Chapter 206
“You!” Darren’s grin froze, his expression hardening as fury burned through him like wildfire.
Isabella lifted a trembling hand to her temple, drawing in a shallow breath. Her voice, barely above a whisper, was laced with exhaustion.
“Enough with the act.”
“Just give me the photo.”
Her body swayed slightly, as if she were struggling to stay upright.
“Hand it over, and the money is yours,” she murmured, her voice weak.
With deliberate slowness, she unlatched her suitcase, revealing neat stacks of cash meticulously arranged inside.
Darren’s eyes locked onto the money, greed flickering in his gaze. He didn’t bother hiding it.
A smirk curled his lips as he took in Isabella’s fragile state—proof the drug was working.
“Fine, I’ll give it to you,” he chuckled darkly, stepping closer. His fingers brushed her arm as he leaned in, his breath hot against her ear.
This café belonged to an old friend, and Darren knew the private room was rigged with hidden cameras. If he played this right, he wouldn’t just walk away with the cash—he’d have footage to control her.
With a mocking flick of his wrist, he produced the photograph.
“Look at you, Isabella. You’re not looking so good. Maybe I should keep you company for a while?” His fingers trailed dangerously close to her collarbone.
Then—steel flashed.
Pain exploded through his hand before he even registered the movement. His gaze dropped in horror to his severed finger lying on the floor, blood spraying in a grotesque arc.
The agony hit him like a sledgehammer.
“Ahhh! My hand!”
Isabella twirled the knife between her fingers with the same ease as flipping a pen. Calmly, she plucked the photo from his shaking grasp, careful not to stain it with blood.
“You—you bitch!” Darren choked out, his voice strangled with pain and disbelief.
He raised his uninjured hand, but his strength was already draining. Isabella watched him with icy detachment as she packed the money back into her suitcase.
He couldn’t even bend to retrieve his finger. Humiliated and helpless, he spat through gritted teeth, “You never drank it. You played me.”
How had she switched the coffee?
Her gaze was unflinching, cold as steel.
“I warned you. Cross me again, and words won’t be enough.” She waved the photo tauntingly before snapping the suitcase shut. “Next time, it won’t just be a finger. It’ll be your head.”
Her voice was eerily calm, sending a chill down his spine.
She looked like she had killed before—and wouldn’t hesitate to do it again.
Darren stood frozen, fear rooting him in place. He could only watch as Isabella turned and strode out, photo and money in hand.
Panting, he stared at his bloody finger on the floor. Rage and pain twisted inside him.
Gritting his teeth, he snatched up the severed digit, wincing as fresh agony shot through him. With trembling hands, he dialed a number.
“Sophia,” he growled the moment she answered. “You owe me.”
Her voice was sharp with impatience. “Did you succeed? Why are you calling me now?”
“Succeed? That bitch Isabella cut off my damn finger!” he roared, sweat and tears mixing on his face. “I’m bleeding out here, and you’re asking—”
He ranted, detailing everything.
Sophia’s irritation flared at his incompetence. Before she could berate him, he cut in, “This is your fault! If you hadn’t—”
“Shut up!” she snapped. “If you weren’t so greedy, this wouldn’t have happened. Don’t blame me for your stupidity.”
A slow smirk curved her lips. “But you can still fix this. A woman who abandons her ex for money and resorts to violence? That’s a scandal waiting to happen. Even you should be able to manage that.”
Darren paused, then sneered. “I know what to do.”
Blinded by rage, he ignored Sebastian and Isabella’s warnings.
Sophia’s smile widened. “Good. I’ll arrange some reporters to help.”
Payback was coming.
Isabella had used the media against her before. Now, it was her turn.
