*Isabella's POV*
"Trying to fix up Jacob's shit as always," Gordon said, his voice dripping with a condescending disgust that made my skin crawl.
"What?" Jacob asked, his voice barely a whisper, his face a mask of confusion.
"Oh, good, the whore is already here," Gordon said when he saw me, rolling his eyes as if I was a piece of gum on his shoe. "I remember you dated her, Jacob." He turned his cold, hard eyes on his son. "You're as smart as fucking goldfish, she probably played you for a fool while she was fucking you." The words were like acid, spat out with casual cruelty.
"Now ask your little whore how she snatched your sketches and gave them to Oliver Phoenix," Gordon said, and I felt my heart shatter into a million tiny, sharp pieces. A shocked, horrified expression took over my face as the accusation settled in. He blames me... he thinks it's my fault. This man, their father, looked at me and saw not a person, but a fucking, gold-digging slut. The injustice of it, the total fucking audacity, stole the air from my lungs.
"I'm sorry, she did what?" Jacob contoured, his voice laced with a raw, frustrated confusion that made my heart ache for him. He looked from his father to me, his eyes pleading for this to be some kind of sick joke.
"Dad, you can't talk about Isabella like that," Damien spat out, his voice dangerously low, a tremor of rage running through it. He took a step forward, placing himself slightly in front of me, a human shield against his father's venom.
"You'll say sorry, or you'll leave my office immediately. Right fucking now." The air in the room crackled, the power dynamic shifting so fast it made my head spin.
Gordon just laughed, a dry, rasping sound that was devoid of any humour. "I knew you wouldn't believe me," he said, a smug, self-satisfied smile spreading across his face. "So I asked my good old friend John from security to send me the footage."
"What footage?" Jacob asked, his voice barely a whisper.
Gordon moved, a slow, deliberate stealthy walk around the desk until he stood behind it, "You see, I flew here on Saturday. I spent all fucking weekend with John, checking the video recordings from May," he said, settling down into Damien's chair like it was his throne.
He leaned back, "Since I know you had a meeting with Oliver Phoenix in May" he explained, his eyes glinting with malicious victory.
"I don't need to see the footage," Damien said, his voice firm and unwavering, not even looking at his father. His eyes were on me, filled with a fierce, protective loyalty that was so overwhelming it almost brought me to my knees. "I know Isabella didn't do anything."
And fuck, it was really flattering. It was a goddamn lifeline in the middle of a hurricane, a warm, steady light in the freezing dark. But at the same time, a sick, twisted curiosity was curling in my gut. I was so desperate to see why he was so fucking sure, what kind of trick he had up his sleeve that could look so damning.
He moved with a sickening, deliberate calm, pulling a laptop from the drawer of Damien's desk. He then reached into his suit jacket and pulled out a flash drive, holding it up between his fingers like a fucking trophy.
He plugged it into the laptop, the click of the USB port unnaturally loud in the dead silence of the room. Jacob and I moved, drawn in against our will, to stand behind the desk and stare at the screen.
"You see here is Mr. Williams," he said, his voice projecting with self-satisfaction as black-and-white video sprang to life. It was me. I was outside Damien's office, talking to Owen the first time I met him. "Flirting with the man's son, who, by the way, is called Owen Phoenix, son of the old, vein bastard," Gordon said.
Flirting? I was being polite, Why Is Gordon treating me like this, I screamed in my head, but my throat was too tight to make a sound.
"Unfortunately, Damien, you refuse to install a camera in your office, so we couldn't know more," Gordon said, and I felt my heart give a sickening stumble, a frantic little flutter against my ribs." Because after that, they head into your office, but we can't see what they did there... " His voice was a poisonous murmur now, "...but I assume Jacob left the sketches in the office, and they took them." He went on, clicking to the next video clip. It was footage of us coming out of Damien's office.
"See," he said, pointing a finger at the screen. "Now we have Owen Phoenix with a bag he didn't have before, and they seem oddly happy." He looked up at me, his eyes glinting with victory. "I also have recordings with you, Ms. Williams, going with him all the way into the underground parking lot. Where you two flirted some more before saying goodbye."
and I could feel myself
He said it with such finality, such disgusting certainty. I could feel myself getting anxious... my breath catching in my throat. The room started to feel smaller, the air thicker. I could feel a cold sweat break out on my forehead. I was anxious... panicking. He was painting a picture of me as a traitor, a whore, a thief, and with every word he spoke, the walls were closing in.
"Dad," Damien said, his voice a low, dangerous rumble that cut through the suffocating tension. It wasn't a question, it was a warning.
"Yes, Damien?" Gordon replied, not even looking at his son, his eyes still fixed on the laptop screen with a smug, self-satisfied air, like a cat that had just caught a bird.
"Get out," Damien said. The words were quiet, but they carried the weight of a thunderclap.
"Stay," Jacob said, his voice a strained, desperate murmur. "I wanna see the footage again." My heart stopped. Did he... did he actually think I did it? That I was responsible too? The thought was a physical blow, a cold, sharp pain in my gut. I looked at him, searching his face, but it was a mask of confusion and turmoil, and I couldn't read a damn thing.
"I said get out," Damien growled, his control finally snapping. He took a step forward, his entire body radiating a protective fury that was both terrifying and strangely comforting. "Nobody says shit about Isabella like that in front of me. That footage proves fucking nothing."
"It proves everything," Gordon said, his voice dripping with venom as he finally turned to face his sons. He gestured dismissively towards Jacob. "She worked with the enemy, sold our sketch, all this fool's work," he said, nodding at Jacob before turning his full, malicious gaze back to him.