Chapter 8: What's Your Preferred Ending?

Ethan's POV

Isabella's shadow refused to leave my mind. Yesterday when she dragged the police to my door, she looked truly pathetic—face as white as a ghost, clothes wrinkled and clinging to her body, arms covered in red insect bites, feet tucked into those blood-stained shabby slippers. Trying to appear composed? It was nothing but a joke to my eyes.

Who would have thought my quiet stepsister had such fight in her?

Isabella was the first woman in Manhattan who dared to bite me and call the police. This defiance both ignited my anger and sparked my interest. What puzzled me even more was why she lied to my grandmother and others, claiming I had only taken her to see the stars.

That's why I arrived at the Black family mansion early this morning. I needed to see how long she could hold out.

As I walked toward the dining room, the gossipy chatter from the living room made me frown. Olivia's grating voice was as irritating as always: "Just ignore her, that mother-daughter pair is disgusting." Tsk, she's always so noisy.

Her friend Luna followed with fake gentleness: "She's unfortunate to have crossed paths with Ethan."

"Save your pity for my brother," Olivia scoffed. "Weren't you interested in him? Why sympathize with his enemy?"

"Is Ethan home?"

"Probably. If you want to see him, go to his villa. I'm not playing third wheel."

I entered silently, my gaze locking onto the lone little rabbit in the dining room—Isabella. She had cleaned up quite well, her hair meticulously combed without a strand out of place, her injured feet hidden away in socks. She was bent over her breakfast, completely unaware of my presence until the butler's hand trembled, nearly smashing the coffee pot. Only then did she jerk her head up, her eyes colliding with my stare.

"Mr. Black? Good morning, sir," the butler's surprised voice broke the silence, like an idiot.

The reactions around the room varied. Luna shot to her feet, her eyes bright as if she'd spotted gold—I've seen her petty intentions far too often, always circling around me like an annoying fly. Olivia sharply inhaled as if something had choked her. As for Isabella, she froze completely, her back straight as a rod, knowing the hunter had arrived.

Luna followed my gaze to Isabella, her smile as stiff as if it had been glued on. Since her first visit here, she'd never stopped with that clingy attitude, always thinking she had a chance. But now, she stared at Isabella's face—that effortless beauty that caught the eye even without makeup, something even her designer dress couldn't overshadow.

I circled behind her, my hand resting on the back of her chair as I asked softly: "Sleep well, little stepsister?"

Her fingers clutching the fork turned white as bone as she forced out: "Fine, thank you."

I snorted, leaning closer, my breath hot against her ear. "Any nightmares?"

"Yes," her voice as thin as a mosquito's hum.

She stiffened, looking like she wanted to curl into a ball, but that little façade was as transparent as paper to me. I straightened up, running a finger along the back of her chair. "Bringing police to my door—you wanted to see me in handcuffs, didn't you?"

"They were just escorting me back," she quietly defended.

"Lying doesn't suit you," I smirked. "I'm wondering, how should I deal with you?"

Her breath caught, panic flashing in her eyes, but her mouth still maintained that ridiculous stubbornness. I should strangle her, but there was something intriguing about her tenacity.

Luna, unwilling to be ignored, called out in a voice sweet enough to cause diabetes: "Ethan! What a surprise to see you here." She took half a step forward, yet her eyes remained fixed on Isabella, like a cat whose territory had been invaded. I couldn't be bothered to engage, merely grunting an "Mmm" in response, my attention fully on Isabella—her face was growing paler by the second, her every small movement telling me exactly what she feared.

Luna persisted, moving to my side with her cup, pretending to accidentally brush against my arm, her voice deliberately raised: "Olivia said you've been very busy lately, I thought I wouldn't get to see you." She glanced at Isabella, unable to hide the jealousy in her eyes. Tsk, this woman couldn't even keep her composure when jealous—truly amusing.

"Oh my, what a surprise!" Grandmother Nora's cheerful voice announced her arrival. "Ethan, dear, what brings you to breakfast?"

Soon after, the room quickly filled with people—my brother Owen with his newspaper, my father Jasper with his usual look of disapproval, taking his seat. But I kept my focus on Isabella, observing how she tried to make herself smaller, less noticeable. Each time she glanced my way, I caught her gaze and held it until she looked away first.

"Owen, have you set a wedding date?" Grandmother asked.

"Next month," Owen replied without looking up. "Still finalizing the prenup and other details."

"Isabella," he unexpectedly added, "if you're interested, there's an opening at my company."

I carefully observed her reaction, noting how her eyes flicked toward me before she responded.

Grandmother interjected warmly, "Don't look at him! You don't need to fear him. Owen will protect you at work, and I'll protect you at home."

"Thank you both," Isabella replied with a measured smile, "but I prefer to find work on my own. I've been applying online and hope to find something suitable soon."

"Of course," Owen said with genuine kindness, "if you need anything, just let me know."

A cold smile tugged at my lips. Smart girl. She knew her place.

"Ethan." My father's voice carried its usual criticism and disappointment. "Instead of whatever it is you do all day, you might consider learning proper business from your brother."

The temperature in the room seemed to drop several degrees. Olivia's laugh broke the silence. "Dad, Ethan has been running his own company for two years now."

My father's fork clattered loudly against his plate, his shocked expression revealing how little attention he paid to me. We were practically strangers living in the same family circle, and I had long grown accustomed to it.

This couldn't stir any emotions in me; instead, my attention remained fixed on Isabella across the table. She thought yesterday's little trick would keep her safe. How naive, my precious stepsister. Just wait and see—in the coming days, I would show her what it meant to beg for mercy—slowly, piece by piece, enjoying every moment of the game.