Isabella was halfway through organizing the Volkov quarterly contracts when the elevator pinged behind her.
She barely looked up, expecting it to be another intern or courier. But the shift in the office atmosphere was immediate—like the air had frozen.
Heels clicked confidently against the marble floor.
And then she saw her.
Tall. Blonde. Impeccably dressed in a white designer coat and red lipstick sharp enough to draw blood. The woman walked with the poise of royalty and the entitlement of someone who'd never heard the word no.
She stopped at Isabella's desk.
"I'm here to see Dominic," she said crisply.
Isabella stood. "Do you have an appointment?"
A slow, amused smile curved the woman's lips. "Oh, sweetheart. I never need one."
Before Isabella could respond, Dominic's voice echoed from his open office door. "Let her in."
The woman brushed past her without another word.
Isabella sat, spine stiff. Something about the woman made her skin prickle.
She tried to focus on the spreadsheets—but voices drifted through the glass office walls.
"Dominic," the woman purred. "You look well."
"I'm busy, Celeste."
Celeste.
The name was familiar. Very familiar.
Isabella remembered it now. There had been an article in the New York Mirror six months ago. Dominic Volkov Calls Off Engagement with Heiress Celeste Hartmann. No Comment From Either Party.
Celeste was the ex-fiancée.
And from the sound of her voice, she didn't plan to stay an ex for long.
"I came to talk," Celeste continued smoothly. "Face to face. You've been ignoring my calls."
"There's a reason for that."
"Don't be cold. We both made mistakes. But we were good together. You know that."
"I don't have time for this."
"I miss you," she said softly. "Don't you miss me?"
A long silence followed.
Isabella's heart pounded.
Celeste was everything she wasn't. Wealthy. Polished. Belonging to his world in a way Isabella never would. What had happened between them? Why had they broken up?
And why did it suddenly feel like her stomach wasn't just flipping from morning sickness?
She jumped when Celeste reappeared.
The woman looked her over slowly, her gaze sharp as glass. "You're new."
Isabella stood. "Yes. Executive assistant."
"Of course you are." Celeste's eyes swept from Isabella's face to her flat abdomen and lingered. "You look a little… pale."
"I'm fine," Isabella replied coolly.
Celeste smiled—a slow, knowing expression. "Careful, darling. Working closely with Dominic can be… overwhelming. I know firsthand."
She turned without another word and disappeared down the hall.
Isabella sat back down, heart racing.
The door to Dominic's office opened again. He stepped out, adjusting his cufflinks like nothing had happened.
"She's persistent," he muttered.
Isabella didn't look up. "She seems… familiar."
He gave her a sharp glance, something flickering behind his eyes. "That's in the past."
"Is it?"
His jaw tightened. "What are you asking me, Miss Romano?"
She met his gaze. "Nothing. Sir."
They stared at each other for a beat too long. Tension shimmered in the air between them—thick, heavy, electric.
Then Dominic turned and disappeared into his office, slamming the door behind him.
And Isabella realized something terrifying.
She wasn't just hiding a secret anymore.
She was starting to care.