The Mute Heiress: Her Cold Silent Revenge

Isla cut through the dance floor. Bodies pressed against her, hot and sweaty, but she didn't feel them. Her vision was tunneled on Brande's hand.

Brande saw Isla coming. "Oh god, the mute is here! Get her away from me!"

Chase stood up. He swayed, drunk and angry. He blocked Isla's path. "Get lost, Isla. You aren't welcome here."

Isla held up her phone. _Give me the ring. I leave._

Chase slapped the phone out of her hand. It skittered across the floorboards. The screen shattered.

Isla looked at the broken glass. Then she looked at him.

Her silence wasn't empty anymore. It was dangerous.

Chase reached for Isla's shoulder. "I'm talking to you!"

Isla didn't move. As his fingers closed on her shoulder, she met his furious gaze with a dead calm. She didn't flinch. She simply lifted her free hand, holding a full glass of ice water she'd picked up from an empty table. With deliberate slowness, she tilted it, pouring the freezing contents directly onto the expensive DJ mixing board next to their booth. Sparks flew. The smooth jazz music died with a violent screech of feedback, plunging the immediate area into a shocking silence punctuated by the crackle of shorting electronics.

The music stopped.

Brande gasped, spilling her drink. "Security!"

In the ensuing chaos, as people yelled and the staff rushed toward the smoking equipment, Isla lunged for Brande. Brande was distracted, momentarily stunned. Isla grabbed her left hand.

"Get off me!" Brande clawed at Isla's face. Her nails raked down Isla's neck, stinging like fire.

Isla yanked the ring off Brande's finger.

Two bouncers grabbed Isla from behind. They slammed her onto the table. The wood dug into her ribs.

Chase scrambled up. He grabbed a heavy glass bottle from the table. His eyes were murderous. He raised it over Isla's head.

"Stop."

The voice wasn't loud, but it carried the weight of absolute authority.

Everyone froze.

Julian Curtis stood at the top of the stairs. He held an unlit cigar, looking down at them like they were insects in a jar.

Chase lowered the bottle, his face draining of color. "Mr. Curtis..."

Julian walked down the stairs. The crowd parted for him. He moved with a predatory grace, slow and deliberate.

He stopped in front of their table. He didn't look at Chase. He looked at Isla, pinned against the table, bleeding from the neck, clutching the ring in her fist.

"Let her go," Julian said to the bouncers.

They released Isla instantly.

She stood up, smoothing her jacket. Her neck throbbed. She looked at Julian.

He stared at the scratch on her neck. A flicker of annoyance crossed his face. "Sterling," he said, his voice bored. "You're fighting women in my club?"

"She attacked me!" Chase whined. "She's crazy! She destroyed the sound system!"

"I saw self-defense," Julian said.

He held out his hand to Isla. "Phone broken?"

Isla nodded, wary.

He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a sleek, black phone. He unlocked it and handed it to her.

"Use mine."

Isla stared at the device. Taking it felt like signing a contract she hadn't read. But she had no choice.

She took it. The metal was warm from his body.