Theotherdoor.
The one that leads to her suite. The one she wasn’t supposed to know about. I told the staff not to mention it. Told myself I’d never use it.
I stare at the panel for a beat.
Then I cross the room and flip the lock.
The door swings open—
And there she is.
Bella.
No,Isabella. But not how she looked in the office. Not how she looked in that dress I tore off her hours ago. Not polished, not composed.
Barefoot. Shoulders tense. Hair loose around her face like she didn’t bother brushing it after the shower. And the gown—
The one I picked.
Black silk, low at the back, thin where it matters. It clings to her curves, drapes down her thighs like it was poured on, but stops just short of soft. There’s a slit up one side, enough to flash skin when she walks. Expensive. Tailored. Intentionally indecent.
She crosses her arms, but that doesn’t hide the way the neckline dips. No bra. No effort to pretend this is innocent.
Her eyes narrow. Jaw tight. Lips parted like she’s still deciding whether to yell or stab me.
“We need to talk.”
I step closer, crowding her, jaw tight. Her scent—clean, warm, her—hits like a fist, and my hands itch to grab, to pull, but I hold back, barely.
“You got a problem, Isabella?” I say like I don’t care. I do. Too much. Her glare doesn’t waver, but her breath catches, quick, and I see it—the flush on her neck, the way the silk shifts when she moves, daring me to snap.
“Yeah,” she says, stepping in, bold, stupid.
“You don’t get to order me like a dog.”
She’s close now—tooclose—standing in the center of my room like she owns the air in it. Her chin tilts up, jaw sharp, but she’s a head shorter. Her face levels with my chest, and I feel every breath she takes—tight, pissed off, unapologetic.
“You want this to be a job?” she snaps. “Fine. I know the terms. I know what I signed. One year. Appearances. Shut up and smile. Spread my legs and don’t ask questions—got it.”
My jaw clenches.
She keeps going. “But I’m not going to play mute just because you’re used to barking orders and watching everyone fall in linelike good little soldiers. That might work with your men, but I’m not yours.”
Her chest rises fast, lips tight. I catch the flicker of emotion in her eyes—something sharp, personal. Hurt, maybe. Resentment, definitely.
“And for the record?” She jabs a finger toward the phone still sitting on the bed behind me. “I don’t need your fancy car. Betsy is fine.”
I blink. “Betsy?”
Her glare sharpens. “My car. The Neon.”
“You named it?”
“Whatever.” She waves it off like I’m the ridiculous one. “Point is, you don’t get to treat me like I’m disposable. Even if you think I am.”
I don’t speak.
I don’t move.
