Bound by Shadows

(Isla POV)

The evening was intended to be just like any other.

I wore silk, my golden-brown hair perfectly styled, a glass of wine elegantly held as I exchanged smiles with men who shouldn't have been looking at me that way.

Yet, beneath the glamorous veneer of yet another Laurent gala, something felt amiss.

My father's smile appeared forced, his laughter lacked joy. He drank excessively, his fingers nervously clenching around the crystal glass as if trying to grasp something that was slipping away.

I had witnessed his reckless gambling before, always leaving with a sense of victory, oblivious to the dangers. But tonight, he seemed like a man on the brink of losing it all.

A wave of unease settled in my stomach.

I excused myself and navigated through the sparkling ballroom filled with women adorned in diamonds and men in finely tailored suits, heading towards the dimly lit hallway that led to my father's study. I meant to knock and confront him about the unsettling mood.

Then I heard his voice.

"I have nothing left to offer."

I froze, breath captured in my throat.

It wasn't just him. A second voice calm, low, and menacing responded. "Then you know what must happen next."

I shouldn't have stayed. I should have turned back, dismissed what I had heard. Instead, I pressed closer, ear against the solid wooden door, heart pounding in my chest.

"My fortune is gone," my father's voice trembled with desperation. "My assets, my businesses, everything. Please, Valenci, I need more time."

Valenci.

Dante Valenci.

Just hearing his name sent a chill down my spine.

I had never encountered him, yet I was aware of his notoriety. He was more than a man he was a legend, spoken of in hushed tones across New York, his power derived not solely from wealth but from bloodlines.

"I do not forgive debts," Dante replied smoothly.

My father gasped. "I I have something else. Someone."

Silence followed.

Then came Dante's voice again. "Continue."

I could hardly breathe.

"She's beautiful," my father stammered, his voice quivering. "Well-mannered. The perfect price for what I owe."

No.

A cruel laugh echoed back. "You're offering me your daughter?"

No. No. No.

"She's all I have left."

I recoiled, pressing a hand over my mouth to stifle any sound. The walls felt as though they were closing in, and the air was thick and suffocating. This was impossible; it couldn't be true.

My father had been many things a gambler, a deceiver, a man more devoted to money than ethics but he wouldn't stoop so low. He wouldn't sell me.

Would he?