The Billionaire Who Ruined Me

Isla's POV Darkness. Not the kind that soothes or lets you rest, but the kind that waits, watches, and knows. I was running, my bare feet hitting a surface I couldn't see or understand, too smooth and hollow to be real. My breath came sharp and uneven, burning my throat as if the air itself was rejecting me, as if I wasn't meant to breathe here. Still, I kept running. I always keep running, because something is wrongsomething terribly wrong. "Mom!" My voice tore out into the emptiness, echoing only to be swallowed whole. No answer. Of course not. There's never an answer. A cold weight settled in my chest, not fear but recognition, that sick, familiar knowing clawing its way back. No... not again. Not this again. I ran faster, my steps turning frantic as the air thickened, pressing against me, suffocating me, making every breath heavier than the last. The silence grew louder, unbearable, until suddenly boom. My body froze as the sound ripped through everything, metal screeching and tearing, too loud, too close. My chest tightened painfully. "No... no, no..." It came again, louder this time, closer, followed by a blinding light that pierced through the darkness. I squeezed my eyes shut, but it didn't matter. I already knew. I always know. "Stop... please..." My voice broke, fragile and useless, but the world never listens. It never does. The light grew stronger, sharper, closer-closer-closer-and then the crash. Violent, final, unbearable. Metal screamed, glass shattered, and the ground trembled beneath me like the world itself was collapsing. "No!" I screamed, but it sounded distant, like it didn't belong to me, like I was trapped inside a moment I couldn't escape. And still, I ran toward it. I always run toward it. Why do I do that? Why can't I stop? "Mom?! Dad?!" My voice broke as I reached the wreckage. The car was crushed, twisted beyond recognition, smoke rising in thick waves that burned my lungs and forced weak coughs from my throat. My breathing stopped. No. Not like this. Not again. My legs trembled as I slowed, even though everything in me screamed to move faster. This is where it happens. Every time. Every single time. My heart pounded violently as I forced myself forward. "Please..." I whispered, barely holding together. "Please... don't do this to me again..." But it always happens. It never changes. My hands shook as I reached for the door, but it wouldn't open. Of course it wouldn't. It never does. "Open please!" I pulled harder, panic clawing up my chest, tightening around my lungs as I leaned closer and pressed my hands against the shattered window. "Mom...?" My voice trembled. Silence. "Dad...?" Nothing. No movement. No response. No life. "No... no, no..." My breath broke apart. "Mom..." My voice turned small, fragile, barely there as I pressed my palm harder against the glass, as if somehow I could reach her. Wake up. Please wake up. Why aren't you waking up? Why am I the only one who feels this? "Mom... please..." The words came out like a prayer, one I've said a thousand times before, and just like every other time, nothing changed. Then behind me, a voice soft, broken. "Isla..." My body stiffened instantly. No. I know that voice. I tried to turn, but it felt like my body didn't belong to me, heavy and unresponsive. "Isla..." Louder now. Closer. "...Isla..." Everything stopped. The air, the sound, the world itself until silence swallowed everything, and I gasped awake. Air rushed into my lungs as I jerked upright, my head snapping off the polished surface of my desk. Reality hit all at once light, space, breath. I needed air, fast, too fast. My heart raced painfully as I gripped the fabric beneath my fingers too tightly, like letting go would make me fall apart. "...Again," I whispered, my voice weak and unsteady. Why does it keep coming back? Why can't I forget? I pressed a trembling hand to my chest and forced myself to breathe. Inhale. Exhale. Control it. You have to control it. "Isla" Helena's voice cut through what was left of the nightmare. I looked up at her, composed as always in her white shirt and black trousers, a scarf tied neatly at her neck, but her eyes were sharp, observant seeing everything. "You had another one," she said quietly. Not a question. A fact. I looked away. "...I'm fine." A lie. She knew it, I knew it, but she didn't call me out. She never does. Instead, she sighed softly and said, "Come check the materials for tonight's contest. We don't have time." Work. Good. I need that. Something real. Something I can control. "...Already?" I asked, my voice steadier now. She nodded. "You don't get to delay this one." Good. I don't want to. I swallowed and nodded once. "I'll be ready." At Rebel Threads Fashion House, the atmosphere shifted the moment I stepped in. The hall buzzed with energy fabric swishing, scissors clipping, voices overlapping in controlled chaos. This is my world, my responsibility, my fight. "This seam isn't aligned!" "Check the tension!" "Careful Isla will notice everything!" I stepped forward, and silence followed instantly. Control. Power. "Not everything," I said calmly. "Just the important things." A ripple of quiet laughter eased the tension as I moved through the room, my eyes scanning every detail every stitch, every line, every flaw. This is all I have left. Focus. Control. Perfection. "Isla!" I turned to see Marcus leaning casually against a table, smiling like nothing ever touches him. "You look like you didn't sleep," he said. "I didn't," I replied simply. He tilted his head, studying me too closely. "Are you fine?" "I'm fine." Another lie, but he didn't push. He never does. "I redesigned the final piece," he said, lifting his sketchpad. "Took your idea and improved it. You're welcome." I raised a brow as I took it. "Improved it?" He grinned. "Enhanced. Refined. Elevated." I studied the design-clean, sharp, powerful. Good. "...This is good." "I know." Of course he does. I handed it back. "Don't get used to praise." "Too late." I almost smiled, but I didn't. Getting comfortable is dangerous, and I don't do dangerous. "Focus," I said, stepping away. "We don't have time." "Of course," he replied lightly, but I could feel his gaze lingering on me, too aware, too close. "Isla." Helena's voice cut through again, and something in her tone made me turn immediately. "What happened?" Her expression was tight, controlled. "...Someone attacked the company." My stomach dropped. "...What?" She handed me her phone, and I read the words once, then again. "...Unhygienic? Low-quality materials?" Fake. It has to be fake. "This is fake," I said immediately, but even as I said it, I knew it wasn't random. This was calculated a move, a warning. Marcus exhaled quietly beside me. "This is... bad." I didn't respond, because my mind was already moving, calculating, burning. Then the announcement spread location changed. The room erupted in shock and confusion until Helena's voice cut through everything. "To AFH... Adrian Fashion House." Silence fell instantly, cold and heavy. My fingers curled slowly into a fist. Adrian Vale. Of course. So this is your move? A slow breath left me as something inside me hardened. Fine. "...Fine," I said. Helena blinked. "Fine?" I turned toward the door, my expression steady. "Tell him we'll be there." Marcus watched me carefully. "You're not angry?" I smiled faintly, controlled, sharp. "No." A brief pause. "I'm ready." Because this time, I won't lose not to him, not to the past, not again.