Isla Prescott returned to her dorm room to find that her roommates were all out.
She pulled over a small stool and rolled up her pant leg to check her foot. Her ankle was not only scraped but also slightly swollen. After briefly cleaning the wound, she climbed into bed, hoping to catch up on sleep.
Silas Lockwood was still calling her nonstop. Now that she was alone, she decided to see what he wanted. But the instant she reached for the answer button, he hung up.
He didn't call back after that.
Isla did the math. 'Lydia Sinclair and her mother must have arrived at the Lockwood residence by now,' she thought. 'Silas has to discuss the engagement with them, so naturally, he has no more time for me.'
She turned off her phone and closed her eyes. But even though she hadn't slept a wink the previous night, her nap was fitful. A heavy dampness seemed to linger in her heart, impossible to shake off.
When Isla woke up, her foot was even more swollen. It hurt a little to put weight on it, but the pain was bearable.
She washed her face and took the subway to The Lanthian Club.
As soon as she walked in, her supervisor, June Underwood, came over and stopped her.
"Isla, there's been a change in tonight's schedule. You're assigned to The Serenity Suite. A client specifically requested you for a dance."
In her two years at The Lanthian Club, this was the first time a client had ever specifically requested her for a dance. She couldn't help but feel suspicious.
"Supervisor Underwood, which client is it?"
"Young Mr. Shaw."
'Shane Sterling?'
'So he was the one who requested me for a dance.'
Isla had no idea what Shane Sterling's intentions were. After putting on her makeup, she went to the designated suite. To her surprise, it was completely empty.
She was about to turn back to find Supervisor Underwood, but just then, June walked in.
"Supervisor Underwood, has the client not arrived yet?" Isla asked.
"Young Mr. Shaw is entertaining clients in another suite. He said for you to wait for him."
'He requested a dance from me, but he's entertaining people in another suite?'
Isla was more confused than ever about what Shane Sterling was up to.
June had other work to attend to, so she left after delivering the message.
Isla was left alone in the vast suite. At first, she was a bit reserved; after all, she was on the clock, and she'd feel guilty just sitting there on her phone. But after a long wait with no sign of Shane Sterling, she eventually settled into a chair and began to doze off.
The exhaustion from her sleepless night and failed nap suddenly washed over her. Even just propping her head on her hand, she fell sound asleep.
She even had a dream. She dreamt she was at Silas Lockwood and Lydia Sinclair's wedding, where an endless sea of red roses blazed like fire. She missed her footing and plunged into the flames...
The sensation of falling jolted Isla awake.
She opened her eyes to find her head slipping. Just as she was about to knock it against the armrest, a large hand reached out, catching her head just in time.
Isla looked up to see Shane Sterling crouching in front of her chair.
His palm was warm and dry, and the faint scent of tobacco from his fingertips wafted into her nose.
They were so close that as their eyes met, she could feel the intensity in his gaze.
Just as Isla was starting to feel flustered, she heard Shane Sterling speak. "That was a close one. Your head almost fell off."
He said, giving her head a playful little bob in his hand.
Isla quickly shot up from her chair. "I'm so sorry, I fell asleep."
"You managed to fall asleep here? Didn't you sleep well last night?"
Shane sounded casual, yet he had unerringly pinpointed the source of her troubles.
"And who was it that said a breakup is no big deal? 'If you don't make it to the end, it just means you weren't right for each other.'"
Those were her words.
The advice she'd given him on the rooftop had come back like a boomerang to hit her. Some wisdom, it turned out, was easier to dish out than to follow yourself.
"Sean," Isla said, quickly changing the subject. "When do you need me to dance?"
Shane didn't answer, instead letting his gaze fall to her feet.
Isla was wearing a classical gauze dance dress in a cloisonné-blue gradient, its flowing hem just barely covering the tops of her feet.
"How's your foot?"
Hearing him ask about her foot, Isla finally realized that Shane might have requested her for a dance just to give her an excuse to rest her injured foot.
"There's nothing seriously wrong with it."
"So there is a problem, then?"
"It's fine, just a little swollen. You really didn't have to go to all this trouble to let me rest. I can work."
"Nope. I have to be responsible for you." His tone was half-roguish, half-serious.
Isla felt the side of her face where Shane had touched her burn. She averted her gaze, only to meet his again in the reflection of the floor-to-ceiling glass.
Shane was in an all-black suit today, complete with a black shirt and vest. He cut a tall, sharp figure.
'He seems to love the color black,' she thought. But she had to admit, no one wore it better. If his aura—mysterious, wild, and deep as an abyss—had to be described by a single color, it would be black.
"Why are you blushing? Did I say something wrong?" Shane asked, then added after a dramatic pause, "You fell off my car. I can't just be a hit-and-run driver, can I?"
"It was my own fault, I was careless—"
Before she could finish, Shane's phone rang.
He answered it right in front of her.
"Young Mr. Shaw, where'd you go?" The caller was just out in the hallway; Isla could hear his voice through the crack of the door.
"Handling a traffic accident."
"A traffic accident? What kind of accident requires your personal attention, Young Mr. Shaw?"
Shane's gaze flickered over to Isla, but he didn't elaborate.
"You guys go on and drink. I'll be right there."
"Alright, alright, we'll wait for you."
Shane hung up and turned to Isla. "My other meeting isn't over yet. You can go home for the night. I've booked this suite for the whole week, so you don't need to come in to dance."
Isla wanted to refuse, but Shane gave her no opportunity. He walked right out the door the moment he finished speaking.