This was the first time Isla Prescott had ever called him by his name.
Silas Lockwood opened his eyes. Her clear, bright eyes shimmered with unshed tears, a hint of stubbornness mixed in with her hurt.
"Is it because of Lydia Sinclair?"
"It's because of her, but it's also because of me. I'm sorry. I don't like the insecure person I become when I'm with you, constantly terrified of losing you."
For the past six months, because Silas Lockwood had kept their relationship a secret, Isla Prescott felt she didn't deserve this love, or him. This profound sense of inadequacy made her terrified of losing him.
Isla Prescott felt like she was living in a beautiful but hollow dream. Every moment of happiness was tainted by the fear of waking up.
This feeling, like walking on thin ice, overshadowed all the sweetness that should have come with love. 'Instead of living in constant fear of losing him,' she thought, 'it's better to have never had him at all.'
"I'm sorry, Isla. I'm the one who failed to make you feel secure. But my family…"
"I understand. That's why it's better for everyone if we go back to being a brother and sister." Isla Prescott dipped her finger into the cake and smeared the frosting on Silas Lockwood's face. "Happy birthday, brother."
"Isla…"
"I have to get to my part-time job. I'll just take the subway."
Before Silas Lockwood could say a word to stop her, Isla Prescott quickly pushed the door open and got out.
The car door shut behind her. She pulled her coat tight and walked toward the subway entrance, head down against the wind. Before long, tears streamed down her face.
'Of course, it hurt. How could it not? He was her first love, the boy she'd crushed on since she first understood what love was. His name had filled every page of her diary, but in the end, reality had defeated them.'
Inside the car, just as Silas Lockwood was about to go after her, his phone rang.
It was his mother, Yvette Shaw.
"Silas, Lydia told me Isla came to the airport to find you?" Yvette Shaw's voice was frigid. "Don't think for a second I don't know what's going on between you two. I've warned you: she is either your sister or a complete stranger. Nothing more. You'd better know your place. If she ruins your marriage alliance with the Sinclair family, I'll send her right back to where she came from."
"Don't you touch her."
"Whether I do or not is up to you." Yvette Shaw's tone softened. "I wouldn't want to hurt her, of course. I watched her grow up, after all. Isla's fate is in your hands."
Silas Lockwood watched Isla Prescott's back as she walked farther and farther away, his face ashen. With his bare fingers, he snuffed out the candle on the cake. "I'll marry Lydia Sinclair," he told his mother.
Isla Prescott took the subway to the Lanthian Club.
She had been dancing part-time at the Lanthian Club since her sophomore year of college. After covering her own living expenses, she saved the rest of the money to help support her mother.
The Lanthian Club was the pinnacle of exclusivity, a multi-faceted venue featuring a CEO club, a sky garden, a socialite spa, Chinese wellness cuisine, a high-end bar, and more. Isla Prescott danced there only because the owner, Dora Dawson, had taken a shine to her. The first time Dora saw Isla perform at a dance competition, she handed her a business card and invited her to join.
At first, Isla hadn't agreed. In her mind, clubs weren't respectable places. But Dora had told her, "Your ambition sets your ceiling, and your perspective defines your world. Don't let conventional prejudice hold you back."
Later, desperate for money, Isla Prescott finally made the call.
Dora personally gave her a tour of the club, which occupied the top floor of Polaris Plaza, Meritopia's tallest skyscraper. It commanded a 360-degree, bird's-eye view of the city's entire commercial district. Dora assured her she had nothing to worry about; the club's stringent entry requirements alone filtered out the kind of riff-raff that could cause trouble.
In her two years of dancing there, Isla had never once encountered a troublesome guest. On the contrary, she saw genuine appreciation and respect for her art in the eyes of most patrons.
After arriving at the club, she pushed her feelings aside, changed into her costume, and did her makeup just as she always did before entering The Brocade private room.
The Brocade was the club's largest Chinese-style suite. As a classical dance major, Isla performed here four nights a week.
Upon entering, she offered a slight bow to the guests seated at the table.
The table was filled with young, handsome faces. They were all laughing and talking, paying her no mind. As Isla's gaze swept across the room, she spotted Shane Sterling among them.
Shane Sterling was Silas Lockwood's childhood friend. Of all Silas's friends, Isla was most familiar with Shane, since the Sterling family lived right next door to the Lockwoods. After she moved in with the Lockwoods, she would often run into him in the neighborhood. That was until six months ago, when he officially joined the Sterling Group and moved closer to the office.
She hadn't seen him in six months.
The last she'd heard of him was just last week, when news broke that his fiancée had been caught cheating. The scandal had made him a trending topic online for an entire day.
Isla found it hard to imagine. A man with Shane Sterling's family background, with a face so handsome it looked as if it were sculpted by the gods, could get cheated on?
Her gaze lingered on him for a few extra seconds.
Everyone else was talking, but Shane just sat there, slouched languidly in his chair. Head down, he toyed with a lighter in his hand, utterly silent. The light caught in his eyes, making them look as if they were coated in a thin layer of frost.
"Shane," a man slurred, several drinks in, "why don't you share with the rest of us bros? What's it feel like to be just another fish in her sea?" The taunt was a clear jab about the Quincy family heiress's affair.
The room went dead silent. Even Isla's heart clenched.
Everyone in Meritopia knew the Sterling family's eldest son was not to be trifled with. When he lost his temper, even the devil himself would give him a wide berth.
And just as expected, a second later, Shane grabbed the man who'd run his mouth by the scruff of his neck, hauled him to his feet, and shoved his head into the decorative fish tank against the wall.
The tank rocked violently, water spilling over the sides as the man thrashed.
The terrified staff in the suite stumbled backward, one of them unknowingly stepping on the hem of Isla's dress.
Isla was frightened, too. She was afraid someone was about to get killed.
Fortunately, Shane seemed to know his limits. As the man's struggles weakened, he yanked him out of the tank and threw him onto the floor.
"How's that?" Shane sneered. "Now you know the feeling. Still want me to share?"
"I was wrong… COUGH, COUGH… Young Mr. Sterling… COUGH… I was wrong…"
The suite was in shambles.
Someone waved at the staff and Isla. "All of you, get out. And get the owner."
"Yes."
The staff quickly fetched Dora Dawson.
Dora moved the party to another suite but didn't ask Isla to go back in and perform. It made sense. Who would be in the mood for a dance performance now?
Isla unexpectedly had the rest of the evening off.
She removed her hair ornaments, changed back into her street clothes, and took her phone up to the rooftop terrace to call her mother. As she reached the door to the terrace, she saw a tall, slender figure leaning against the railing.
It was Shane Sterling.
He was dressed in a black suit that melted into the night. The cold wind whipped around him, blowing the front of his jacket open and then shut. Despite his impressive height and broad, powerful build—a towering six-foot-two—he somehow looked bleak and small, a lonely figure caught between the sky and the earth.
'He's not thinking of jumping, is he?'