Isabella’s POV
The minute Isabella stepped into Alex’s penthouse, the familiar chill wrapped around her, cool and biting. His icy gaze met hers, a warning glint flickering beneath the controlled facade he wore so well. Every time she walked in here, it felt like a daring game, but tonight the stakes felt… different. She clutched her briefcase tighter, masking her nerves under a look of defiance.
“Lose the jacket,” he said smoothly, his voice a low, simmering command that seeped into her veins. She had barely shut the door, and he was already asserting control. Typical Alex.
With a raised eyebrow, Isabella shrugged off her blazer, letting it slide down her arms as she held his stare. “Is this the warm welcome you promised?”
He smirked, unbothered, crossing the room to close the space between them. “Is that what you came here for?” He took the jacket from her hands, hanging it himself-a rare gesture. But the warmth vanished as he stepped back, cool and assessing. “You knew the rules when you signed on, darling.”
His last word dripped with sarcasm, and Isabella swallowed hard. That was his way of saying that tonight wasn’t just any night. He was in one of his moods.
As he led her into the dimly lit study, Alex’s fingers pressed firmly against the small of her back. Even a simple touch held an edge of possession, one that seeped into her bones, frustratingly familiar and infuriatingly addictive.
He motioned toward a seat, but Isabella didn’t take it. Instead, she stood, arms crossed, defiance glinting in her eyes. “I’m here on business, not for your games.”
His laugh was low and dangerous. “Is that right?” He pulled out a file from the drawer and tossed it onto the desk between them. “If it’s business, let’s talk about the terms, Mrs. Ricci.”
She winced at the use of her contracted title, an identity forced upon her by necessity and nothing more. The reminder twisted her insides, but she kept her face impassive. He sat, casually reclining, but his gaze never left her, piercing and relentless.
He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk, his fingers steepled. “You’re behind on your… commitments.” His eyes darkened. “Should I remind you of what you owe?”
Isabella’s heart stuttered. His insinuation was clear, and she fought the heated blush threatening her composure. “And yet, you seem to have forgotten yours,” she shot back, knowing full well she was pushing limits. “You’re the one who brings ‘friends’ into our bed, Alex, leaving me wondering if I even have a place here.”
He rose swiftly, his eyes narrowing. “That mouth of yours is bound to get you in trouble.” His voice was velvet wrapped around steel, the kind that had always made her knees weak.
His hands caught her waist, fingers firm, commanding. In a swift motion, he turned her to face the mirror lining one wall of his office. She caught his gaze in the reflection, feeling his hands settle over her shoulders, possessive and undeniably territorial.
“Say it,” he murmured, his breath grazing her ear.
Her throat tightened, the familiar war between reluctance and surrender rising. “Say… what?”
“You know exactly what.” His fingers slid down, grazing her collarbone, lingering where he knew she was most sensitive. He leaned closer, the warmth of his breath sending chills down her spine. “Or do you need to be reminded of what it means to obey?”
Her eyes flickered to his in the mirror, defiant but yearning. “Yes, Daddy.”
The title slipped from her lips, and his gaze sharpened, satisfaction glinting in his eyes. It was part of their contract-one of his favorite requirements-and though she hated it, she couldn’t deny the thrill that his dominance stirred within her.
“You need me. Don’t ever forget it,” he whispered, voice soft yet dangerous.
But just as quickly as the heat built between them, he pulled back, leaving her with an unsettling emptiness. He walked to his desk, picking up his phone, his face clouding as he read a text. Isabella watched, trying to decipher the dark look in his eyes.
She was about to ask when he suddenly tossed the phone down. “We’re done here for tonight.” His voice had dropped, an edge of distraction seeping into his tone.
“What? I thought-” But he cut her off with a wave of his hand, his attention clearly pulled elsewhere.
“I don’t owe you explanations, Isabella. Remember that.” His cold, clipped words felt like a slap, a sharp reminder of the limitations of their arrangement.
Anger flared, and she took a defiant step toward him. “Don’t I deserve to know? Or am I just here to fulfill your twisted sense of control?”
He looked at her, expression hard. “You’re here because I allow it. Don’t confuse your place.” The finality in his voice hit like a closing door, and Isabella felt her resolve weaken, her heart twisting in frustration.
As she turned to leave, his grip caught her wrist, holding her back just as she was about to walk out. The roughness of his touch was startling, his eyes drilling into hers, a hidden desperation she’d never seen before. The flicker of vulnerability was brief, almost imperceptible, but enough to stop her in her tracks.
“Don’t go far.” His words were barely more than a murmur, but they held a weight that kept her rooted to the spot.
Before she could respond, he released her, his gaze turning cold and unreadable. She didn’t understand the sudden shift, but she knew better than to ask questions he wasn’t ready to answer.
As she stepped into the elevator, a swirl of emotions tangled inside her-confusion, frustration, and an undeniable ache that simmered beneath the surface. The doors closed, leaving her alone with her thoughts, and the gnawing sense that Alex was hiding something dark and dangerous.
She glanced down at her wrist, where his touch lingered like a brand, a mark of ownership that she both resented and craved. As the elevator descended, one question loomed in her mind, the cliffhanger that would keep her up that night:
What was Alex so afraid of losing?
With the contract tying her fate to his every whim and his walls seemingly closing in, Isabella’s heart raced with a blend of fear, anger, and an unsettling curiosity.