Chapter 1
Inside the grand Elmwood Manor, the opulence was undeniable. Every room was draped in lavish decor, yet a tension simmered beneath the surface, thick enough to cut with a knife. Eleanor Fairbairn hesitated by the door, her heart racing as she held a tepid cup of tea—how long had it been sitting there? “I won’t accept this!” The voice rang out like a war drum, commanding and unyielding. Isabella Greenwood’s tone was resolute, sending a ripple of discontent through the elegantly dressed guests seated on a sleek black Italian leather sofa. The displeasure etched on their faces was palpable—especially from the stately woman to her left, whose discontent deepened the lines around her eyes. “Isabella, why do you have to be so aggressive?” Eleanor took a breath and pressed a soothing hand on her daughter’s knee, silently urging her to stay grounded. Her gaze shifted to Edward Greenwood, sitting across from them, a silent partner in this escalating conflict. William Barrett, previously a shadow in the back, cleared his throat, signaling he had something to add. “You might as well ask him how often I've listened to his nonsense!” Isabella shot back, her voice dripping with disdain while she kept her eyes averted from her father. Just a month into her return home for a family meeting was enough to realize that plans were already in motion—Eleanor wasn’t just here for tea. The tension bristled around William as he felt the sting of defeat from his daughter's boldness. Today of all days, he wasn’t about to let her attitude slide. With a quick shift of her head, Isabella tilted her chin, allowing the delicate ruffles of her silk blouse to flutter, exposing just a sliver of the pale skin beneath. Her professional attire demanded respect, and the sheen of the chain resting on her collarbone only enhanced the aura of authority she wore. The glint in her eyes was a dance of mockery, and the sly smile on her lips muted her father’s earlier anger. “Isabella, if you’re so worried about handing the reins to Vivian, you’re more than welcome to stick around until she gets the hang of things,” Eleanor suggested, her voice steady but edged with a hidden urgency. Yet Isabella raised a hand, icy and elegant, signaling her stepmother to stop mid-sentence. The gesture cut through the mounting tension like a knife. “Isabella Greenwood, how dare you treat my mother that way? Why are you being so arrogant?” Vivian Fairbairn stood, her voice rising as she faced Isabella’s stunning features, trying to ignore the recoil of fear that kept her grounded. “Vivian!” Eleanor warned, her tone sharp. Isabella didn’t flinch; the steadiness in her gaze felt like a warning to Vivian. Any outright escalation could end badly for her daughter, and Eleanor’s instincts kicked in—she knew better than to provoke that kind of confrontation. “Clearly, Eleanor raised her daughter very well,” Isabella said coolly, her words dropping like a stone, unsettling those present. “Isabella, this was a promise I made to Vivian and her mother before we tied the knot. You’ve got to understand—” Edward’s gaze flickered uneasily between the two strong women. With a practiced smile, Isabella turned towards Eleanor who was now replacing the cold tea with a fresh cup. “And what exactly do you see?” she sipped her floral tea, her tone unhurried, almost teasing. The atmosphere thickened again, caught in a stalemate—two sides locked in a struggle that had only just begun.
Chapter 2
Ravenshire · Bar Street The Beloved Tavern was the go-to spot in Ravenshire, famous not just for its lavish decor but for a quirky deal: bring your girlfriend and your drinks are on the house. It made the place a haven for women looking to unwind, surrounded by the hustle and bustle of the bar district. As the pulsing, dim lights cast a hazy glow, Oliver Winter made his way to a cozy couch, two Bloody Marys in hand. He glanced sidelong at his friend, who sat rigidly, his tension palpable. Setting down the drinks, Oliver plopped himself onto the cushion, eyeing his friend critically. "You dragged me all the way out here just so we could sulk together on our phones?" Oliver scoffed, his gaze wandering toward the dance floor where long-legged women twirled to the beat. With his polished looks and impeccable style, it was hard to picture a guy like him wallowing in despair. His friend sat composed, legs crossed, exuding a quiet intensity that clashed with the vibrant atmosphere around them. "You had plans to propose to Sophia, but if she’s not feeling it, what can you do?" Oliver said, removing his rimless glasses to ruffle his perfectly styled hair. With two buttons of his light blue shirt undone, he instantly transformed from businessman to nightlife aficionado. The other man’s jaw tightened at the mention of ‘Sophia.’ His grip on the Bloody Mary tightened, and he slammed it back without a second thought, ignoring Oliver’s playful grin and probing eyes. "I can't stand Sophia! It’s always about what she needs. She’s been off with the Royal Army in Africa for a year, and didn’t even bother to discuss it with you! If I were you, I'd dump her and hook up with one of her friends. She'd be a much better match!" Before Oliver could finish, a cold glare from his friend silenced him, sending a shiver up his spine. "Okay, okay! I’ll keep my mouth shut! Let’s just drink!" Oliver relented, clearly rattled. Just then, the man’s phone buzzed on the table. ‘Sophia’ lit up across the screen before the vibration faded into silence. His friend’s fists clenched at the sight. Without a word, he snatched the drink from Oliver’s hand and dropped the phone into the glass with a clink, the red liquid quickly swallowing the device. The screen flickered before dimming to black. "Seriously, could you be any more dramatic?" Oliver exclaimed, too late for damage control on his now-soaked phone. "You’ve really lost it; for one girl, you’ve tossed aside the cool demeanor of a tycoon! If those gossip rags caught sight of you now, you’d be splashed all over the front page!" He glanced at his watch, noting how long they’d been at this while his friend remained unfazed. Just then, the previously tense man unfurled his brow, the weight visibly lifting. "What’s in this drink?" His deep voice lacked any trace of fear, just a heavy calm. "While you’re sitting here agonizing over Sophia, I thought I’d give you a little boost! Buddy, I can only back you up so much!" Oliver winked and gave his friend a friendly slap on the shoulder. "This mix is guaranteed to keep you fired up all night!"
Chapter 3
“Look, I’ve already agreed to this. How can I go back on my word to them?” Edward Greenwood’s face was taut, but he finished the sentence he had started, his voice barely above a murmur. Isabella Greenwood smirked, and this time it wasn’t her usual mild smile. There was a biting sarcasm to it, her gaze turning sharper, more piercing with each moment. “How can you go back on your word? Interesting choice of words, Edward,” she said slowly, savoring the weight of his words like a fine wine. She placed her teacup back on the table, her previous sarcasm melting away as she returned to her calm facade. The more composed she seemed, the more on edge Eleanor Fairbairn became. Isabella might have run a small company, but in the business world, her name was as well-known as any major corporation. Starting from scratch at just fourteen and building a respectable company over eight years without any help from the Greenwoods was no small feat. And that was precisely why nobody should underestimate her. Eleanor Fairbairn’s eyes narrowed. Isabella was quiet, but Eleanor had to get control of the situation regarding Vivian — no matter the cost. "If I'm not mistaken," Isabella stated evenly, "this company doesn’t even belong to the Greenwoods anymore. So how exactly can you help me make decisions about it?" She maintained her composure, practically radiating a sense of readiness since the moment Eleanor had stepped through the door, her amber eyes clear yet inscrutable. “Uh…” Edward Greenwood was caught off guard by Isabella’s boldness, while Eleanor looked at him with the kind of expectation that screamed payback for past indiscretions. “Let’s not forget that this company is still under the Greenwood name,” he replied, his words sounding strained and forced, as if he were wrestling them out of his throat. Isabella leaned back slightly in her chair, her relaxed demeanor highlighting the tension in the room. “Well, why don’t you ask Edward if he’s willing to hand over a profitable business to someone with zero experience?” Her voice was soft yet resolute, leaving no room for debate. Edward felt the words lodge in his throat. He had half-heartedly agreed to Eleanor’s demands, unaware that their marriage would become a constant tug-of-war. Now, here he was, cornered with no way out. He hadn’t anticipated that he wouldn’t have even an inch of leverage against Isabella. His discomfort was becoming palpable. “Mom, I don’t care! I’m going to take over her company!” Vivian Fairbairn cried, pulling on Eleanor’s sleeve, her pretty face twisted with dissatisfaction towards her step-sister. At the sound of those words, Isabella’s gaze finally fixed on the woman who had been practically invisible since she’d stepped into the Greenwood home. The relaxed air around Isabella shifted, her calm demeanor replaced with an underlying fierceness. “This is my mother’s legacy,” she stated, her tone chilling. “Anyone who tries to claim it will have to reckon with me. I have no problem sending them to meet my mother.” She placed her hands firmly on the cool surface of the table, her complexion flawless with just a hint of makeup, her voice dripping with threat yet unyielding—suddenly making Vivian break a sweat. “You wouldn’t dare!” Vivian retorted, her voice rising in panic. But Isabella simply stood up, her indifference to Vivian’s distress evident as she grabbed her handbag and headed for the door. “Try me,” she shot back, her words hanging in the air like a dare, echoing throughout the expansive room.
Chapter 4
**In the Greenwood Villa Bedroom** “What did you say? You messed it up? What the hell are you all doing?” Eleanor Fairbank's face darkened as she forced herself to keep her voice low. On the other end, the person kept rambling their excuses, but Eleanor couldn’t care less. She hung up the phone, a wave of fury surging through her as she stalked back to her bedroom. Her anger ignited when she found her daughter sprawled on the cozy bed, painting her nails. “Look at you! What were you doing today? Why can’t you be more like Isabella Greenwood?” Eleanor paused at the edge of the bed, glaring at her daughter, disappointment gnawing at her. Tonight was supposed to be a strategic setup for Isabella, but now that plan was shot. It would be even harder to beat her next time. “Mom, no worries! You’re already in the door. You think there won't be other chances?” Vivian Fairbank replied nonchalantly, flipping through a magazine while waving her hand to dry her nail polish. “Honestly, Isabella Greenwood isn’t as impressive as people say. She’s just a girl with a nose and two eyes. What’s so special about that?” “What do you know?” Eleanor snapped. “If Isabella doesn’t cooperate, you’ll never get that company! I was too naïve to believe that man’s sweet talk!” The more she thought about it, the madder she got. Then, as if a light bulb had gone off, she grabbed her phone again and redialed the number from earlier. After confirming a few details, her earlier gloom faded, replaced by a gleeful smile. “Get a few reporters I know to stakeout near the hotel. I’ll pay them triple; they’re to stay until tomorrow morning!” Eleanor ended the call with a grin plastered across her face. “Mom, you’re talking about Benjamin Griffin! You’ve got to introduce me! I’m totally obsessed with him!” Vivian gushed, eyeing a blurry paparazzi shot in the entertainment magazine. “Don’t worry, Vivian. I’ll get you everything you want.” Eleanor’s voice dropped as she gazed at the photo, lost in thought, leaving her words hanging. *** **At the Grand Courtyard Hotel** Isabella Greenwood struggled to keep herself upright as she checked into her room at the front desk. Gripping the key card, she stumbled toward the elevator. Never in her wildest dreams did she think Eleanor Fairbank could be so underhanded—trying to drug her. If it hadn’t been for her quick instincts, she’d be in serious trouble. Although she’d reluctantly sipped that drink, now all she could do was find a place to wait for the drug to wear off. ‘Ding—’ The elevator doors slid open, revealing an empty corridor bathed in shadow. The opulent red carpet blurred beneath her as a warm wave of unease crept through her body. What began as a stubborn façade soon faded, leaving her flushed and less forceful, the blurry outline of her room coming into focus. The door was half-ajar, suggesting it had just been opened. Squinting through her hazy vision, she noticed the door number and pushed inside, locking the door behind her. Moments later, Oliver Winters stepped out from the elevator with a stunning woman at his side. They chatted and laughed as they approached the door, only to stop short, surprised to find the once-open door now locked tight. “Crap, I left the card inside!” Oliver sighed, a sheepish grin creeping onto his face as he looked at the meticulously chosen beauty beside him, not sure how to explain. Looks like the drug didn’t work after all.
Chapter 5
Isabella Greenwood stumbled to the edge of the bed, the weight of the world pressing down on her as she collapsed into the sheets. The moonlight crept through the window, casting an eerie glow across the expansive room. “Ah!” The sound of her ragged breaths echoed in the darkness, barely a whisper before a strong body pinned her down. Arthur Blackwood loomed over her, those hawk-like eyes glinting with a predatory coldness that twisted a knot of fear deep in her belly. Despite her attempts to steady her racing heart, the remnants of the drug coursing through her veins ignited an internal fire, leaving her utterly powerless. He cupped her cheek with a large, calloused hand, his breath heavy with an intensity she couldn’t ignore. “Who are you? How did you get in here?” Isabella’s mind was muddled. She had assumed this intimidating stranger was some kind of enforcer sent by Eleanor Fairbairn. But he was silent, his silhouette stark against the pale moonlight while an overwhelming fear began to seep into her bones. Arthur's icy fingers glided over her smooth skin, his massive form completely enveloping her as their breaths mingled in the charged air. The soft bedding beneath them crumpled as panic and dread intertwined in Isabella's heart. Every instinct told her to recoil, but the drug's grip tugged her in the opposite direction, turning his touch into a twisted form of comfort. Her body betrayed her mind; the primal instincts knew surrender, and Arthur's smirk grew with her internal struggle. Her cheeks flushed a delicate pink, and she curled in on herself, a frightened creature under the weight of his dominance. Little did Isabella know, her vulnerability was a match to the fires of Arthur's innate desire for conquest. “Get off me!” A sliver of clarity cut through the haze, and she pushed against him with all her might, biting her lip hard enough to draw blood, desperate for the pain to ground her. But Arthur was restless, his shirt ripping apart as if he were shedding layers of restraint, his movements rough and devoid of compassion, treating her like a mere object. And then it happened. Isabella, despite the violent force of Arthur's advances, found herself paralyzed by a strange amalgam of fear and the body's reluctant yearning for warmth. “Who the hell are you? Is Eleanor Fairbairn behind this?” Her voice trembled, tears pooling in the corners of her eyes, her breath hitching as heat radiated against her skin like a furnace, matching the chill of his chest. In a flash, he descended upon her, his weight crashing down. A wave of agony surged through Isabella, nearly knocking her senseless as her heart raced to match the painful rhythm in her head. Her clothes felt partially torn from her body, leaving her feeling like nothing more than a pawn in a game she hadn’t signed up for. Tears streamed down her cheeks, mingling with shattered breaths as they spiraled into something raw and primal. This felt like a nightmare. Arthur moved with brutal intent, devoid of tenderness, the force of his actions unraveling her sanity. A desperate instinct surfaced; she bit down hard on the thick muscle of his shoulder, a muffled whimper escaping her lips as she endured the torment. The air thickened, an intoxicating mix of desperation and heat swirling around them, sealing Isabella within a twisted reality where she was trapped in a battle against her own body’s surrender. She squeezed her eyes shut, the low, gravelly sounds of Arthur’s hissing breaths ringing in her ears, hitting her like a hammer. And so, the night began, the unsettling story of them just starting to unfold.
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