Between Two Brothers

CHAPTER 10.

ISLA'S POV

The elevator doors whispered open in1 I’d barely slept, my mind replaying the desperate bargain I’d struck with Dare the night before. My mother’s restaurant was safe—for now—but at what cost? “Personal availability” echoed like a shackle. I smoothed my navy blouse, the fabric already clinging from the nervous sweat on my palms, and headed to my desk. The files from yesterday still mocked me in neat stacks.

The sound of the private lift humming again made me freeze. It was barely six-thirty. No one should be here.

Dare stepped out, briefcase in hand, his dark suit impeccably tailored despite the early hour. His hair was still damp from a shower, and the faint scent of cedar and spice hit me like a memory I wanted to bury. He didn’t look surprised to see me. Of course he didn’t. He’d probably tracked my badge access.

“Harlow,” he said, voice low and commanding as he strode past my desk without slowing. “My office. Now.”

I followed, heels clicking too loudly on the marble. The door shut behind us with a soft, final click. He set his briefcase down and turned, leaning against the edge of his massive desk. The skyline stretched behind him, a kingdom of glass and steel that mirrored his control.

“Early start,” he observed, eyes raking over me in that clinical yet intimate way. “Trying to prove you’re worth the deal you begged for last night?”

Heat flushed my cheeks. “I’m here to work. Not to relive negotiations.”

A faint smirk tugged at his lips, but his eyes stayed cold. “Work? Or hide from the consequences of your little dinner with Julian?” He pushed off the desk and circled me slowly, close enough that I could feel the air shift. “You looked quite comfortable last night. His hand on yours. Did he tell you more fairy tales about Spain? About how I was the villain forced into some rival’s bed while you pined away faithfully?”

I lifted my chin, refusing to shrink. “He told me enough to make me wonder why you never fought harder for the truth.”

Dare stopped inches away. His hand came up, fingers brushing a stray lock of hair from my face—gentle, almost tender—before his grip tightened just enough at the back of my neck to remind me who held the power. “The truth? You want the truth, Isla? I spent six years believing the woman I loved—the one I promised forever to in that damn greenhouse—had spread her legs for my cousin the second I was gone. Letters that never reached me. Photos Julian conveniently ‘found’ of the two of you. Victor made sure I saw them all.”

His breath ghosted my lips, intimate and barbed. “And now you’re here, bargaining for scraps. Does it excite you? Knowing I could ruin you with one call?”

My heart slammed against my ribs. The proximity stirred ghosts I hated—his hands on my waist in the rain, his voice whispering promises. “You’re the one who disappeared, Dare. Don’t twist this into my betrayal.”

He released me abruptly, the loss of contact colder than his touch. “Sit. Take notes. The Tokyo merger calls start in an hour. And Isla?” His voice dropped. “No more private meetings. You’re mine during office hours, and after.”

I sat, legs unsteady, scribbling as he fired off rapid commands—cold, professional, laced with those personal jabs that left me raw. By the time the rest of the floor stirred, I felt exposed, like he’d peeled back layers no one else should see.

Serena arrived like a storm in designer heels, her blonde waves perfect, her smile razor-sharp. She zeroed in on me immediately, clapping her hands for the attention of the two junior assistants hovering nearby.

“Isla, darling! Since you’re so eager to prove your… versatility, the executive break room needs a deep clean. Spills from yesterday’s meetings. And while you’re at it, reorganize the supply closet, alphabetically and by color too. I’m sure your mother taught you all about scrubbing things spotless.”

The assistants snickered. One pulled out her phone, not even pretending to hide it.

I stood, keeping my voice even. “That’s not in my job description, Serena.”

“Oh, but it is,” she purred, loud enough for the open-plan area to hear. “Dare’s special assistant does whatever’s needed. Unless the maid’s daughter is too good for real work? Rumors say you’re only here because you’re warming someone’s bed again. First Julian, now crawling back to Dare? Pathetic.”

Whispers rippled through the arriving staff. My fists clenched at my sides, but I forced a calm smile. “I’ll handle the tasks, efficiently. Unlike some who rely on gossip because they have no actual skills.”

Serena’s eyes flashed, but I turned and walked away, grabbing cleaning supplies with steady hands. Resilience. That’s what I had now. I’d survived six years of silence; I could survive her.

The break room was a mess of coffee stains and crumbs. I worked methodically, ignoring the pointed stares through the glass walls. But alone in the supply closet later, surrounded by shelves and the faint smell of bleach, the dam cracked. I sank onto a stool, burying my face in my hands. Tears came hot and silent. Leverage, pawn, maid’s daughter. The words swirled with Dare’s intimate threats and Julian’s half-truths. How much more could I take before I shattered completely?

A soft knock on the closet door jolted me. I wiped my face quickly and stepped out.

Flowers waited on my desk—a stunning bouquet of white lilies and crimson roses. My stomach twisted. Julian had sent it . A small card peeked out.

“Thinking of you. Last night wasn’t enough. Meet me tonight?”

Before I could drop it down, Dare appeared like a shadow, plucking the card from the arrangement. His expression darkened to thunder as he read it.

“Security footage shows the delivery ten minutes ago,” he said coldly, crushing the card in his fist. “Julian’s getting bold. Sending flowers to my office?”

I stepped forward. “They’re mine. You have no right—”

“I have every right.” He tossed the crumpled card into the bin and faced me, voice low and lethal. “We had a deal, Isla. No Julian. Yet here you are, entertaining his poison again.”

The floor had gone suspiciously quiet, eyes darting our way. Serena watched from across the room, lips curved in delight.

“Deal?” I hissed, keeping my voice down but letting the fury bleed through. “You mean the blackmail where you dangle my mother’s life like a leash? Julian’s the only one offering real answers about what happened six years ago. About the letters. The lies Victor fed you.”

Dare’s hand shot out, gripping my wrist—not painful, but firm enough to pull me closer. His eyes burned with possessive jealousy. “Answers? Or more manipulation? He’s been playing you since school, Isla. Using your insecurity like a weapon. You think those flowers are love? They’re a move against me.”

“And what are you?” I shot back, yanking free but staying close, our voices a tense murmur. “Cold commands and barbed memories? Reminding me of the greenhouse every chance you get, like you can own the past too? I’m not your property, Dare. Not anymore.”

His jaw clenched, a muscle ticking. For a second, something raw flickered beneath the ice—pain, regret, hunger. “You were mine before he ever touched what wasn’t his. And you still tremble when I’m close. Don’t lie to yourself.”

The tension stretched taut, our bodies inches apart amid the flowers’ cloying scent.

“Remember when you used to trust me with everything?” “You begged me once, Isla. With your eyes, your hands.” He leaned over my shoulders, his breath on my neck.

Staff pretended to work, but the air crackled. Serena sauntered closer, clearly hoping for blood.

“Problem, Dare darling?” she cooed.

“Handle your own tasks, Serena,” he snapped without looking at her. “Isla’s mine today.”

The rest of the day blurred in a haze of impossible deadlines and Dare’s watchful gaze. By evening, the office emptied. I stayed late, exhaustion warring with defiance. Dare had stepped out for a call, leaving his door ajar. I slipped inside under the pretense of delivering a final report, heart pounding.

His desk was immaculate, but a drawer stood slightly open—unusual for his precision. Curiosity, or desperation for answers, won. I eased it open.

Inside lay a small envelope, edges worn. I pulled out its contents: a photograph. My breath caught.

It was us—Dare and me, years ago, laughing in the Blackthorne gardens under string lights. My head on his shoulder, his arm around me protectively. On the back, in faded ink: “She’s the one. Don’t let them take this. – D”

But beneath it, another photo. This one newer. Dare in Spain, looking haunted, standing beside a striking dark-haired woman. His hand on her waist. The timestamp was months after he’d left. And scrawled on the back in unfamiliar handwriting: “Proof she moved on first. Julian sends regards.”

My hands shook. The betrayal narrative cracked open. Had Julian sent this? Or Victor? The image contradicted everything—the timeline, the pain in Dare’s eyes when he spoke of Spain. Questions swirled. Who was lying? How deep did the manipulation go?