5
"So, tell me. What do you want in return?"
Joel's question hung in the air like a sharpened blade, cold and ready to strike.
He wasn't looking at me with pity anymore; he was looking at me as a business partner.
In the mafia world, a debt without a price is a trap, and Joel Quinn didn't strike me as a man who liked traps.
I took a breath, feeling the phantom ache of my missing fingernails.
I didn't want jewellery. I didn't want a soft bed or a bank account full of illegal money.
I wanted the only thing that would make the pain of everything I've experienced worth it.
"Three things," I said, my voice steadying. I met his grey eyes squarely, baring my deepest feelings.
"First, protection. Total and absolute. Second, a new identity so airtight that the Swans will never be able to trace me, even if they walk past me on the street. And third…"
I paused, my heart hammering in my chest. "When the day comes and I am strong enough… I want the power to destroy them. I don't just want them to lose their money. I want to see the Swan Nest burnt to the ground, with everyone inside feeling exactly what I felt."
I wasn't going to act naive. I knew I couldn't do it alone. I needed the Quinn machinery to grind my enemies into dust.
Joel didn't blink. He leaned back, a flicker of something, perhaps respect, perhaps caution, crossing his face.
"You want revenge?" he asked, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous rumble. "Then understand something clearly. If you become Isabelle Quinn, you will no longer belong to yourself. You will belong to the Quinns and, eventually, to the Knights. And the Knights are far more dangerous than the Swans could ever dream of being."
He stepped toward me, his shadow swallowing me whole.
"The 'Iron Lady' who leads the Knight family doesn't just pull nails, Isabelle. She pulls apart entire dynasties. If you fail to be her perfect granddaughter-in-law, she won't just kill you. She will make us watch while she does it."
"Granddaughter-in-law?" I repeated, a little caught off guard. I thought the 'Iron Lady' they referred to was someone of Estelle's age.
"Don't be deceived by her age or her grey hair. 15 years ago, during a brutal war that burnt even the strongest factions of the underworld to the ground, Old Madam Knight and her grandson, Cassian Knight, who was only 13 years old, were the only survivors."
"Oh," I said that one word, not knowing what to say again. If Joel weren't exaggerating…that woman was terrifying.
No wonder they called her the Iron Lady.
"But your families are allies, right? That means as long as my real identity isn't discovered, I'm in the clear…"
"Not necessarily," Joel interrupted, his tone clipped, and Estelle's expression looked… inevitable?
"We were allies... once," Joel paused. "Except that, during the war I talked about, the Quinns didn't show up."
Joel spoke as if he were recounting something from a movie.
"Let's say, in some way, the Knights consider us traitors. You see, this marriage alliance is more of a political repair, not just business. Isabelle knew the responsibility she had to carry as the person to bridge the gaping chasm between two estranged friends. So I'll ask you again. Are you willing to pay such a price for your revenge?"
The warning was clear. I was trading a small monster for a titan.
"I am," I declared.
Beside me, I felt Estelle stir. Her hand reached out, trembling as she brushed a stray hair from my forehead. Her touch was so light, so desperate, that it made my skin crawl with a mix of guilt and longing.
"You look so much like her… it hurts," she whispered. Her eyes were glassy.
Her fingers trembled against my cheek, as if she were afraid I might disappear too.
Maybe she was searching my face for a spark of the girl who had written that hateful letter. Or maybe she saw a victim she wanted to heal.
Meanwhile, I felt like becoming exactly what she needed… I could become what she could use to keep her heart from breaking.
"But my Isabelle… she never had that look in her eyes. She never looked like she wanted to kill the world."
"That's because she never had to," I replied softly.
Joel cleared his throat, breaking the heavy emotional air.
The "father" was gone; the "general" had returned. He pulled a thick leather-bound dossier from a side table and tossed it onto the mahogany desk.
"Isabelle Quinn is not just a face," Joel said, his eyes sharpening. "She speaks four languages fluently—French, Italian, Russian, and Mandarin. She fences. She rides. She has been homeschooled by my wife and elite teachers since she learned how to talk. She knows the vintage of a wine by its scent and the lineage of every guest at a gala by their crest."
He leaned in, his face inches from mine. "Can you fake twenty years of a life you never lived? Can you speak Russian to a diplomat without tripping over your tongue? Can you hold a rapier against a knight without shaking?"
I looked at the dossier, then back at the man who held my life in his hands.
I thought of the coppery taste of blood in my mouth when my father slapped me. I thought of the way my mom… No, Madam Swan had stepped back from me as if I were a monster.
"Teach me," I said. Two words. A vow.
Joel nodded slowly. "We have two weeks before the official introduction party. Your wedding date will be discussed there, in front of the other great families. It will be the most dangerous night of your life. If one person senses you are an imposter, we are all dead."
I nodded, my mind already racing, trying to memorise the weight of the name Isabelle.
"There is one more thing," Joel added, his voice regaining that chilling, clinical edge, making me straighten automatically.
"The Knight family doesn't like to wait for parties to inspect their prizes," he continued. "The heir is already in the city. He didn't want to wait for the gala to see his bride."
My blood ran cold. "What do you mean?"
Joel checked his watch, a grim smirk playing on his lips. "I mean, the training starts now. You will meet Cassian, your future husband, tomorrow for a private lunch. And before the war, Cassian was practically living here. He and Isabelle were childhood friends."
The room seemed to tilt.
Tomorrow?
I didn't know French. I didn't know how to fence. I barely knew how to be Isabelle Quinn for five minutes, let alone an afternoon with the man who was supposed to know her best.
"Get some rest, Isabelle," Joel said, turning back to his desk. "Tomorrow, you start your new life. Try not to let him see the ghost underneath."