Chapter 2: A Deal Sealed with a Kiss

The ball was everything Isabella loathed glittering chandeliers, diamonds around every wrist, gigeles that rang mockingly. All in their silks and gold, but underneath, it was all famine. Famine for power, for gossip, for the next scandal.

Alexander took her hand as they entered, not because he loved her but because he owned her. His grip was fierce, almost brutal, as if daring someone to not believe she was with him. Cameras clicked, capturing the ideal shot of the ideal couple. The ruse was flawless.

"Smile," he breathed into her ear, his voice a warning coated with silk.

She pressed her mouth into the smile she had seen her mother flash at social gatherings like this one smooth, expert, empty. Her gut twisted.

Near the middle of the evening, a stout older businessman came over, his eyes resting on Isabella longer than was proper before he said, "Mr. Knight, you never told me your wife was so beautiful."

Alexander's arm encircled her waist, drawing her close until the heat of his body pressed against her side. His jaw clenched. "She's off-limits," he stated in a smooth, even voice, but one that cut with the sharpness of a razor.

He stepped back, laughing, but Isabella could feel the pressure of Alexander's hand on her waist. Too long. Too firm. And if she had the courage to look up at him, she found his eyes had hers locked in a cold, unreadable, threatening gaze.

"What was that?" she gasped when the man had backed away.

His lips curled into the faintest smile, though it didn't reach his eyes. "Claiming what's mine."

Her breath hitched, anger fighting with something much more treacherous. "I am not yours, Alexander. This marriage is a bargain, not a vow."

He leaned in, his mouth against her ear, sending shivers she disliked herself for. "Then seal the bargain appropriately."

Before she could object, his lips were on hers.

It wasn’t tender. It wasn’t gentle. It was a command, a warning, and something darker a kiss that blurred the thin line between hate and desire.

When he pulled away, her pulse was racing, her knees weak. His eyes gleamed with quiet triumph.

“This marriage may have started as revenge,” he murmured, “but don’t forget, Isabella… every war has casualties.”

And there, gasping and shivering, Isabella realized that the greatest casualty of all might be her own heart.

The memory of the kiss lingered well after the gala. Isabella pushed it away, remembering it was nothing, another of his manipulations. Seated alone in the limousine's back, her heart betrayed her.

He had not touched her since. He sat beside her, leg draped over the other, fingers scrolling through his phone as if she was invisible.

"You didn't have to embarrass me like that," she growled, breaking the silence.

His eyes flashed up, as sharp as glass. "Embarrass you? That kiss salvaged your reputation. Do you have any idea how quickly this city would devour a weak, unclaimed wife?"

Her hands curled into fists in her lap. "I'm not weak."

Something flickered in his eyes something that almost looked like respect before it was gone. He returned to his phone.

The vehicle stopped before the mansion. Entering, Isabella noticed a photo on the hall table. It was not there before. A smiling young woman, her hand resting in Alexander's.

Isabella stopped dead in her tracks.

"Who is she?"

Alexander's jaw was clenched. "Do not touch that."

But she had. Her fingers ran over the frame, and the name inscribed on the silver blazed before her eyes.

Emily Carter.

The name was unspoken, but the way Alexander yanked the frame out of her hand said it all. This wasn't just a memory. This was a wound.

"Go to bed," he growled, his voice cold.

But Isabella couldn't now that she had caught a glimpse of the bare chasm in his armor. For the first time, she doubted that this marriage-of-revenge wasn't really about her father's sins.

Maybe Alexander Knight had secrets darker than his rage.

And maybe, if she dug hard enough, they would be her only arsenal.