Alexander's>>>>>>>
Alexander Cross didn't miss details. Not in contracts. Not in people. Not in my businesses .And especially not when it come to Isabella Reyes.
From the back seat of my Bentley, I had watched as the driver eased her to the curb. She was pale, trembling, still wearing the clothes from the night before. I had expected her to stagger inside alone. Instead, a man had rushed from the building's entrance, pulling her into a hug so fierce it made my jaw clench.
The driver glanced into the rearview mirror nervously. "Sir?"
My gaze stayed locked on the pair outside. Isabella's head bowed into the man's chest, her fingers clinging to his shirt. The image burned hotter than it should have.
"Find out who he is," I said quietly, his voice like steel under silk. "Everything. His name, his history, his blood type if necessary. No one touches what belongs to me."
The driver swallowed hard and nodded. "Yes, sir."
Only then did I lean back, though the image didn't leave my head . I hated the sting it lit in my chest. It was easier to shift the burn into anger, easier to remind himself of why Isabella had to suffer.
Hours later, in the sanctuary of my penthouse office, i stood before the window, my reflection cast against the skyline. My lawyer droned on about filings and deadlines, but my mind was elsewhere.
She looked like her mother. Too much like her mother.
When her eyes had lifted to mine, frightened and defiant in the same breath, it was as though I was staring into the past. The past that had gutted my family, ruined my name, killed my mother. I curled my fist at his side, forcing the memories back into their cage
"She doesn't know yet," the lawyer said, sliding a stack of papers across the desk. "But she will. Her accounts are frozen as of this morning. The apartment—yours now. She has six days to decide."
I signed the last page with deliberate strokes. "Good. Fear is more effective than force. Let her taste the walls closing in."
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>.
Isabella>>>>>>>
The next morning, I shuffled to my front door, still wrapped in the oversized sweater Ian had thrown over my shoulders the night before. The world felt muffled, my body heavy, my grief and exhaustion sinking deeper with every breath.
A crisp envelope sat on my doormat. No postage. No return address. Just my name in black ink that slanted like a blade.
My stomach sank.
Inside, the words were clinical, merciless:
Notice of Debt Transfer. Effective immediately, all accounts associated with Isabella Reyes are frozen. Property located at 1032 Ashby Avenue is under the ownership of Cross Enterprises. You have six days to reach settlement or vacate.
At the bottom, his signature sprawled bold and cruel.
Alexander Cross.
My fingers trembled. The paper slipped from my hands, landing in my lap like a verdict. Six days. Six days to decide whether I chained myself to him—or watched the last pieces of my life stripped away.
I pressed my palms to my my eyes, a sound clawing up my throat. A sob or a scream, I couldn't tell. All I knew was that the cage had already closed, and Alexander Cross was holding the key.