The Timid Wife Is A Ruthless Boss

Isla pushed open the heavy double doors of the Morales family's Manhattan penthouse. The harsh glare of the crystal chandelier immediately stabbed at her eyes, forcing her to blink.

Before her vision could even clear, she collided with Collette's cold, calculating stare.

Collette set her bone-china teacup down on the saucer with a sharp clink.

"You were supposed to be here thirty minutes ago," Collette said. Her voice was smooth, but the underlying tone was designed to crush. She wanted absolute control before the dinner even began.

Isla immediately dropped her gaze to the marble floor. Her fingers found the hem of her cheap, shapeless wool coat, twisting the fabric into tight knots.

"I'm sorry, Aunt Collette. The subway was delayed," Isla mumbled, her voice barely louder than a whisper.

Footsteps clicked down the grand staircase. Jaylene appeared, wearing a custom-fitted evening gown that clung to her curves.

Jaylene let out a high-pitched scoff. "Look at her. She looks like a discount nanny who got lost on her way to the service elevator."

Isla's shoulders shrank inward. Her eyes darted to the side, perfectly executing the role of the broken, spineless orphan they all believed her to be.

Jimmie stepped out of his study. He wore his usual fake, placating smile.

"Now, now, let's not overwhelm the girl," Jimmie said. He walked over and handed Isla a glass of orange juice, playing the part of the benevolent uncle.

Isla took the glass. She made sure her fingertips trembled just enough to spill a drop.

"Thank you, Uncle Jimmie," she whispered. Inside, her stomach churned with disgust. She knew exactly how many offshore accounts he was using to drain the family trust.

"Mr. Curtiss Coffey's car has arrived downstairs," the butler announced from the doorway.

The air in the penthouse instantly shifted. The arrogant sneers vanished, replaced by a suffocating, nervous tension.

Jaylene shot Isla a venomous glare.

"Dumb luck," Jaylene hissed under her breath. "That's the only reason a piece of trash like you gets to wear the Coffey name."

Isla swallowed the insult in silence. She backed away, retreating into the darkest corner of the living room, pressing her spine against the wall as if trying to disappear.

The private elevator chimed. The doors slid open.

Curtiss stepped into the foyer. He brought the freezing autumn air in with him. His presence was a physical weight that pressed down on everyone in the room.

Jimmie rushed forward, his smile stretching so wide it looked painful. He extended a hand. "Curtiss, wonderful to see you."

Curtiss ignored the hand completely. His cold, sweeping gaze bypassed Jimmie and scanned the massive living room. He was looking for his wife.

Isla took a slow breath and stepped out of the shadows. She stopped exactly half a meter away from him, looking like a bird about to take flight in terror.

Curtiss's jaw tightened. A flash of irritation crossed his eyes at her pathetic posture. Yet, pure instinct took over, and he extended