CHAPTER 59

CHAPTER 59
The atmosphere was lively the moment Cassie stepped into the room.

Cassie fit right in...or at least, she looked like she did. She smiled brightly, and walked like she owned the place.

Her eyes swept across the gathering with practiced ease, searching.
Then she saw her.

Isabelle
She sat a little apart from the others. She was laughing softly at something another socialite had said.

Cassie’s eyes lit up.
“Hiii, Miss Isabelle,” Cassie called out sweetly, plastering a flawless smile on her face as she approached.

Isabelle spared her nothing more than a brief glance.

Cassie’s smile stiffened for half a second.
She had gone through hell to get an invitation to the Socialites’ Ladies Gathering.

Pulling strings, calling favors, enduring humiliating conversations she’d rather forget. But she knew this was necessary.

Beating Mila meant playing at the highest level. And that meant surrounding herself with people who disliked Mila just as much as she did.
Hence Isabelle.

Cassie had met her months ago at a runway show, where she’d modeled for a top brand. She had complimented Isabelle’s taste, laughed at her jokes, nodded enthusiastically at every word...brown-nosing shamelessly.

She eased into a chair near Isabelle, folding her hands neatly on her lap, her smile returning brighter than ever.

“Let’s talk,” Isabelle said suddenly, rising to her feet.
She didn’t wait for a response. She simply walked away.

Cassie’s jaw clenched.
She swallowed her irritation, smoothed her expression, and followed...smiling from ear to ear like a loyal little shadow.

Isabelle entered a private lounge tucked away from the noise, she sat down and looked at Cassie with disdain.

She lifted her empty wine glass and tilted it slightly.
Cassie understood immediately.

She pushed her pride aside, stepped forward, and poured the wine carefully, her hand steady despite the anger boiling beneath her skin.

“Mila is your sister,” Isabelle said casually, swirling the wine as she spoke.

“My stepsister,” Cassie corrected quickly, emphasizing the word without shame.
Isabelle’s lips curved into a humorless smile.

“And why, exactly, did you think I needed that information?”

Cassie leaned forward slightly. “She took my boyfriend once in high school,” she said, her voice tight with bitterness. “And she tried to snatch my current boyfriend too. I know what kind of person she is.”

Isabelle raised an eyebrow. “And what does that have to do with me?”
“She took—”

“Don’t you dare.”
The sharpness in Isabelle’s voice sliced clean through Cassie’s sentence. Her eyes glistened with restrained fury, her fingers tightening around the stem of the glass.

“I’m sorry,” Cassie said immediately, bowing her head slightly.
But when she lifted her face, there was a fleeting smirk...gone before Isabelle could see it.

“I just… I need your help,” Cassie continued softly. “I only want her to acknowledge my mum and me. To come home for dinner. That’s all.”

Isabelle laughed quietly, her expression haughty. “What makes you think I would ever want to involve myself with someone like you?”

Cassie had expected that response.
In truth, her goal had never been to secure Isabelle as a willing partner. Isabelle was far too proud for that. Cassie only needed to stir something...resentment, jealousy, rage. If her calculations were correct, Isabelle wouldn’t be able to resist acting on her hatred for Mila.

“I understand,” Cassie said, standing. “I shouldn’t have bothered you. I’ll take my leave. I’m sorry for wasting your time.”
She turned to go.

“You might be useful.”
Cassie stopped mid-step.
A slow smile crept onto her lips as she turned back.

“You model?” Isabelle asked bluntly.

“Yes,” Cassie replied smoothly.
“I’m not stupid, Ca—whatever your name is,” Isabelle said, her gaze narrowing. “I know what your intentions are.”

Cassie blinked, genuinely startled this time.
“I don’t understand,” she said, feigning innocence.

“Drop the act,” Isabelle snapped. “You despise Mila.”
Cassie didn’t deny it.

“I hate her too,” Isabelle continued coolly. “Which means you’ll be useful.”


Lance

I looked to my side.
She was asleep, folded into herself like she was trying to disappear. Her head leaned awkwardly against the seat, lashes resting against her cheeks, lips slightly parted.

I cancelled the honeymoon nonsense Jade had suggested without hesitation. I wouldn’t have her collapsing somewhere unfamiliar, drawing attention, raising questions.
Not until she fulfilled her part.

Her eyelids fluttered.
She stirred slowly, squinting against the light, rubbing at her eyes.
She turned toward me..and the instant she realized I was watching, her body stiffened. Her gaze snapped away, shoulders tightening.

Good. Awareness suited her.
“Eat it,” I said, my voice deliberately flat as I pointed toward the table in front of her.

“Huh?” Her voice was still thick with sleep. She hesitated, then lifted the lid.
The reaction was immediate.

Her nose wrinkled, her mouth twisting like I’d placed something rotten in front of her. I looked away before irritation showed on my face. Disgust was a luxury she didn’t get to indulge in.

“I can’t eat that.”
I rose to my feet.

The sound alone made her tense. I felt it in the way her breathing shifted...shorter, cautious. I moved closer, every step measured. Control wasn’t about force; it was about inevitability.

I cut a piece of the meat with precise
movements. No hesitation. No wasted effort. I placed the fork in her hand, closing her fingers around it before she could pull away.

“What is that?” she asked, staring at the plate like it had personally offended her.
“Beef liver,” I replied.

She scoffed softly. “I know it’s liver. I don’t eat liver.”

You don’t get to choose, I thought.
“You do now.”

Her nose wrinkled again. “It smells awful.”
I finally looked at her then. “Iron smells like that.”

She glanced up at me, eyes flashing. “You could’ve chosen literally anything else.”

“This works faster.”
“For what?” she asked, confusion creeping into her tone.

“Fertility.”
The word hung between us.
Her face flushed instantly, heat rushing to her cheeks. She straightened, anger flaring.

“Huh?”
“So you think forcing this down my throat fixes everything?” she snapped. “I am very fertile, Mr. Armstrong.”

I felt my frown deepening

“I think deficiencies don’t care about your preferences,” I said sharply. “Or your opinions.”
She stared down at the plate, poking at the meat with the fork like it might attack her.

“It’s still pink,” she muttered. “That’s disgusting.”
“Overcooking destroys nutrients,” I said, my patience thinning. “You should know that.”
Her grip on the fork tightened. “You expect me to finish all of it?”

“Yes.”

The answer was immediate. Unnegotiable.
“And if I don’t?” she asked, finally looking up at me again. There was something probing in her gaze now...testing.

“Then I make you.”
The silence that followed was thick.
She swallowed. I saw it. The flicker of fear she tried to bury beneath pride.

“I really don’t want to eat this,” she said quietly, meeting my eyes this time.
For a brief second...brief enough to deny later...I wondered what it would be like if I cared.

Then I crushed the thought.
I leaned closer, my shadow falling over her, my voice dropping until it was low and cold.
“Since when,” I said slowly, “do I care about what you want?”