Chapter 8: Chapter 8: Puppet

He wore a charcoal cashmere overcoat today, his long legs encased in dress pants. Taking the stairs three at a time, he appeared before everyone with a commanding presence.

“Sean, it’s been so long.” Mrs. Sinclair, Yvonne Gardner, said with a smile as she walked over to him.

“It has been a long time. What kind of age-reversing magic have you been practicing? You’ve reached a whole new level of beauty.”

Yvonne Gardner was delighted by the flattery. “You’re such a smooth-talker.”

Shane Sterling smiled, his gaze shifting to land on Mrs. Lockwood, Yvette Shaw, making sure to spread his sweet words around. “Well now, and here’s another great beauty.”

Yvette Shaw didn’t really like Shane Sterling’s slick way of talking, but since Mrs. Sinclair enjoyed it, she could only smile along. “What brings you here?”

“I’m here with a friend who’s trying on some clothes. I heard you all were upstairs, so I came up to say hello.”

“A girlfriend, I take it.”

“Well, since you’re asking, I can confirm she is, in fact, female.”

“That’s Sean for you, always able to let things go. During that whole media storm, I was genuinely worried you might do something drastic.”

“I did consider jumping off a building, but a kind soul talked me out of it.”

Of course, no one believed Shane Sterling would actually jump off a building over a relationship. Everyone knew he was just spouting nonsense. Only Isla Prescott, the kind soul in question, was embarrassed by the comment.

Shane Sterling gave a slight smile, his gaze turning to Isla Prescott. “What’s all this?”

“Isabelle is trying on clothes,” Yvette Shaw answered.

Shane Sterling glanced at the rack of formal dresses that had already been tried on. “Trying on so many… who exactly is getting engaged to Silas?”

Lydia Sinclair was instantly put off by his comment. She stood up and said to Isla Prescott, “Let’s just stop here for today. I think that silver-gray one is nice. We’ll go with that one, alright, Isabelle?”

“Alright.”

At this point, she would have gladly agreed even if they’d asked her to wear a burlap sack. After all, these beautiful dresses had become a burden.

Of course, what mattered most was that she knew she had no say in the matter, whether she liked the dress or not.

“Silas, let’s go.” Lydia Sinclair shook Silas Lockwood’s arm. “I’m tired.”

“Alright.”

The others went downstairs, attended to by the staff. Isla Prescott slipped into the dressing room to change back into her clothes. When she emerged, she found that Shane Sterling was still on the second floor.

He was sitting on the sofa with his legs crossed, his gaze locked on the dressing room exit. He had a lazy yet playful air about him, like a hunter waiting for prey that was bound to walk into his trap.

“Sean, you’re still here?”

“I just got here and you’re already telling me to leave?” Shane Sterling stood up and walked over to her. “Am I that unpleasant to look at?”

Isla Prescott looked up, sizing him up.

Shane Sterling stroked his jawline. “What are you looking at?”

“Just observing that you don’t seem like the type to be handsome and not know it.”

His lips curled. “A sharp tongue. Since you have a mouth, why did you just keep trying on whatever they told you to? Don’t you know how to say no?”

Isla Prescott had a sudden realization. ’So he knew everything all along. But didn’t he just get here?’

“How did you know?”

“I’m psychic.”

“…”

The truth was, Shane Sterling had overheard the staff downstairs talking when he came in. They were all wondering why Mrs. Sinclair was giving Mr. Lockwood’s sister such a hard time. Another staff member had quietly added, “Well, she’s not his biological sister.”

The secrets of the wealthy are prime gossip material, especially when they carry a hint of the forbidden.

“Cat got your tongue again?” Shane Sterling asked.

Isla Prescott pressed her lips together. She really didn’t need to explain anything to Shane Sterling. He could think whatever he wanted of her—that she was weak, that she was timid. But when she looked up and met his clear gaze, remembering all the times he’d offered her a helping hand, she found herself speaking instinctively. “I’m indebted to them. You can’t bite the hand that feeds you.”

She didn’t betray a hint of grievance from being mistreated, but Shane Sterling perceived the silent endurance hidden deep beneath her calm exterior.

“There’s a phrase that describes your current state quite well,” he said.

“What is it?”

“’Living, but slightly dead,’” Shane Sterling said in a low voice. “Did you know that you’re exuding a faint aura of death right now?”

No vitality, passively accepting whatever comes, like a puppet that has lost all self-awareness.

Isla Prescott’s heart skipped a beat at Shane Sterling’s absurd yet precise description.

“Sean, there’s something I’m sometimes curious about.”

“Go on.”

“If someone were to lick your lips, would they die from the poison?”

She had only meant to call him sharp-tongued, but Shane Sterling suddenly leaned in close. “You could give it a try.”

The lights were stark and white. He arched an eyebrow, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

The atmosphere changed in an instant.

Isla Prescott stumbled back two steps. “I… I should be going. Goodbye.”

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