The following evening, Isabella stood at the entrance of a towering luxury building, the kind of place you only saw in magazines.
Her heels clicked against polished marble as the doorman—already expecting her—opened the door with a slight bow.
"Top floor, Miss Reed," he said, as if she belonged here.
The elevator ride felt longer than usual, though she kept her expression calm.
At each floor, she imagined what was waiting at the top — a trap? A test? A deal she might regret?
When the doors slid open, she stepped into a world of glass and shadows.
The penthouse was… breathtaking.
Floor-to-ceiling windows offered a sweeping view of the city, the lights below glittering like a million secrets. The interior was sleek and masculine: black leather, chrome, dark wood.
And in the center of it all stood Alexander Grey, a glass of whiskey in hand, watching her as if he'd been waiting all his life.
"You're punctual," he said, his voice a low drawl.
"You said not to be late," she replied, stepping inside without hesitation.
"Smart girl," he murmured.
He gestured toward a low table where a bottle of whiskey and two glasses already waited.
"Drink?"
"No," she said, her tone even. "Let's talk business."
A flicker of something—approval? amusement?—passed through his eyes as he set his own glass down.
"Very well," he said, moving closer, his presence filling the space like smoke.
"I've thought about your little proposal, Miss Reed. I like it. But…"
He stopped just inches away, his gaze sweeping over her with deliberate slowness.
"Everything comes at a price."
Isabella met his eyes without flinching.
"I already told you. Name it."
His lips curved into a dark smile.
"Don't be so eager, darling. You should hear what I want before you agree to sell yourself."
Her heart thudded at the word, but she kept her head high.
"I'm listening."
Alexander leaned down, his breath warm against her ear as he spoke.
"For as long as this… arrangement lasts, you belong to me."
Her breath hitched despite herself.
"Belong?" she repeated, her voice colder than she felt.
"Body. Mind. Loyalty," he murmured, stepping back just enough to look into her eyes.
"No lies. No games. You obey, and in return, I'll give you exactly what you want: your revenge."
The silence stretched between them, heavy and electric.
Finally, Isabella tilted her head, a small, sharp smile playing at her lips.
"You're awfully confident for a man who's never danced with fire."
His smile widened, predatory and amused all at once.
"Ah, but you're not fire, Miss Reed. You're dynamite. And I do so love to light the fuse."
Before she could respond, his phone buzzed on the table. He glanced at the screen, his smile faltering ever so slightly.
"Excuse me," he murmured, picking it up and turning his back to her.
Isabella stood there, fists clenched at her sides, feeling the weight of the bargain hanging in the air.
She was in the lion's den now. And there was no turning back.
When he hung up, his expression was darker, sharper.
He turned back to her, and his next words made her blood run cold:
"You'll start tonight," he said simply.
"They're already looking for you."
She blinked.
"Who?"
Alexander's eyes glittered with something dangerous.
"Your sister. And your fiancé. They know you're alive."
Her breath caught, but she forced herself to smile — a cold, defiant curve of her lips.
"Good," she said softly.
"Let them come."