Light pours through the panoramic windows, sharp enough to sting the eyes, sliding over glass, over marble floors, over my body. I lie naked on the enormous bed; the sheets are still warm, still scented with us—expensive perfume, skin, a lazy morning without obligations.
Kaiden is looking at me—Isabella Delacour.
This is how men look when they think they've won.
Tenderly. Almost devoted. With a faint smile that holds no doubt—only confidence and the desire to freeze this moment forever.
You're mine, I think.
And you don't even realize what kind of cage you just walked into.
I rise slowly from the bed. Unhurried. Let him watch. Let him remember. My hips sway deliberately—just a shade more than necessary. I know how he responds to that rhythm. I drape a robe over myself with theatrical ease, leaving the belt untied.
A performance for an audience of one.
"Where are you going?" he asks unexpectedly. There's no command in his voice—only disappointment. Almost hurt.
Oh… that struck a nerve.
I pad over to him on tiptoe, like a girl afraid of breaking the spell, and kiss his lips. Softly. Slowly. With a pause that says more than words ever could.
"I would love to spend my whole life in this bed with you," I whisper, almost confiding.
Flattery wrapped in sincerity.
The most dangerous form there is.
I see him believe it. See his shoulders loosen. See the smile bloom—like he's just received proof of his own importance.
Good. Very good.
Kaiden exhales and gets out of bed. Despite his age—fifty-eight—he's fit, solid. A man accustomed to winning not with strength, but with resources—and calling that charisma.
"Let's at least have breakfast together," he suggests. "I don't want you leaving hungry."
"I agree," I smile. "After… our morning pleasures, I really am starving."
And after last night's intrigues too, I add silently.
A waiter appears in the penthouse—soundless, like a shadow. He wheels in a cart, and dishes begin to bloom across the table: perfectly arranged, thought through down to the shade of the sauce, the temperature of the plates.
I catch myself thinking that even food looks as though it's been approved by the universe when you're a millionaire.
This isn't cereal with milk and coffee on the run, Isabella.
Each dish is a small temptation—contrasts of flavor, texture, color. I eat slowly, with pleasure. Let him think I'm fully here. Body. Attention. Future.
At last I stand, walk over, press myself against him. He wraps his arms around me, kisses me—confidently, possessively.
"Until next time, darling," I say.
"I'll call you," I add, and let him believe it.
He nods. Smiles.
I step into the hall; the elevator doors slide shut behind me with a soft hiss. Only then do I check my watch.
Damn it.
Christian Grayson is already waiting.
I quicken my pace, slip into the car, and as the city begins to glide past the window, a quiet laugh escapes me.
Poor Kaiden.
You think this was a love story.
But it was only the first act.
**
I pull up to the Angel club, and it looks almost innocent.
By day. Closed. No neon, no music, no people coming here to lose themselves. A gray façade, security at the corner, cameras that always stare a second longer than necessary.
If a building is silent, it's because it's plotting something.
I enter through the service door. The corridors smell of cleaning chemicals and money that never touches the register. Christian's office is at the end—as always. The door closes behind me softly. Too softly.
He sits in an armchair, fingers interlaced in front of him. The posture is calm. The face—attentive. The gaze—a scanner.
He studies me like merchandise he's already bought but hasn't unwrapped yet.
I take the chair opposite him—the modest one. Deliberately. Let the contrast do its work.
"Talk," he says. "How did it go?"
Well then. Curtain up.
"I managed to get close to Kaiden," I say evenly. "I earned his trust. He's… generous."
I raise my hand and show him the ring. The stones catch the light, and I can almost hear them chime—not with beauty, but with price.
Christian leans forward, takes my hand. His fingers are warm, professional. He inspects the stones carefully.
"Generous," he hums. "Might fetch a few thousand euros. What do you think—will your relationship progress?"
The question is laced with mockery, but I pretend not to hear the subtext.
"He'll marry me," I say with naïve sincerity. "And I'll give him lots of children."
A second of silence.
Then Christian smiles. Slowly. Dangerously.
"Not a bad plan," he says, as if discussing a menu. "But Kaiden is fifty-eight. He's unmarried. And trust me—it's not because he never met worthy women."
He leans back in his chair.
"Maybe you'll last a few weeks. Possibly months. He'll give you a couple more rings like that. But after that—it's over. You won't get anything else out of him."
I lean forward.
"You don't know me very well, Christian. I'll get what's mine."
He looks at me a second longer than usual.
"Of course you will. That's why I helped you meet him. And I'll help you again."
He opens a desk drawer and pulls out a folded blueprint of Kaiden's penthouse. Then—a small box.
I freeze.
This is no longer flirting. This is work.
"Watch closely," he says.
He opens the box. Inside—a tiny connector. Almost harmless. Almost a toy.
"You'll install this in Kaiden's apartment. On his fiber-optic cable. Right here."
He points to the plan. Then—to photographs. Cables. Panels. Ports.
"The penthouse is secured," he continues calmly. "So first you install the second device here. Then activate it remotely. Cameras go down. Security drops. The alarm will trigger. You'll have a few minutes."
A few minutes to change everything.
"Technically… doable," I say with confidence. "But what do I get in return?"
He meets my gaze.
"Money. A lot of money. Enough so you never have to jump from millionaire to millionaire again. Like… Andre. Or Kaiden."
Andre's name cuts into me from the inside.
My heart flares. A shiver runs through my stomach—treacherous, alive.
Where is he now?
"As I told you," Christian adds, "today he's meeting Sofia Blackmoor. On Saturday. A date with his fiancée."
I'm angry. At them. At myself. At a world where money and last names decide everything. It hurts—and I hate that this feeling is still inside me.
But I nod.
We were never meant to be together, I tell myself.
And Kaiden is temporary too.
I choose the future. Money. Freedom.
Christian looks at me as if he already knows what I'll do.
And I believe him.
Like a naïve girl who doesn't yet understand that the most expensive deals are never paid for with money.