Sleep was impossible. Isabella sat on the edge of the couch, her knees drawn to her chest as the city lights bled through the curtains. The phone lay silent on the table, a weapon that had already destroyed her peace with a single call.
Alexander.
The name throbbed in her head like a wound that never healed. His voice had been so calm, so devastatingly sure. I know where you are.
How? How did he find her? She'd been careful—different name on the lease, no social media, a burner phone. She'd built her life on caution. And yet, one call and the fortress she'd spent five years building crumbled like sand.
Her gaze drifted to the small bedroom where Liam slept, his tiny form curled under the blanket, oblivious to the storm outside. A lump rose in her throat. If Alexander ever discovered the truth… No. She couldn't let that happen.
Her mind raced with options—pack up and leave before dawn, vanish again, start over somewhere no one knew her name. But she had no money, no plan, and her mother's life depended on the doctors here.
Isabella buried her face in her hands. She had thought she could outrun the past. She had been wrong.
The first knock came just after sunrise.
Soft. Almost polite. But it ripped through her like a gunshot.
Isabella froze. Maybe it was the landlord. Maybe a neighbor. Maybe—
The second knock was harder, deliberate.
Her breath hitched. Slowly, she stood, her legs trembling as she crept toward the door. The peephole offered a distorted view, but the moment she saw him, the air left her lungs.
Alexander Knight.
Time hadn't softened him—it had sharpened him, carved him into something even more dangerous. His tall frame filled the narrow hallway, broad shoulders straining against a tailored black suit that screamed power. His hair was darker than she remembered, his jaw dusted with the kind of stubble that made women's knees buckle. And those eyes—cold, obsidian depths that pinned her like a butterfly to glass.
The devil himself had come to her door.
The third knock jolted her back. "Isabella," his voice drawled through the wood, lazy yet lethal. "Open the door."
Her pulse roared in her ears. For one wild moment, she considered not answering. Pretending she wasn't here. But Alexander Knight wasn't a man you could ignore. He would tear down the door, the building, the entire city if that's what it took.
With trembling fingers, she unlatched the lock. The door swung open, and there he was—six feet of sin wrapped in Armani, looking at her like she was both a crime and a prize.
"Hello, wife," he murmured.
The word sliced her open. Her throat tightened. "Don't—"
"Don't what?" He stepped inside without invitation, his cologne invading the small apartment, intoxicating and suffocating at once. He closed the door with a soft click, a sound far more terrifying than a slam.
She backed away, her spine hitting the wall as he advanced. Every step he took was slow, deliberate, predatory.
"Five years," he said, voice like silk over steel. "Five years, Isabella. I searched every corner of the earth for you. Do you have any idea what that felt like?"
Her hands curled into fists. "You didn't need to look. We were over the night we married."
His jaw ticked. "Funny. I don't remember signing any divorce papers."
Her breath caught. Damn him. "Alexander—"
"Save it." He prowled closer, his gaze sweeping the room like a storm, cataloging everything. His eyes lingered on the second-hand furniture, the peeling wallpaper. Disgust flickered across his face. "This is what you left me for? A rat hole?"
Her cheeks burned. "My life is none of your business."
His lips curved, but it wasn't a smile. It was a warning. "Everything about you is my business. You're mine, Isabella. You were mine then, and you're mine now."
She swallowed hard, nails digging into her palms. "You don't own me."
He tilted his head, studying her like a puzzle. Then his gaze shifted—to a mug on the table. A small, chipped mug with a cartoon dinosaur printed on it.
Isabella's stomach dropped.
Alexander picked it up, turning it slowly in his hands. His voice was soft, but the edge beneath it could cut steel. "Cute." His eyes lifted, black and burning. "Who's it for?"
Her throat closed. Words tangled and died.
He stepped closer, close enough that his breath brushed her skin, his presence overwhelming. "Isabella," he murmured, and this time his voice wasn't lazy. It was lethal. "What else have you been hiding from me?"
Her heart thundered. One wrong word, one slip, and everything would shatter.
Before she could answer, he leaned in, his lips grazing her ear, his whisper a promise and a threat.
"Run if you want, little wife. Hide. But I will find you. And when I do, I'm never letting you go again."
The mug slipped from his fingers, hitting the floor with a soft thud. The sound echoed like a gunshot in the silence.
And then—he smiled. A slow, dark curve that chilled her to the bone.
"See you soon."
He walked out without another word, leaving her trembling against the wall, her pulse a wild drumbeat of fear.
Isabella slid to the floor, her breath coming in shallow gasps. Her gaze fell on the broken mug, on the cartoon dinosaur staring back at her like an omen.
He knew.
Maybe not everything. Not yet. But he would.
And when Alexander Knight wanted something, nothing—not even God—could stop him.