Jade exhaled through his nose, half-laugh, half-sigh. He pushed off the railing and turned to face her fully, velvet blazer slipping further down one shoulder.
"She won't fall, Dora," he said quietly, no teasing this time. "That kind of woman? The ones who hate cleanly, who don't bend for money or charm or threats? They don't fall. They break if they break at all and only after you've spent everything trying to crack them. You sure you want to burn that kind of fuel on someone who already wrote you off?"
Isadora's jaw tightened. She didn't look at him. Her eyes stayed fixed on the dark rectangle of the park below, lights flickering like distant stars she could never reach.
Lexi stepped closer, red dress catching the terrace glow, her voice softer but fiercer than Jade's warning.
"There is nothing she can't do," Lexi said, almost reverent. "You've never backed down from impossible. Not when your family tried to cage you. Not when the dealers said no more credit. Not when the hospitals tried to keep you. You always find the crack. Always make them regret underestimating you."
Isadora finally turned her head, meeting Lexi's eyes. Something dangerous sparked there—obsession sharpening into resolve.
"I'll make her fall," she said. The words came out steady, final, like a vow carved into stone.
"Not love. Not like. Just… fall. Enough to admit she felt something. Enough to look at me again and see more than a rude, disgusting Ravencroft brat. Enough to hate me properly because hate means I got under her skin. And if I can do that? Then maybe I'm not as worthless as she thinks."
Jade studied her for a long beat, then let out a low whistle.
"You've got a week," he said, half-challenge, half-bet. "Party's tonight. Detox clock starts ticking tomorrow morning if you don't play nice. One week before they ship you off to Connecticut and lock the door. Seven days to make Dr. Ice Queen feel something—anything before the cage closes."
Isadora's lips curved slow, sharp, the smile that always meant trouble.
"One week," she echoed.
She pushed off the railing, straightened her blazer with a single tug, rolled sleeves exposing the faint purple marks on her wrists like battle scars.
"Then let's not waste it standing out here."
She turned toward the glass doors, oxfords clicking once on stone.
Lexi fell into step on her right, Jade on her left silent now, no more warnings, just the quiet loyalty of people who'd follow her into fire.
Isadora paused at the threshold, hand on the handle, looking back once at the city sprawl.
"She said she hopes she never sees me again," she murmured, almost to herself. "Guess I'll have to change her mind."
The door opened.
The party noise rushed back in laughter, clinking glasses, the quartet's strings rising like a challenge.
Isadora stepped inside.
Hair dark and wild from the wind.
Blazer sharp as a blade.
Eyes already searching for the woman in black who stood near the bar, back still turned, still unaware.
Rowan Blackwood was already moving away from Sara and Emma, glass set down, posture impeccable as ever. She was heading toward the far exit probably to escape the suffocating opulence, or maybe just to breathe air that didn't reek of old money and forced smiles.
Isadora closed the gap fast. Too fast.
Rowan reached for the edge of the bar to steady herself as she turned perhaps sensing the shift in the crowd, perhaps just habit but Isadora was already there.
She stepped deliberately into Rowan's path, placing one oxford-clad foot between Rowan's black heels just as the doctor pivoted.
Rowan's heel caught the toe of Isadora's shoe.
She stuttered mid-step, balance lost for a split second, body pitching forward.
Isadora moved on instinct.
Her arm shot out, wrapping around Rowan's waist in a firm, possessive grip pulling her back upright before gravity could claim her. The momentum carried them close too close. Rowan's chest brushed Isadora's blazer, the heat of her body seeping through silk and cotton. Rowan's hands flew up instinctively, palms landing flat against Isadora's shoulders to steady herself.
And in that damn moment frozen, breathless, the party noise fading to white Isadora finally saw her face.
Up close.
No hospital haze. No turned back. No distance.
Rowan Blackwood's face was devastating.
Full lips soft, naturally pink, parted in surprise. Arched brows drawn together in a flicker of confusion. Big brown eyes deep, warm hazel flecked with gold wide under thick, dark lashes that framed them like velvet. Skin flawless under the chandelier light. The faint scent of citrus and cedar wrapped around Isadora like a trap.
Rowan blinked once long lashes sweeping down then focused.
Recognition hit her like a slap.
Her eyes narrowed, the warmth in them icing over instantly.
"You," Rowan breathed, voice low, sharp, barely audible over the music.
Isadora didn't let go.
Her arm stayed locked around Rowan's waist firm, unyielding, thumb brushing the silk at the small of her back in a way that was anything but accidental. She could feel the rapid rise and fall of Rowan's breathing against her chest, the way Rowan's hands still pressed against her shoulders not pushing away, not yet.
Isadora's mouth curved slow, dangerous, the same smile she'd worn on the yacht when she decided to burn everything down.
"Careful, Doctor," she murmured, voice velvet and edged with triumph. "Wouldn't want you to fall for me."
Rowan's jaw clenched. She tried to step back, but Isadora's grip tightened—just enough to keep her there, close enough that their breaths mingled.
"Let go," Rowan said quietly, deadly calm.
Isadora leaned in lips brushing the shell of Rowan's ear, words for her alone.
"Not yet," she whispered. "Not until you admit you felt something just now. Even if it was only disgust."
Rowan's hands flexed against Isadora's shoulders fingers curling into the blazer fabric for a heartbeat before she shoved.
Hard.
Isadora released her instantly, stepping back with a small, satisfied smile.
Rowan straightened her dress with shaking hands, cheeks flushed deeper now anger, embarrassment, something hotter she refused to name. Her brown eyes blazed, lashes framing the fury like dark flames.
"Stay away from me," Rowan said, voice low and lethal. "I meant what I said earlier. I never want to see you again."
Isadora tilted her head, hair falling over one eye, blazer still perfectly sharp.
"Liar," she said softly.
Then she turned casual, unhurried and walked away through the parting crowd, oxfords clicking like a countdown.
Rowan stood frozen for a long second, chest heaving, fingers still tingling from where they'd pressed against Isadora's shoulders.
Sara and Emma appeared at her side instantly.
"Ro? What the hell was that?" Sara asked, eyes wide.
Rowan didn't answer.
She only stared after the retreating figure in black and white sharp blazer, confident stride, dangerous energy.
And for the first time in years, Rowan Blackwood felt something crack inside her carefully built walls.
Not hate.
Not disgust.
Something far more dangerous.
Isadora pushed through the thinning crowd near the bar like the room owed her space. The string quartet had shifted to something slower, sultrier violins dragging low notes that matched the pulse in her throat. She didn't look back toward the spot where she'd left Rowan standing, cheeks flushed, eyes blazing. She couldn't. Not yet.
Lexi and Jade were already there, claiming a corner of the marble bar top like it was their personal territory. Lexi perched on a high stool, legs crossed so the red mini rode dangerously high; Jade leaned beside her, one elbow propped, champagne flute dangling lazily from his fingers. They spotted Isadora the second she appeared Lexi's grin instant and wicked, Jade's eyebrow lifting in silent question.
Isadora slid onto the stool between them without a word. She flagged the bartender with a sharp flick of her wrist.
"Whiskey. Neat. Double."
The glass arrived in seconds amber liquid catching the low light. She knocked back half in one swallow, the burn grounding her, chasing away the ghost of Rowan's body pressed against hers for that single, electric heartbeat.
Lexi leaned in first, voice a husky purr against the music.
"Well? Did you make her fall yet, or are we still in the foreplay phase?"
Jade chuckled low, swirling his drink. "From the look on your face? Foreplay. And it's filthy."
Isadora stared into the glass, fingers tight around the crystal. Rowan's face kept replaying—those full lips parted in shock, arched brows drawn tight, big brown eyes wide under thick lashes, the flush creeping up her neck when Isadora's arm locked around her waist. The way her hands had gripped Isadora's shoulders not pushing at first, just… holding. Like she didn't know whether to shove or pull closer.
"I caught her before she fell," Isadora said quietly, almost to herself. "And fuck… that moment. Her body against mine. Soft where I'm hard. Curves everywhere. I could feel her breathing fast against my chest. Those tits pressed right here—" She tapped her own sternum with two fingers. "—and her hands on my shoulders like she was deciding whether to claw me or climb me."
Lexi let out a delighted hiss. "Jesus, Dora. Keep going."
Isadora took another swallow—deeper this time—then set the glass down harder than necessary.
"I want to pin her against the nearest wall," she continued, voice dropping lower, rougher. "Rip that black dress off slow—inch by inch—so she feels every second of it. Bite that perfect neck until she gasps my name. Slide my hand up that slit, find out how wet she gets when she's angry. Make her come on my fingers while she's still telling me she hates me. Then flip her around, bend her over the bar, fuck her from behind until she can't pretend anymore. Until she's begging. Until she admits she wants the disgusting little heiress she claims to hate."
Jade whistled low, slow. "Damn. That's specific."
Lexi's eyes glittered. "You're soaked just saying it, aren't you?"
Isadora didn't deny it. She signaled for another double instead.
"She thinks I'm trash," she said, staring at the fresh pour. "Disgusting. Rude. A waste of oxygen. But I felt her tremble when I held her. Just for a second. Before the ice came back. I want to shatter that ice."
She knocked back the second shot. The burn spread, warm and vicious.
She signaled for a third double without looking up. The bartender poured fast—amber liquid splashing into crystal like spilled sin. She wrapped her fingers around the glass, knuckles white, and downed half in one long pull.
The burn raced down her throat, settled hot and heavy in her stomach, but it did nothing to dull the loop in her head: Rowan's full lips parting in shock, those big hazel eyes wide under thick lashes, the way her body had trembled—just once—when Isadora's arm locked around her waist.
Lexi leaned closer, chin propped on her hand, red dress riding up her thighs as she crossed her legs. "You're still thinking about her tits pressed against you, aren't you?"
Isadora's laugh was low, rough. "I can still feel them. Soft. Full. Perfect fucking handfuls. I want to rip that neckline down with my teeth—slow, so she feels every thread snap. Suck one nipple into my mouth until it's hard and aching, bite just enough to make her arch. Then the other. Make her moan my name while she's still telling herself she hates me."
Jade's eyes darkened, grin slow and filthy. "Keep going."
Lexi exhaled sharply, thighs pressing together under the bar. "Jesus, Dora."
She drained the last of the whiskey, set the glass down with a soft clink.
"Then after? When she's wrecked—legs shaking, mascara smudged, lips bruised—I pull her up. Kiss her slow. Deep. Let her feel how much I want her. Not as a conquest. As mine."
Lexi stared at her, lips parted. "You're not just obsessed. You're fucking possessed."
Isadora's gaze drifted across the ballroom—searching, always searching—until it landed on Rowan again. The doctor stood near a cluster of suits now, back straight, posture perfect, but her hand gripped her glass tighter than necessary. Like she could still feel Isadora's arm around her waist.
Isadora's voice came out quiet, almost reverent.
"One week," she said. "I'll make her fall. And when she does? She'll hate how much she loves it."
Jade raised his glass in a silent toast.
"To the mature bitch who doesn't stand a chance."
Isadora didn't clink back.
She just stared.
Planning.
Hunger sharp as a blade.
The night was young.
And so was her obsession.
Lexi reached over, trailed a finger down Isadora's arm—teasing, light. "You're gonna ruin her, aren't you?"
Isadora's smile was slow, feral, eyes dark with intent.
"I'm gonna make her fall so hard she forgets how to stand without me."
Jade leaned closer, voice a conspiratorial murmur. "One week, remember? Clock's ticking."
Isadora set the empty glass down with a soft clink.
"Then we start tonight."
She pushed off the stool, blazer settling sharp on her shoulders, hair still wind-tossed from the terrace.
Lexi and Jade exchanged a look—half thrill, half warning—then fell into step behind her.
The party wasn't over.
And neither was Isadora's hunt.
Rowan Blackwood had no idea what was coming.
But she would.
Soon.