CHAPTER 2

ALEXANDER

I could still smell her on me.

Paint and lilacs and fear,a heady combination that clung to my suit despite the short walk from the Caldwell mansion to my waiting car. I loosened my tie as James slid into the seat beside me, the leather portfolio containing Winston Caldwell's damnation tucked neatly under his arm.

"That went well," he remarked dryly, signaling to the driver.

I didn't respond. My mind was still in that study, cataloging every detail of Isabella Caldwell's reaction. The flash of defiance in those wide amber eyes. The slight tremor in her full lower lip that she'd tried so hard to control. The way her fingers had curled into fists at her sides, paint-stained and delicate but somehow conveying a strength that surprised me.

She was nothing like I'd expected.

For six years, I'd studied her from a distance. Photos from gallery openings and charity events. Social media accounts that offered carefully curated glimpses into her life. Detailed reports from private investigators tracking her movements. I'd constructed a mental image of a pampered socialite,beautiful but vapid, trading on her family name and moderate artistic talent to move through Boston's elite circles.

The reality was... messier. Literally, with that paint splashed across the white dress that had seen better days. Her feet had been bare, for God's sake. No carefully applied makeup, no designer outfit, no practiced smile. Just raw, genuine shock and fury directed squarely at her father,and then at me.

"You're smiling," James observed, interrupting my thoughts. "That's concerning."

I wasn't aware that I had been. I schooled my features back into their customary mask of indifference. "The first phase is complete. That's all."

"And you're certain she'll agree to the terms?"

"She has no choice." I turned to look out the window as the car merged into Boston's late afternoon traffic. The financial district's gleaming towers reflected the sinking sun, glass and steel monuments to power and ambition. My power. My ambition. "Isabella Caldwell is many things, but from what I've observed, her most defining trait is loyalty to her family,misplaced though it may be."

"And if she surprises you?"

Something cold and vicious twisted in my chest. "Then Winston Caldwell will live long enough to see his wife's care terminated, his house sold from under him, and his daughter destitute." I turned back to James, who had been with me since the beginning of this vendetta. "But she won't refuse. The terms of the contract are clear. Marriage to me or complete destruction of everything she holds dear."

James nodded, his expression carefully neutral. As my chief counsel and the closest thing I had to a friend, he was one of the few people who knew the full extent of my history with Winston Caldwell. One of the few who understood exactly what I was owed.

"The board meeting is in thirty minutes," he reminded me. "Johnson is still pushing back on the Chen acquisition."

I welcomed the change of subject. Business was clean, simple. Unlike the complicated satisfaction I'd felt watching Winston Caldwell's world implode.

"Johnson's objections are noted and irrelevant," I replied. "The acquisition goes forward as planned."

The car slid to a stop in front of Blackwood Tower,fifty-eight floors of architectural dominance in the heart of Boston's financial district. The building itself was a statement: I am here, I am powerful, and I am permanent.

I stepped out, buttoning my jacket, already mentally shifting gears to the board meeting ahead. But as I walked through the gleaming lobby toward the private elevator, Isabella Caldwell's face hovered at the edges of my consciousness.

"I will never marry you."

Her voice had been steady when she'd said it, her chin raised in defiance despite the shock still evident in her eyes. It was the response I'd anticipated, of course. Expected. Perhaps even hoped for, because her resistance would make the victory all the sweeter.

So why did those words linger like an unfinished symphony?

The elevator doors closed silently behind me, and I pressed my palm against the biometric scanner. As the car began its smooth ascent to the executive floor, I caught my reflection in the polished steel: tailored suit, careful grooming, the cold eyes of a man who had spent half his life plotting a specific and meticulous revenge.

For a moment,just a moment,I allowed myself to remember. The late-night phone call. The rain-slicked roads. The clinical detachment of the police officer who'd informed me that my parents were dead. The years that followed, piecing together the truth about the "accident" that had orphaned me at sixteen.

The calm that settled over me was familiar and comforting. This wasn't about Isabella Caldwell. She was collateral damage in a war her father had started long ago. A means to an end.

The fact that she was beautiful, spirited, and clearly intelligent was irrelevant. The fact that touching her,even that brief contact when she'd swayed on her feet,had sent an unwelcome current of awareness through me was an inconvenience I would deal with.

The elevator doors opened onto the executive floor, where my assistant waited with the day's remaining schedule and a stack of documents requiring my attention.

"Mr. Blackwood," she said, falling into step beside me as I strode toward the boardroom. "The Chen representatives arrived early. They're in conference room B with the legal team. And Mr. Rothwell called again about the property in Cambridge."

I nodded, my mind already shifting fully to the business at hand. "Tell Rothwell his offer is still inadequate. Schedule a call for tomorrow morning,early, before he's had his coffee. He's more malleable when he's irritated."

"Yes, sir." She made a note on her tablet. "And will you be attending the Hendersons' gala on Friday?"

I paused at the entrance to the boardroom, where I could see my board members already assembled. Men and women who had learned through experience not to waste my time or challenge my decisions without ironclad reasoning.

"Cancel it," I said. "I'll be otherwise engaged."

By Friday, Isabella Caldwell would be Isabella Blackwood. The name change would be merely the first of many adjustments she would make as my wife.

My wife. The concept still felt foreign, despite the years I'd spent planning for this exact outcome. Marriage had never been part of my personal ambitions. Relationships required vulnerability, and vulnerability was weakness. I had eliminated such weaknesses from my life methodically, the same way I eliminated inefficiencies from my companies.

But marriage to Winston Caldwell's daughter was necessary. It was the only way to ensure he would suffer completely, watching his only child bound to the man he had orphaned. Watching her take my name. Perhaps even bear my children someday.

The thought sent an unexpected surge of heat through me, which I immediately suppressed. This marriage would be a business arrangement, nothing more. Physical attraction was an inconvenient biological response that could be managed like any other unwanted reaction.

"Sir?" My assistant was waiting for further instructions.

"Have legal prepare the necessary paperwork for a prenuptial agreement. Standard terms, with specific provisions for the Caldwell assets." I straightened my tie. "And contact that wedding planner we used for the Chen-Wilson merger celebration. I'll need her services by the end of the week."

"A wedding, sir?" Her carefully maintained professional demeanor slipped for just a moment, revealing genuine surprise.

"Yes." I opened the boardroom door, effectively ending the conversation. "A very private, very swift wedding."

The board members rose as I entered, conversations dying away as all attention shifted to me. This was the world I had built. Controlled. Predictable. Mine.

Yet as I took my place at the head of the table and began the meeting, part of my mind remained fixed on a paint-stained dress and defiant amber eyes.

Twenty-four hours. That was all that stood between me and the culmination of six years of planning.

Twenty-four hours until Isabella Caldwell surrendered to the inevitable.

And then Winston Caldwell would finally begin to understand the true meaning of loss.

I returned to my penthouse well after midnight.

The board meeting had stretched into dinner negotiations with the Chen family, followed by several hours of work in my office. By the time I dismissed my driver, the city had settled into the hushed quiet of early morning.

The penthouse occupied the top two floors of an exclusive building in Beacon Hill, offering panoramic views of the city and the Charles River beyond. I'd purchased it not for the prestige but for the privacy it afforded. No neighbors, no shared walls, no possibility of intrusion.

I shrugged off my jacket as I moved through the minimalist space. The interior designer had followed my instructions precisely: clean lines, neutral colors, nothing unnecessary or frivolous. The few pieces of art that adorned the walls were modern abstracts, valuable but emotionally inert.

I poured myself two fingers of scotch and carried it to the wall of windows overlooking the city. Boston sprawled before me, a constellation of lights against the darkness. Somewhere in that glittering expanse, Isabella Caldwell was making her decision.

But there was really no decision to make. She would agree to my terms because the alternative was unthinkable for someone like her. The question was not if, but how much resistance she would offer before surrendering.

The thought should have been merely satisfying,another piece of my revenge falling neatly into place. Instead, I found myself wondering about her reaction when she learned the full scope of why I'd orchestrated her family's downfall. Whether that fire in her eyes would extinguish when she understood what her father had done. Whether she would hate me more,or him.

I drained my scotch and set the glass aside, irritated by the direction of my thoughts. Isabella Caldwell's feelings were irrelevant. She was a means to an end. The final piece in a puzzle I'd been assembling since I was sixteen years old.

Moving to my home office, I opened my laptop and pulled up the latest surveillance report on the Caldwell mansion. The lights had been on in the study until just an hour ago. No one had entered or left the property since my visit.

I closed the report and opened a different file,one containing hundreds of photos of Isabella Caldwell taken over the past six years. Isabella at her college graduation. Isabella at gallery openings, her work displayed prominently. Isabella jogging along the Charles River, her face flushed with exertion. Isabella visiting her mother at Meadowbrook, her expression a mixture of determination and grief.

The most recent photos had been taken just a week ago: Isabella in her studio, visible through the large windows as she worked on the painting I'd seen unfinished today. Her concentration was absolute, her movement fluid as she applied paint to canvas. There was something almost intimate about these images, as if I'd glimpsed something not meant for public consumption.

I closed the file abruptly, uncomfortable with the direction of my thoughts.

This was business. A transaction. The fact that Isabella Caldwell was beautiful and talented was incidental to my purpose. The fact that something about her had gotten under my skin during our brief encounter was a complication I hadn't anticipated but could certainly control.

My phone vibrated with a text from James: Contract ready. Delivery 9 AM as instructed.

I confirmed the message and set the phone aside. Everything was proceeding according to plan. By this time tomorrow, Isabella Caldwell would be legally bound to me, and the real punishment of Winston Caldwell would begin.

Sleep eluded me that night, despite the lateness of the hour. I stood at the windows of my bedroom, watching as the city slowly came alive with the first light of dawn. In a few hours, I would have my answer,though I already knew what it would be.

Isabella Caldwell would choose the devil she didn't know over the destruction of everything she loved.

And I would finally have justice for the family that had been stolen from me.