Chapter 25 You're a Disgrace for Even Existing
At four in the morning, Isabella stepped out of the house on time. The streets were empty, silent except for the dim streetlights casting hazy pools of light onto the wet asphalt.
The late-autumn wind bit through her thin coat, stinging her skin. She clutched the proposal tight against her chest.
Fifty minutes later, she stood before the Spencer Group's main doors. The security booth light was on. This time, with orders already given, no one stopped her—just pointed her toward the top floor.
"Mr. Spencer said to wait in the top-floor conference room."
The air upstairs was colder. When the elevator doors slid open, a blast of frigid air hit her face.
She pushed the conference room door open. The cold wrapped around her instantly, like stepping into a freezer. The AC was set far too low, pumping icy wind nonstop, freezing the entire space.
Someone had done this on purpose, trying to drive her out.
William didn't want her working here. He wanted her to quit. And she had come back anyway.
So this was his punishment.
Isabella glanced at the AC remote but didn't dare touch it. She sat in a corner chair, curling her knees up, pressing her chest to them, trying to hold in some warmth.
The cold seeped in from every direction. Her fingertips lost feeling. Her teeth began to chatter.
Outside, the sky shifted from deep blue to pale gray, traffic slowly picking up.
A shaft of light touched the glass wall but brought no warmth.
She didn't know how long she had been there—her limbs felt heavy, her thoughts fogging—until steady footsteps echoed down the hall. She forced her feet to the floor, only to realize she couldn't feel them.
The door opened. William walked in with several suited executives. One muttered under his breath.
"This place is freezing."
"Feels like a damn cold storage."
William's gaze swept the corner. Isabella's face was pale, her lips tinged blue, like a half-frozen stray clutching a folder.
She really wanted to work? Enough to freeze herself half to death?
What was worth that?
He sat at the head of the table, expression unreadable, fingers tapping the wood.
"Bring me the proposal."
Isabella's hands barely worked. She pushed herself up, legs shaky, and placed the folder neatly in front of him.
"Mr. Spencer… this is Starlight Corp's… revised proposal…"
Her teeth chattered, breaking her words.
She thought the worst was over. But he didn't even look at it—just swept it off the table with one sharp motion. Papers scattered across the floor.
She bent to pick them up.
Before her fingers touched the pages, his voice cut through.
"If you want my approval, it's not impossible."
She looked up, waiting for his terms.
William leaned forward, gripping her chin. His touch was icy enough to sting.
"Please me, and the project passes."
Her face drained of color.
"Alright."
Her voice was quiet but carried the weight of surrender.
He hadn't expected her to agree so fast. His smile deepened.
Night fell.
Dylan brought Isabella to Nightfall Club—the city's most notorious entertainment lounge.
The private room door opened. Inside, several well-dressed men sat with their attention fixed ahead. Isabella stood at the doorway, blocked by the frame, unable to see what they were watching.
William sat with a cigarette between his fingers, gaze also turned toward the front, relaxed.
When the door closed, she saw it—five women in revealing outfits dancing around poles, bodies twisting, smiles laced with invitation.
William tilted his chin toward her. "Come here."
She stepped forward. He caught her chin again, turning her toward the dancers.
"They good?"
She barely looked. "Yes."
"You were terrible last time. Tonight, you learn from them. If you make everyone here happy, the proposal goes through."
Her eyes widened. He wanted her to dance like that. In front of these men.
"Take her to change."
The staff pulled her into the dressing room.
She stared at the skimpy costume laid out. Memories of that humiliating night churned in her stomach.
"Don't just stand there. Change." One shoved her.
She gripped the fabric tight, refusing to let go. A cold voice came from outside.
"You have three minutes. If you don't come out, the deal's dead. And every future collaboration between the Spencer Group and Starlight Corp ends. Can you afford that?"
She couldn't.
Thalia had always treated her well. She couldn't let her down.
Thomas trusted her. She couldn't drag Starlight into trouble.
Another voice followed, sharper.
"People like you are a disgrace just for existing."
Anyone else might have flinched. Isabella's face stayed blank.
He was right. She shouldn't even be alive. Dignity was meaningless now.
She let them dress her. Someone noticed the marks on her back and tossed her a thin white shirt to wear over the costume.
It was sheer, clinging, leaving just enough skin visible to make it worse.
Back in the private room, the crowd cheered.
William gestured toward the dancers. "Do what they do."
She stepped forward. He added, "Lose the coat."
She obeyed, stripping it off. Her frame was thin but curved enough to draw every man's eyes.
The dancers moved like snakes around the poles, teasing the men with flicks of their tongues.
Isabella's movements were stiff, hesitant—but that awkwardness carried a rawness that made her even more watchable.
She kept her motions small, careful not to expose herself.
William's eyes stayed locked on her, predatory. To him, she was nothing but a shameless woman—just a few motions, and men were already heating up.
Women like her belonged in the dirt, underfoot forever.
"Keep going. Dance."
He wanted to see just how far she would fall.