recoiled in horror and pounded the button to shut the doors faster. As the doors began to slide closed, William glared at the frantic woman inside. Seriously, how could someone be so rude and so clueless? Inside the elevator, Isabella stifled a giggle. The look on William’s face was so worth the coffee spill. He deserved every bit of it for being such a jerk. “Delivery’s here!” she announced, enthusiastically entering the office with her shopping bag, a bounce in her step despite the earlier scuffle. Her co-workers flocked around her, eager to see what she had brought back. Isabella pulled items from the bag, her mood lightening, relieved she hadn’t spilled the Frappuccino she had intended to save for herself. “Hey, Isabella, what happened to your shirt?” Clara Easton pointed out, her eyes narrowing at the stains on Isabella’s sleeve. Isabella glanced down. “Oh, don’t even ask. Just your typical ‘forgot to check the calendar’ kind of morning.” “Get it cleaned up fast. The boss is back today, and you know how she is—she hates a mess,” Clara whispered, glancing around as if Beatrice might appear at any moment. As the firm’s star attorney and no-nonsense boss, Beatrice ruled from the floor above them, making her presence known through her impeccable standards. After cleaning up in the restroom, Isabella returned only to find someone lurking in front of Beatrice’s office door, fidgeting as if up to no good. Grabbing a mop, Isabella crept silently toward the figure. When she got close enough, she steeled her courage and shouted, “Who are you? Turn around!” Recognition dawned on William’s face as he slowly turned—of course, it was the last person he wanted to face. “What are you doing here?” Isabella demanded, suspiciously narrowing her eyes. “You’re not trying to steal something, are you?” “Open the door,” William snapped, irritation flaring in his chest. First the Frappuccino incident, and now being mistaken for a thief? This was getting ridiculous. Isabella, still misunderstanding his intent, took a deep breath, gripping the mop tightly. With a mighty swing, she aimed right for his face.
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