Chapter 6

YSABELLE

The sun was almost completely hidden by those towering skyscrapers when I arrived in New York. I let out a deep breath as I descended the stairs from my biological father's private airplane.

I left the US five years ago, but I'm returning today because my father urged me to. I need to close a deal with a Russian in a US state. In order to avoid running into the people I vowed never to see again, I have to close the deal in one swift.

Five years.

Even though five years had passed, the pain was still lingering inside of me when I felt the breeze of New York.

Enough, Ysabelle! Give up dwelling on the past! I chastised myself.

This is what I hate the most about coming back here but I don't have any choice because of my father. I need to get over this as early as I can.

On the day when I was divorced, my real parents showed up. After receiving a billion dollars from my biological parents, my adopted mother must be living a happy life now and left unnoticed.

I'm now Ysabelle Cortez. My deceased mother added her name to mine. Cancer took her life two years ago. She is far more compassionate than my adopted mother.

All of a sudden, I missed her cozy embrace.

In Europe, the Cortez dynasty was well-known for running several prosperous businesses. The Cortez Clan ranked second among the world's most powerful individuals. My father wants me to follow their lead. They trained me so well that they almost choked me with their rules and regulations as a Cortez.

The pain persisted despite the fact that my life had changed.

I inhaled deeply before leaving the airport and boarding the car that my secretary had arranged for us. We will spend the night at the nearby hotel before I meet with a Russian tomorrow. Hopefully, I could close the deal with a clean slate.

I leaned on the seat and was about to close my eyes, but something caught my attention outside the car.

Anger and pain surged through me.

An enormous billboard features Ronan Volkov, who was regarded as the world's most powerful individual.

Yes, he's the first in line as the most respected in the business world, with my family coming in second.

I scoffed at his face as it was projected on the massive TV in the middle of New York.

Do they know he's also a jerk?

I don't want to return to the US for this reason. His expression was disorganized, and every time I look at his deep blue eyes, I can't help but feel resentment.

I shut my eyes and put on my sunglasses.

The pain was back and I should either mask it with a fake smile or hide it with sunglasses.

“Let's meet Mr. Ivanov right now,” I said to my secretary.

“But our meeting time is tomorrow.”

“Call his secretary for the location.”

“Ms. Cortez–”

I violently took off my sunglasses and glared at him. “Just do it, Paul.”

With a sigh, he nodded and got his phone.

The advantage I have in my position is that no one can reject the Cortez Group.

After a few minutes, Paul steered the car back into our route and made our way to where Mr. Ivanov must be.

The car stopped in front of a five-star hotel shortly after that. A Russian standing in the doorway greeted us in a suit. He introduced himself as Mr. Ivanov’s secretary. Then, he led us inside his hotel room.

My expensive stilettos echoed on the marble floor as we made our way to the elevator. Everything in the elevator was a mirror. I can see my reflection everywhere. My soulless eyes flit to and forth across my reflection.

Luckily, I wore a well-mannered dress and just grabbed some coat from my luggage to finish the corporate attire for the sudden meeting.

The elevator door opened on the fifth floor. We entered a VIP room and were greeted by Mr. Ivanov himself.

“Ms. Cortez! Rad poznakomit'sya s vami!”

(Ms. Cortez! Glad to meet you!)

He was about to hug me but I stepped back and offered my hand for a handshake. We're not close enough for a warm embrace. I don't like skinship.

Even though I could see his smile faded, he still took my hand and kissed it. My jaw clenched at his behavior and I immediately took my hand away from his. I know that's their formal way of greeting women, but I hate it.

He guided me into the living. A bed on the right was left open and a long table with chairs was visible in the opposite direction. It resembles the conference room of my father's conference room in our house in Italy.

My gaze, however, was drawn to the figure on the lengthy table.

What the f*ck!

My hand curled into a fist as I stared at a man wearing a business suit. A cold and emotionless was still painted through his ocean blue eyes, shooting into mine.

Long time to see… Ronan Volkov.