That night, Isabella found herself in Alexander's study, the air thick with silence and the faint scent of his cologne.
A single lamp lit the room, casting golden light over the dark wood shelves lined with books, files, and a single half-empty glass of whiskey on his desk.
Alexander sat in the chair opposite her, jacket discarded, shirt sleeves rolled to his forearms. His grey eyes stayed fixed on her, sharp and unreadable.
"You did well today," he said finally, breaking the silence.
"They didn't see it coming. But…"
He leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers under his chin.
"Someone did."
Isabella's brow furrowed.
"You said there's someone else. Who?"
Alexander reached into a drawer, pulling out a slim folder. He slid it across the desk to her.
"Read."
She opened it — and her blood ran cold.
Inside were photographs of meetings she hadn't known about. Emilia and Daniel sitting across from a third figure in shadow. Documents signed with an unfamiliar name.
But what caught her attention was the last photo.
Her father.
Sitting with the same figure. Shaking his hand.
Isabella stared at it, her fingers tightening on the page.
"My father…" she whispered.
Alexander's gaze never left her.
"Your father has been playing both sides from the beginning. He let Emilia and Daniel think they were in control while he moved the real pieces behind the scenes. And whoever he's working with… they're bigger than you think."
Her stomach churned, but she forced herself to breathe evenly.
"So… it's not just them I need to destroy."
His lips curved slightly — something that wasn't quite amusement.
"No," he said softly.
"It never was."
Isabella leaned back in her chair, staring down at the photo.
Her father's face stared back at her, calm and calculating — and suddenly, she understood.
He had never intended for her to win.
Not then. Not now.
"Good," she murmured, almost to herself.
"If he wants to play… I'll play."
Alexander's eyebrow arched, and for the first time tonight, a faint smirk tugged at his lips.
"There it is," he murmured.
"That fire. I was starting to think you'd lost it."
She shot him a cold look, though her pulse quickened under his gaze.
"I don't lose," she said.
"Not anymore."
Their eyes locked — something unspoken passing between them — until a sharp knock at the door broke the moment.
Alexander's expression darkened instantly.
"What?" he barked.
One of his men entered, looking tense.
"Sir. You need to see this."
He handed Alexander a tablet.
Alexander's eyes flicked over the screen, and for the first time, something like surprise crossed his face.
Then he handed the tablet to Isabella without a word.
She looked down — and her heart dropped.
On the screen was a live feed of her father's office.
And sitting there, smiling like a predator, was a woman she had never seen before.
But somehow, Isabella knew instinctively — this was the real enemy.
The woman leaned toward the camera, as though she knew they were watching, and whispered something the microphone barely caught:
"Come find me, Isabella. If you dare."
The screen went black.
Isabella slowly set the tablet down, her jaw tightening.
Alexander watched her, his eyes gleaming with something between warning and admiration.
"So," he murmured, leaning back in his chair.
"What's your move now?"
She lifted her chin, her lips curling into a slow, dangerous smile.
"I find her," she said softly.
"And I finish what they started."