Morning came too quickly.
I barely remembered falling asleep, my eyes still burning from spending the rest of the night memorising faces in the leather-bound "bible" Joel had given me.
Yet here I was, seated at the long breakfast table with a cup of untouched coffee cooling in my hands.
The morning sun bled through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting long, clinical streaks of light across the white linen.
It was a beautiful day, the kind that mocked the cold, dark weight sitting in the pit of my stomach.
As always, the Quinn estate was quiet in that controlled, suffocating way that came with power.
The servants moved like shadows, silent and controlled. Everything felt deliberate.
Across from me, Joel sat at the head of the table, his posture rigid as always with a tablet in his hand.
Estelle sat beside me, her presence softer, warmer.
I picked at a croissant, slowly lifting it to my lips, my thoughts far from the dinner.
Cassian.
Why did he agree?
The question had followed me into sleep and dragged me out of it.
"Isabelle," Estelle called out, "Isn’t the food to your liking, dear?"
"No... I mean, yes, ma’am. I like it very much," I replied, forcing a small smile.
"You should call me Mom, dear. People would notice if you addressed me wrongly. Even though I’d have loved you to call me ’mum’ on your own volition," she added softly.
"I’m sorry, Mom," I said, the word "Mom" tasting like ash in my mouth.
Estelle smiled, her eyes softening.
"The guest list is finalized," Joel said, not looking up from his tablet. "50 people. Our inner circle only. You’ll need to make an impression tonight.
Estelle reached for my hand, her fingers brushing my wrist.
"We need to go shopping this afternoon, Isabelle. A new wardrobe for a new life. And for tonight... you need a dress that commands the room. Everyone who matters will be there."
"I’ll leave the choice to you, Mom," I said humbly.
I was about to take a sip of coffee when Joel’s thumb froze on the screen.
The air in the room seemed to sharpen, his eyes scanning whatever was on his screen with an unbearable expression.
"What is it?" Estelle asked, catching the shift instantly.
"Vincent Miller is dead," Joel announced, his voice flat and devoid of emotion.
"What?" Estelle’s voice dropped, the earlier softness gone. "That is impossible."
My fingers tightened around the teacup.
Was he someone close to the Quinns?
Joel turned the tablet slightly towards Estelle, his tone calm. "He was found in his study this morning. A clean hit. No signs of struggle or forced entry."
Estelle dropped the silver spoon in her hand against her saucer. She looked visibly shaken.
"Vincent? But his estate has tighter security than the central bank. How is that possible?"
"The assassin is a professional," Joel interrupted, his jaw tight. "Someone who knew the gaps in the grid."
"But we’re the only ones who have information about the Millers’ security grid. Could someone have done this to paint us as suspects?" She asked, her brows knitted together.
Joel hummed lowly. "Exactly what I was thinking."
The silence stretched forever, thick with implication.
I sat perfectly still... Listening... Processing... my heart hammering a frantic rhythm against my ribs.
Vincent Miller.
Vincent.
The name echoed in my head, bouncing off the walls of my brain cells.
I closed my eyes, and suddenly I was back behind that heavy velvet curtain, and then—
A memory clicked.
"Has Vincent been dealt with? Make sure not to leave any traces..."
That cold, controlled voice of Cassian replayed in my mind with terrifying clarity.
My breath hitched.
He hadn’t been talking about a business deal or a legal dispute.
He had already done it.
He killed a Quinn ally in cold blood.
Did he do it to implicate the Quinns?
A chill raced down my spine.
Cassian wasn’t just a "petty and ruthless" man.
He was a murderer. A man who could erase a "business ally" as easily as one might flick a speck of dust off a sleeve... and sit across you and dine as if nothing happened.
He was dangerous...
My chest tightened.
My view of him, which had already been hovering somewhere between fear and resentment, plummeted into something much darker.
I had willingly agreed to marry a monster who played with lives for sport.
"Isabelle? Darling, are you alright?"
I snapped my eyes open to find Estelle watching me, her brow furrowed with concern. I realized I had been staring at the cream swirling in my coffee for far too long.
"I’m fine," I lied, my voice a breathy rasp. "Just... shocked. Was he close to you?"
"He was," Joel said, finally putting the tablet down. "In fact, we’d be considered partners... In almost everything."
"Oh," I said.
"I’ll be paying a visit to his family later today and find out what happened."
Estelle nodded. "Yes, I’d have gone with you, but we’ve already sent invitations for tonight. I must be with Isabelle."
"I know," Joel said... Turning towards me.
"These are some of the reasons why your union with the Knights is more vital than ever. This alliance would bring an end to years of bloodshed between the great families and some hidden factions. Having a long-term relationship with the Knights is the only thing that matters now."
I swallowed.
Should I tell them Cassian was the murderer? Could we trust a murderer to keep his end of the peace alliance?
Instead, I nodded, no words coming out.
~~~♧♧♧~~~
By noon, I found myself surrounded by silk and mirrors.
The boutique was silent except for the soft rustle of fabric.
Everything about it screamed wealth.
Crystal chandeliers.
Mirrored walls.
Rows of dresses that looked like they belonged in museums rather than closets.
I stood on the raised platform, staring at my reflection as Rita moved around me with careful precision.
"This one," Estelle murmured, standing beside me as she adjusted the fabric at my waist. "It brings out your features."
The dress clung to my body like it had been made for me. Deep, elegant, unforgiving.
Not Yvette.
Isabelle.
I barely recognized the girl staring back at me.
The afternoon was a blur of silk, lace, and the suffocating scent of high-end boutiques.
Estelle moved through the racks with the precision of a general, selecting fabrics that felt like liquid gold.
She didn’t just pick a dress; she picked a persona.
Rita and another maid trailed behind us, carrying numerous shopping bags.
~~~♧♧♧~~~
By 6:00 PM, I was standing in front of the vanity in my room.
Estelle hovered around me, working together with the makeup artist who applied my makeup with a steady hand, using shades that made my eyes look wider, colder, and more haunting.
Estelle worked on my hair herself, pinning it into an intricate, sophisticated updo that elongated my neck.
"Hold still," Estelle said gently, stepping behind me.
Her fingers moved through my hair, deft and practiced, pinning, smoothing, and shaping.
Each touch felt... intimate.
Motherly.
Something unfamiliar settled in my chest.
She stepped back after a while, her eyes scanning me with quiet intensity.
Then she smiled.
And for a moment, it wasn’t the Quinn matriarch standing there.
It was just... a mother.
"You look exactly like her," she whispered.
The words hit deeper than I expected.
I didn’t respond.
I couldn’t.
Because for a second—
I almost wanted it to be true.
When I looked at the reflection. I didn’t recognize her.
The woman in the mirror wore a floor-length gown of midnight emerald silk that clung to her curves like a second skin.
Her skin was flawless, her expression a mask of icy composure. She looked like a woman who had never known a day of pain in her life. She looked like the kind of woman who could break a man’s heart without blinking.
Estelle reached for the concealer to hide the birthmark on my hand.
We had a little bonding time during shopping, and I told her about it. Her eyes met mine in the mirror.
"Tonight, you are the crown jewel of the Quinn family," she whispered. "Forget the girl in the ravine. You are Isabelle Quinn. Sophisticated. Elegant. Untouchable."
She stepped back and smiled.
"It’s time," Joel said from the doorway.
I took a final breath, centering the rage I felt for the Swans and the terror I felt for Cassian into a single point of focus.
~~~♧♧♧~~~
The Quinn estate had transformed.
Lights blazed across the mansion, illuminating every corner in gold and white.
Luxury cars lined the entrance, one after another, as the most powerful figures in the city arrived.
I stood at the top of the grand staircase.
The noise from below drifted upward. Laughter. Conversations. The clink of glasses.
My fingers curled slightly at my sides.
This was it.
No turning back.
"Are you ready?" Estelle asked softly beside me.
I inhaled slowly.
Steady.
Controlled.
Isabelle Quinn.
I lifted my chin.
"Yes."
The doors opened.
And every voice below seemed to fade as I took my first step down the staircase.
One step.
Then another.
Eyes turned.
Conversations paused.
Attention shifted.
I could feel it.
Their gazes.
Their judgment.
Their curiosity.
The missing Quinn heiress had returned.
And she was nothing as they remembered.
At the bottom of the stairs, I stopped.
Lifted my gaze.
And stepped fully into the light.
Into Isabelle’s world.