Isabella lowered her hand from her cheek. Three bloody scratches stained her flawless skin.
The woman in the silver mask—Beatrice—stared at the purchase agreement, her cruel smile shattering into pure panic.
“This entire building, the brand, and all its assets,” the manager said, his voice ringing through the dead-silent showroom. “They now belong to Miss Isabella.”
Beatrice swallowed hard, her heavy diamond necklace suddenly looking like a collar. “So what? She owns a dress shop. I’m still a platinum-tier client!”
“Actually,” Isabella whispered. Her voice trembled, not from fear, but from the raw, intoxicating thrill of the kill. “You’re a debtor.”
Beatrice froze.
Isabella stepped forward, the wounded bride replaced by an apex predator. “My father didn’t just buy the boutique, Beatrice. He bought the private luxury lending firm keeping your husband out of federal prison. We bought your mortgages. We bought your debts.”
Isabella’s gaze drifted over the sparkling silver gown Beatrice wore, landing on the massive diamond necklace.
“And we bought your collateral.”
The laughing women behind Beatrice suddenly went completely still. The phones that were recording Isabella’s humiliation were still rolling, but the target had shifted.
“Take it off,” Isabella commanded.
The room gasped.
“You can’t be serious,” Beatrice choked out, trembling in her heels. “I’m in public!”
“You slapped me in public,” Isabella replied, her eyes colder than the chandeliers above. “Now, you will return my property. The dress, the necklace, the mask. All of it.”
The manager stepped forward holding a pair of fabric scissors. “Shall I assist you, madam? Or would you prefer security to handle the repossession?”
Isabella touched her bleeding cheek one last time, turned her back on the ruined woman, and smiled.
“Leave her the underwear. I’m not a monster.”