Isabella’s POV
The room was cold-Alex’s favorite temperature, naturally. He said it made people uncomfortable, vulnerable, easier to manipulate. That logic worked wonders in his line of work, but for me? It was just another reminder that his world was a prison I’d agreed to step into willingly.
“Take it off.”
His voice cut through the air like a blade.
I stood frozen, fingertips brushing the collar of my silk blouse. The weight of his stare, heavy and unyielding, pinned me in place.
“Isabella,” he growled, low and lethal, “don’t make me repeat myself.”
My pulse kicked into high gear. “It’s not like you haven’t seen everything already.”
“Then what’s stopping you? Strip. Now.”
With shaky hands, I complied, peeling away the layers until the chill hit my skin. I hated how he could command me so effortlessly, how his words snaked into my brain and flipped every switch marked obedience.
I stood there, bare and trembling, wishing I could summon the courage to defy him-but knowing I never would.
“Good girl,” he murmured, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips. “Now kneel.”
I hated that I craved his approval, hated the fire in his eyes that made my stomach twist into knots. But what I hated most was the contract sitting in the desk drawer of his office upstairs-a constant reminder of the chains binding us together.
Alex circled me like a predator, the soft tread of his Italian loafers taunting my ears. “Do you know why I asked you here tonight?”
“No,” I whispered, eyes fixed on the floor.
He reached down, tilting my chin until I met his gaze. “Because you’re mine, Isabella. Every inch of you. And it’s time you remembered that.”
I wanted to lash out, to scream that I wasn’t a possession. But the words stuck in my throat, choked by the memory of what I owed him. The legal battles he’d waged on my behalf. The enemies he’d destroyed.
Alex owned me in every way that mattered, and no courtroom could argue otherwise.
“Sign the addendum,” he said, sliding a thick stack of papers onto the coffee table.
I stared at the documents, heart sinking. “What’s this?”
“A little adjustment to our agreement. It’s nothing you can’t handle.”
Translation: another layer of control, another leash tightened around my throat.
“What if I say no?”
His smile was dark, dangerous. “You won’t.”
Hours later, I lay sprawled across his massive leather couch, my body still humming from the aftermath of our… discussion. My mind, however, was in turmoil.
“Why do you do this?” I asked, voice barely audible.
Alex, perched in his chair with a glass of bourbon, arched a brow. “Do what?”
“Push me. Break me. Put me back together again.”
He chuckled, low and mocking. “Because you let me.”
It wasn’t an answer-it was an accusation. And it stung because it was true.
I sat up, wrapping a blanket around myself. “You’re sick, you know that?”
“Maybe,” he said, taking a slow sip. “But you keep coming back for more. What does that say about you?”
The night wore on, and I retreated to the bedroom-*his* bedroom, because mine was off-limits when he was home. I tried to sleep, but my mind wouldn’t quiet.
I kept replaying his words, the way he’d looked at me like I was both his salvation and his plaything. I hated him for it.
And yet…
A creak in the hallway made me sit bolt upright.
“Alex?”
No answer.
I slipped out of bed, heart pounding, and crept toward the door. The shadows seemed to move, swallowing the light.
“Isabella,” his voice came from behind me, low and menacing.
I whirled around, clutching my chest. “Jesus, you scared me!”
His face was unreadable, his eyes like shards of ice. “You should be scared.”
Before I could respond, he held up a folded piece of paper.
“What’s this?” I asked, taking it with trembling hands.
“A reminder,” he said, his voice softer now. “Of what happens when you think about running.”
I unfolded the note, my breath hitching as I read the words scrawled across the page: I always know where you are.
“Goodnight, Isabella,” Alex murmured, turning to leave.
“Wait,” I called after him, my voice barely above a whisper.
He paused in the doorway, his silhouette framed by the dim light.
“What do you want from me?” I asked, desperation lacing my words.
He didn’t answer.
Instead, he stepped into the shadows and disappeared, leaving me alone with the crushing weight of his warning-and the growing realization that I might never escape him.
Alex’s POV
The sound of my shoes hitting the cold marble echoed like a gunshot. Isabella knelt in the center of my penthouse office, her slender frame shrouded in defiance. She looked like a damn masterpiece, and I hated that she could still undo me with just a glance. The light caught the thin silver chain on her neck-the collar I had locked there myself-and I felt my control tighten like a vice.
I leaned against the edge of my desk, arms crossed, my voice sharp. “You missed yesterday’s check-in. Care to explain, little one?”
Her lips twitched, but she didn’t answer right away. The silence dragged, thick and electric.
“I had a case,” she said finally, her voice soft but steady. “One that didn’t involve begging at your feet.”
A slow, humorless chuckle escaped me. “Oh, sweetheart, don’t get cocky. I own you. You signed that pretty little name on my dotted line.”
Her eyes shot up, stormy and filled with something dangerous. “You don’t own my time, Alex.”
My jaw ticked. She was always pushing, always testing, and damn if I didn’t live for it.
I moved toward her, slow and deliberate. My shadow fell over her, and she tilted her chin up, refusing to look away. Stubborn as hell.
“Stand up,” I commanded.
She hesitated-a beat too long.
I grabbed her arm and pulled her to her feet. The scent of her-jasmine and defiance-hit me like a drug. I leaned in, my lips brushing her ear.
“You think you can play lawyer here? Negotiate your way out of what you owe me?” I whispered, my breath hot against her skin.
“I’m not negotiating,” she shot back, her voice trembling slightly. “I’m reminding you that I’m not one of your puppets.”
Her defiance set me on fire.
I smirked. “No, you’re not. You’re mine. There’s a difference.”
I walked to the liquor cabinet, pouring myself a glass of bourbon. She stood there, arms crossed, her posture rigid. Watching her unravel was a thrill I’d never admit.
“You know what your problem is, Isabella?” I said, swirling the amber liquid in my glass. “You want control. But control comes at a price. Are you ready to pay it?”
Her eyes narrowed. “You mean like all those other women? How many of them know about your little contracts, Alex? Or am I the only one lucky enough to call you Daddy?”
The glass hit the desk with a loud *clink*.
In three strides, I was in front of her, my hand gripping her jaw. “Watch your mouth.”
She didn’t flinch. Instead, her lips curled into a mocking smile. “Or what? You’ll punish me?”
My thumb brushed over her bottom lip, my voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “Careful what you wish for, baby girl.”
Before she could retort, my phone buzzed on the desk. I didn’t let go of her as I answered.
“Ricci,” I barked.
The voice on the other end was frantic. “Boss, we’ve got a problem. The shipment-it’s been intercepted.”
My grip on Isabella’s jaw tightened as I processed the information. Her wide eyes searched mine, catching the shift in my expression.
“By who?” I growled.
“Someone inside. We think it’s linked to Greco’s case.”
I turned to her, my voice ice-cold. “You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you, Isabella?”
Her lips parted, but no sound came out.
I leaned in close, my voice a low threat. “If I find out you’ve been playing me, sweetheart, this contract won’t be the only thing binding you to me.”
“Tell me the truth,” I hissed, my breath against her ear.
She swallowed hard, her voice barely audible. “What if you don’t like the answer?”
I smirked, my hand trailing down to her collar. “Oh, Isabella, I never like the answer. But I always love the game.”