The night wore its most luxurious shade of silence as the city below buzzed with life, unaware of the storm that brewed behind the closed doors of Knight Tower. Isabella stood by the expansive window of Alexander Knight's private office, the skyline shimmering in a blur of gold and silver. Yet, none of the light could touch the darkness curling in her chest.
He hadn't returned.
After their heated conversation earlier that day, after he walked away without a single backward glance, Isabella had spent hours wrestling with what she was even doing here. She told herself it was business. It was always business. But the trembling in her hands betrayed something else.
She turned around, facing the empty room.
Alexander Knight was a man carved out of stone and shadows. But for a fleeting second, she'd seen something crack in his armor—something that looked almost like pain. Vulnerability. Then it was gone, replaced by his usual icy detachment.
Her phone buzzed on the glass table.
Unknown Number.
She hesitated, then picked it up.
"Hello?"
Silence.
Then a low, modulated voice. "You're getting too close."
Her blood turned cold.
"Who is this?"
Click.
The call ended.
Isabella's heart raced. The first instinct was to believe it was a prank. But her gut said otherwise. This wasn't random. This was a warning. A chill snaked down her spine, and before she could gather her thoughts, the door creaked open.
Alexander stepped in.
The sight of him—his broad shoulders cloaked in a dark coat, his jaw rigid, his eyes stormy—made her forget the fear for a heartbeat.
"You're still here," he said, his voice devoid of surprise.
She straightened. "I need to talk to you."
He didn't speak immediately. He walked to his desk, poured himself a drink, then finally looked at her. "About the deal?"
"About the call. I just got a threat. Someone's watching. They don't want me near you."
His expression didn't shift, but something in the air thickened.
"Describe the call."
She did. Every word. Every sound. He listened, every muscle in his body coiled tightly beneath his tailored suit.
"This isn't the first time," he said quietly.
Isabella blinked. "What do you mean?"
"People like me don't just make enemies in boardrooms. There are things about this company, about my family, that I've buried deep. And maybe... maybe they're starting to surface."
He walked toward her, close enough that she could see the flecks of silver in his midnight-blue eyes.
"You didn't sign up for this."
"I didn't," she agreed. "But I'm not walking away. Not now."
A muscle ticked in his jaw. "Why? What are you really after, Isabella?"
She met his gaze, unflinching. "What are you hiding, Alexander? Because if this is going to work—our partnership, whatever this thing is becoming—I need to know who I'm standing beside."
Silence stretched between them. It wasn't hostile—it was thick with a kind of intimate tension neither was ready to acknowledge.
Then, his voice came, lower than before. "My father didn't die in an accident. He was murdered."
The words hit her like a punch.
He turned away, shoulders stiff. "The board covered it up. The police wrote it off. But I know the truth. And I've spent years tracing the shadows behind Knight Industries. That's what this threat is about. You're not collateral, Isabella. You're a warning."
Her mind reeled, but she kept her composure. "Why tell me this now?"
He faced her again. "Because you're in deeper than you think. And because... I trust you."
Those words, so simple, slammed into her.
Alexander Knight didn't trust people. He controlled them. And yet, here he was, peeling back the first layer of his guarded soul and handing it to her.
She stepped forward, slowly, until they were inches apart.
"Then let me help you," she said. "Let's find out who's behind this—together."
His eyes searched hers, and for a second, the mask slipped.
"Together," he echoed.
They didn't touch. They didn't kiss. But in that moment, something deeper was exchanged—a pact. Unspoken, but unbreakable.
And outside, the city moved on, oblivious to the war that was about to begin.