Isla's POV
The phone rang at two in the morning, dragging me from the first decent sleep I'd had in weeks.
I grabbed it without looking, heart pounding. Nobody called this late unless something was wrong.
"Hello?"
"Sweetheart, it's Mom."
I sat up so fast the world spun. Mom never called me. Not since the divorce two years ago when Dad made her choose—her daughters or her freedom. She'd chosen freedom, and I couldn't blame her. Dad was poison.
"Mom? What's wrong? Are you okay?"
"I'm wonderful, actually." Her voice was bright, almost giddy. "I'm getting married."
I blinked in the darkness of Sophia's tiny apartment. Next to me, Sophia snored softly on the other half of the pull-out couch we shared. We'd been splitting it for three months now, ever since Dad kicked me out.
"Married?" I repeated. "To who?"
"Richard Steele. Oh, Isla, he's amazing. Kind, generous, nothing like your father. He makes me laugh again."
Richard Steele. The name hit me like cold water. Everyone in Manhattan knew the Steeles. Billionaire family. Real estate empire. They owned half the city.
"How long have you known him?" I asked carefully.
"Three months. I know it's fast, but when you know, you know." Mom laughed, and the sound made my chest ache. I hadn't heard her this happy in years. "The wedding is in two weeks. Small ceremony, just family and close friends. I want you there, sweetheart. I *need* you there."
Two weeks. She'd known this man for three months and was marrying him in two weeks.
"Mom, are you sure about this? That's so fast—"
"I'm forty-eight years old, Isla. I've wasted enough time being careful. Richard is my second chance, and I'm taking it." Her voice softened. "Please come. Be my maid of honor. I know things have been hard since the divorce, but you're still my daughter. I love you."
The words cracked something open inside me. I pressed my hand over my mouth, fighting tears.
"I love you too," I whispered.
"There's something else." Mom hesitated. "Richard has a son. Caspian. He's thirty-one, very successful, CEO of the family company. He'll be at the wedding, obviously, and—well, Richard and I were talking. We have so much space in the penthouse, and you've been struggling since your father—"
"No." The word came out sharp. "Mom, I'm not moving in with you and your new husband. That's weird."
"It's temporary! Just until you get back on your feet. You're working three jobs, sleeping on a couch, barely eating—"
"How do you know that?"
"Because I'm your mother, and I pay attention even when I'm not allowed to be there." Her voice cracked. "Please, Isla. Let me help you. You've been through hell, and I wasn't there for you when Derek—when everything happened. Let me be there for you now."
I closed my eyes. She was right about everything. I was barely surviving. Yesterday I'd chosen between lunch and subway fare and picked the subway because I couldn't afford to lose another job.
Pride was expensive. Maybe too expensive.
"Just until I save enough for my own place," I said quietly.
"Yes! Oh, sweetheart, thank you. Richard will be thrilled. And Caspian—I'm sure you two will get along great. Richard says he works too much, barely socializes. Maybe you can be friends."
I doubted that, but I didn't argue.
We talked for another hour. Mom told me about Richard, about the penthouse, about her plans for the wedding. With every word, she sounded younger, lighter, free.
When we finally hung up, I lay back down and stared at the ceiling.
Sophia rolled over, eyes barely open. "Who was that?"
"My mom. She's getting married to a billionaire, and I'm moving into their penthouse after the wedding."
Sophia shot upright. "What? Back up. Start from the beginning."
I told her everything. When I finished, Sophia was grinning like a cat.
"This is perfect! Isla Monroe, rising from the ashes like a phoenix. Your dad cuts you off, your ex humiliates you, and now you're moving into a Fifth Avenue penthouse? That's the best revenge story I've ever heard."
"It's not revenge. It's survival."
"Same thing." Sophia grabbed my hands. "Listen to me. You walk into that wedding with your head high. You look so gorgeous that Derek throws up with regret. You show your dad and Natasha that you don't need them. And you live your best life in that penthouse until you're ready to conquer the world on your own terms."
I wanted to believe her. Wanted to feel strong and confident.
But mostly I just felt tired.
---
Two weeks passed in a blur. I bought a dress I couldn't afford for the wedding—emerald green to match my eyes, because Sophia insisted I needed armor. I gave notice at two of my three jobs. I packed my few belongings into two suitcases.
The night before the wedding, Natasha called.
I almost didn't answer. We hadn't spoken since the engagement party disaster. But curiosity won.
"What do you want?" I asked.
"I heard about Mom's wedding." Natasha's voice dripped fake sweetness. "Marrying a billionaire. Good for her."
"Is there a point to this call?"
"Just wanted to warn you—don't get too comfortable in that penthouse. Rich men always have backup plans. And their sons?" She laughed. "They're usually worse than their fathers. Caspian Steele has a reputation, you know. Cold. Ruthless. He'll eat you alive."
"Thanks for the concern," I said flatly.
"Oh, I'm not concerned. I'm entertained. First Derek, now this. You have terrible luck with men, Isla. I almost feel sorry for you."
I hung up.
But her words haunted me through the night. What did I actually know about the Steele family? About Caspian? I'd been so focused on Mom's happiness and my own desperation that I hadn't asked the important questions.
I grabbed my laptop and searched: Caspian Steele.
The images loaded, and my breath caught.
He was beautiful. Dark hair, sharp jaw, eyes that looked gray even in photographs. Every picture showed him in expensive suits, looking powerful and untouchable. The articles called him a genius, a ruthless businessman, Manhattan's most eligible bachelor.
One headline read: "Steele's Ice Prince: Why Caspian Steele Never Dates."
I clicked it. The article speculated he was married to his work, incapable of emotional connection, possibly heartbroken by some mysterious past relationship.
Great. I was moving in with a robot billionaire.
I slammed the laptop shut and tried to sleep.
The wedding was beautiful. Small and elegant, just like Mom wanted. She looked radiant in cream, and Richard looked at her like she'd hung the moon.
I stood beside Mom as her maid of honor, smiling through the ceremony, genuinely happy for her.
Then the reception started, and I felt eyes on me.
I turned and saw him across the room.
Caspian Steele.
The photographs hadn't done him justice. In person, he was devastating. Tall, powerful, wearing a tuxedo like he was born in it. And his eyes—cold gray steel—locked onto mine with an intensity that made my skin prickle.
He looked at me like I was a problem to solve. A threat to eliminate.
I looked away first, heart racing for reasons I didn't understand.
Later, Richard brought him over. "Caspian, this is Victoria's daughter, Isla. Isla, my son."
I held out my hand, trying to be polite. "Nice to meet—"
"The daughter," Caspian interrupted. His voice was cold enough to freeze blood. "How convenient that your mother found a billionaire right after your father cut you off."
The words hit like a slap. Around us, people were laughing and celebrating, but suddenly I couldn't hear anything except my pulse pounding in my ears.
"Excuse me?" I managed.
He stepped closer, and I smelled his cologne—expensive, dangerous. When he spoke again, his voice was low, meant only for me.
"Let me be clear. I don't care what story you've told yourself, but I know exactly what you are. A gold-digger's daughter learning the trade. Stay out of my way, don't embarrass my father, and we'll coexist peacefully."
Then he walked away, leaving me standing there, shaking with rage and humiliation.
This was the man I'd be living with. The man who'd already decided I was trash without knowing anything about me.
I wanted to run. Wanted to tell Mom I'd changed my mind, that I'd rather sleep on Sophia's couch forever than spend one night under the same roof as Caspian Steele.
But then I saw Natasha across the room, watching me with a smug
smile, and something hardened inside my chest.
No. I wouldn't run. Not again.
If Caspian Steele wanted war, I'd give him war.
I just hoped I survived it.