Chapter 3

​Isabella POV

​I do not sleep. I spend the night staring at the red dress hanging in the closet. It is a crimson shadow watching me.

​How does Liam know?

​I have been careful. I burned my passport. I hacked my own digital footprint into a mess of dead links and corrupted files. I am wearing a thrift-store blazer and glasses that give me a headache.

​Yet, when Liam looks at me, he doesn't see a clumsy intern. He looks through the layers of "Bella Smith" as if they are made of glass.

​I reach for my burner phone. I check the news one last time. My father has doubled the reward. Julian is quoted in a tabloid saying he is "devastated by the loss of his soulmate."

​I almost throw the phone against the marble wall. Devastated? He was picking out jewelry for his mistress while I was still in the building.

​I realize then why Liam knows. It isn't just the math. It is the anger. A girl from a community college would be grateful for this job. She would be subservient. But I look at Liam with the eyes of an equal. I look at the world with the bitterness of someone who has lost an empire.

​I am not hiding my spirit. I am only hiding my name.

​6:00 AM

​The Sterling Tech lobby is a cathedral of glass and ego. I arrive early, my "Bella" mask firmly in place. My hair is frizzy. My skin is pale. I look like I haven't slept in a week—which is true.

​Felix is waiting for me. He looks like he’s swallowed a lemon.

​"The Boss wants the Miller Tech audit on his desk by noon," Felix says, shoving a tablet into my hands. "And don't mess it up. Julian Miller is coming in for a final pitch today. If the numbers are off, Liam will have your head."

​My blood turns to ice. Julian is coming here?

​"I can't," I whisper. "I mean... I have filing to do."

​"You have an audit to do," Felix snaps. "Office. Now."

​I hide in my cubicle. It is a tiny square of grey fabric in a sea of high-performance workstations. I open the Miller Tech files.

​Julian’s company is a hollow shell. I see it instantly. He has been padding his user growth numbers with bot accounts. He is bleeding cash into "consulting firms" that are actually shell companies for his own offshore accounts.

​He is stealing from his investors to pay for that mistress's silver dress.

​I feel a surge of cold, analytical power. He thinks I am a calculator? Fine. I will calculate his ruin.

​I begin to work. I don't just audit the files; I dissect them. I create a heat map of his fraud. I weave a trap out of spreadsheets.

​"You're doing it again."

​I jump. Liam is standing over me. He isn't wearing a suit today. He wears a black sweater, sleeves pushed up to reveal forearms that look like they were carved from granite.

​"Doing what, sir?" I pull my glasses up my nose.

​"Typing at 100 words per minute while cross-referencing three different databases without a mouse." He leans down, his hand resting on the back of my chair. "Most interns are still figuring out how to log into the server, Bella."

​"I... I took a coding class," I lie.

​Liam’s eyes fix on the screen. He sees the heat map. He sees the fraud I’ve uncovered. He stays silent for a long time. The tension between us is a physical weight.

​"Julian Miller is in the conference room," Liam says. His voice is a low vibration. "He thinks I’m going to sign a fifty-million-dollar check. Go in there. Set up the presentation."

​"No." The word escapes before I can stop it.

​Liam’s grip on the chair tightens. "Pardon?"

​"I... I’m not dressed for a meeting with a client," I stammer. "I’m just an assistant."

​"You are my assistant," Liam says. He reaches out and tilts my head up. His thumb brushes my jaw. "And I want you in that room. I want to see how you handle a man like Julian."

​He knows. He’s pushing me into the fire to see if I’ll burn.

​The Conference Room

​The glass walls are soundproof. Julian is sitting at the long oak table, looking smug. He is wearing a custom-tailored suit and a smile that makes me want to scream.

​I walk in behind Liam. I keep my head down. I move to the corner to set up the projector.

​"Liam, my friend!" Julian stands up, his hand extended. "Glad we could finally close this. Miller Tech is the future."

​Liam doesn't take his hand. He sits at the head of the table. "My assistant has some concerns about your growth metrics, Julian."

​Julian’s smile falters. He looks at me. I am a shadow in the corner. A girl with messy hair and a cheap blazer. He scoffs.

​"Your assistant? Liam, don't tell me you're letting the help dictate your investments."

​"She’s very good with numbers," Liam says. He looks at me. "Bella, show him the heat map."

​My hands shake as I hit the key. The projector hums. The screen fills with red.

​"What is this?" Julian asks, his voice rising. "This is nonsense. My growth is organic."

​"It’s bot traffic, Mr. Miller," I say. I keep my voice low, slightly muffled. "And these consulting fees on page forty-two? They match the bank routing numbers for a villa in the Caymans."

​Julian freezes. He stares at the screen. Then he stares at me.

​I feel his gaze. It is predatory. He squinted. He moves closer to me.

​"Who are you?" he whispers.

​"Her name is Bella," Liam says, his voice like a warning shot.

​Julian ignores him. He walks toward me. I step back, but I hit the wall. He is inches away. He smells of the cologne I used to buy him.

​"You have a very familiar way of speaking," Julian says. He reaches for my glasses. "And you have a very familiar way of looking at me. Like you want to kill me."

​"I just want the audit to be accurate," I say, my heart hammering against my ribs.

​Julian’s hand is inches from my face.

​"Isabella?" he whispers.

​The room is silent. I see Liam’s reflection in the glass. He isn't moving. He is watching. He is waiting for me to break.

​"Isabella is missing, Mr. Miller," I say, meeting his eyes with a coldness that surprises even me. "I am just the girl telling you that your company is worth zero dollars."

​Julian flinches as if I’d slapped him. The insult to his wallet hurts more than the loss of his fiancée.

​"Get out," Liam says.

​"Liam, she’s lying—"

​"Get. Out."

​Julian grabs his briefcase. He glares at me one last time—a look of pure, unadulterated hatred. He storms out of the room.

​The door clicks shut.

​I collapse into a chair. I am shaking. My pride is the only thing keeping me upright.

​"You did well," Liam says. He is standing by the window, looking out at the city.

​"Why did you do that? You almost gave me away."

​"I wanted to see if you would run," Liam says. He turns around. He is holding a small velvet box. "But you didn't. You stood your ground."

​He walks over to me. He opens the box.

​Inside is a sapphire. Not the one from the gala. This one is larger. Darker. It looks like a drop of the deep ocean.

​"This belonged to my mother," Liam says. "The Vanes took her company. They took her life. I spent ten years getting this back."

​He reaches out and pulls the gold chain from my neck—the one he gave me last night. He replaces it with the sapphire.

​The stone is cold against my skin.

​"How do you know?" I whisper. "How did you really know it was me?"

​Liam leans in. He is so close I can feel his breath. He doesn't look at the sapphire. He looks into my eyes.

​"Because Isabella Vane never hides her anger," he whispers. "And because I was the one who took the photo of you on the terrace last night. I didn't just see you, Isabella. I’ve been following you since the moment you left your penthouse."

​My heart stops. He didn't find me by accident. He hunted me.

​"Why?"

​"Because I needed a Vane to destroy the Vanes," he says.

​Suddenly, the office door bursts open. Felix is white as a sheet.

​"Liam! The police are downstairs! They have a warrant!"

​"For what?" Liam snaps.

​"Kidnapping," Felix gasps. "Julian Miller just filed a report. He says he has proof you are holding Isabella Vane against her will."

​Liam looks at me. A dark, twisted smile plays on his lips.

​"Well, Isabella," he says. "It looks like our 'nothing' is about to become national news. Are you ready to be a victim, or are you ready to be a queen?"

​Outside, the sirens begin to wail.