After the man stepped into the elevator and vanished, Isabella stayed frozen for several moments. The scent he left behind—citrus and smoke—still clung to the air like an invisible fingerprint.
She forced herself to focus. To breathe.
Damian hadn’t called her in. No one on the floor looked alarmed. Life at Jaxon Corp was moving like a well-oiled machine. Maybe that was what scared her the most was how easily a threat could slip in and out of such a place without anyone blinking.
She turned back to her screen, heart pounding against her ribs. Her fingers hovered above the keyboard as she reviewed the updated call logs, the investor summaries Damian had forwarded, the legal brief she was supposed to revise by noon. It all felt pointless now. Fragile.
But she worked anyway.
By 11:50, she needed air.
She slipped out of the executive floor and rode the elevator down to the twelfth, where the Jaxon Café buzzed quietly. She ordered a coffee she wouldn’t finish and a sandwich she wouldn’t touch. Her eyes scanned every face in the room, every corner, every exit.
She couldn’t tell if she was paranoid or if she’d simply spent too many years running to trust stillness.
In the restroom, she splashed cold water on her face and stared at her reflection. Her eyes were too wide. Her lips too pale. This wasn’t the version of herself she wanted to be. Not here. Not now.
She pressed her fingers to her temples and whispered, “You’re okay. You’re okay. Just breathe.”
But it was a lie.
She wasn’t okay.
She wasn’t even close.
⸻
When Isabella returned to the executive floor, her entire body stiffened.
Something had changed.
Her desk looked the same… almost.
Until she saw it.
A folded piece of paper.
Resting in the exact center of her keyboard—clean, deliberate, threatening in its simplicity.
Her hands went cold.
She hadn’t left anything there.
No one should’ve been near her desk.
And yet…
With slow, careful fingers, she picked it up. Unfolded it.
The handwriting was sharp and slanted.
“Martinez.”
Her real last name.
The one she hadn’t used since fleeing Russia. The one tied to the man whose enemies wanted her gone. The one that hadn’t crossed her lips in nearly a year.
And underneath it:
“Do you really think he can protect you?”
She nearly dropped it.
Someone was toying with her.
They weren’t trying to hurt her.
Not yet.
They were letting her know they could.
She looked up, her gaze sweeping the floor. Every coworker seemed glued to their screens. No one looked up. No one smiled. No one acknowledged her.
It was like she was already invisible.
But someone had seen her.
Had gotten close enough to touch her world without leaving a trace.
She folded the note and shoved it deep into her pocket. Her hands trembled as she sat. The air around her felt too tight, like it was pressing in on her lungs.
What did they want?
Why now?
And more importantly—how had they found her here?
Inside his office, Damian felt the air shift.
He looked up, already moving toward the door before he even knew why.
Isabella wasn’t at her desk.
“Where is she?” he snapped at the floor manager.
“I—I think she went to the restroom, sir—”
He didn’t wait. He pushed into the hallway, glancing sharply around. His gut burned with something ugly.
And then he saw her.
Leaning against the wall by the window. Pale. Breathless.
Like someone had punched the air out of her.
He stepped in front of her, grabbed her wrists gently, and spoke low.
“What happened?”
She shook her head. “It’s nothing.”
“Don’t lie to me,” he said again, sharper this time.
What did he leave this time?”
Her brows furrowed. “What—?”
“I know someone left something. I watched the camera feed. Your desk was clean. You left. When you came back, there was a note. Don’t insult my intelligence.”
She looked down.
“Give it to me.”
With trembling hands, she pulled the paper from her pocket and handed it over.
He read it in one glance. His face didn’t change—but the energy in the room snapped like a live wire.
He crushed the paper in his fist.
“He used your real name.”
She nodded.
“I didn’t use it on anything here. I gave my mother’s name. Volkov.”
“You think that matters now?” he asked sharply.
She flinched.
He inhaled through his nose. “Who is after you, Isabella?”
“I don’t know.”
He took a step forward.
“Don’t lie to me.”
“I’m not lying,” she whispered. “I don’t know who exactly. It could be any of my father’s enemies. He made a lot of them before he died. And when he did… they came for us.”
“Us?”
She hesitated. “My mother. And me.”
He stared at her for a long time. “How did you escape?”
“I ran. I crossed borders. I changed my name. I erased myself.”
“But someone found you.”
Her voice cracked. “Yes.”
He moved closer.
“You’re not safe.”
“I know.”
“You can’t stay in that apartment.”
“I—”
“You’re staying with me.”
Her eyes widened. “Damian, that’s not—”
“You’re staying in my penthouse until I find out who’s behind this.”
Her voice dropped. “You don’t have to do that.”
“I do.”
“Why?”
His eyes bore into hers.
“Because they think they can take you,” he said quietly. “And I want them to understand something.”
Her pulse fluttered. “What?”
“That you belong to me.”
They left the building at six.
The car ride was silent.
Isabella sat on the far end of the black leather seat, her hands folded in her lap, her shoulders tense.
Damian didn’t speak. He didn’t need to.
The silence between them said everything.
She didn’t know what scared her more:
The man from Russia…
Or the man beside her, who’d just crossed a line he’d never intended to
And when they arrived at Knight Tower, and the private elevator opened into a penthouse larger than any place she’d ever lived, she forgot how to breathe.
Marble floors.
Floor-to-ceiling windows.
Furniture that looked like it belonged in a design museum.
And him—watching her as if he was waiting for her to break.
“This is temporary,” she said under her breath.
He stepped past her and keyed in a code on the hallway panel.
“I know,” he said. “But while you’re here…”
He turned.
“You’re safe.”
She didn’t feel safe.
She felt… claimed.
And when he handed her a keycard and walked away without another word, she stood there, alone in a space that didn’t feel like a home.
It felt like a test.
A golden cage.
This wasn’t protection.
This was possession.
And she had no idea which one she needed more.
The city stretched beneath them like a galaxy of lights, Manhattan alive with its endless pulse. From the balcony of their penthouse, the night air carried a soft breeze, warm against Isabella’s skin. She leaned into the railing, her hand drifting instinctively to the gentle curve of her belly. The glow of the skyline seemed to mirror the quiet radiance within her, as if the universe itself was bowing to the life that was growing inside her.Behind her, Damian stepped out. His presence filled the space before he even spoke, that silent command he carried everywhere he went, but tonight there was something different. The edges of his dominance had been tempered by something richer, something deeper, as though the hard lines of the man had been softened by the very love he once believed he was unworthy of.He slipped his arms around her waist, pulling her back into the steel warmth of his chest. His hand covered hers, protective and sure, resting where their child grew. The simple gestu
The applause from her speech still echoed in Isabella’s mind hours later as she sat in the quiet warmth of the penthouse. She hadn’t stopped smiling all evening. Damian had wrapped her in his arms after the gala, murmuring words of pride against her hair, and for once she truly believed she belonged in the world he had given her.The city glowed outside the floor to ceiling windows, skyscrapers shimmering like a galaxy of stars scattered across the earth. Cars below moved in glittering streams of red and white, the city alive, but in their home there was a cocoon of stillness. The penthouse felt like another world entirely, a world where she could breathe freely.Yet even here, the gnawing sensation in her stomach refused to let go. The dizziness. The waves of nausea she had been dismissing as nerves. The way her body felt both exhausted and alive at once. It all made too much sense, and the truth pressed closer with each passing breath.Her reflection in the mirror earlier had startl
The ballroom shimmered with light. Crystal chandeliers hung above rows of tables filled with reporters, philanthropists, and officials. Cameras clicked endlessly, their lenses drinking in every second. The air itself seemed charged, every breath heavy with expectation, every whispered conversation drowned out by the echo of what was about to unfold.At the center of the stage stood Isabella knight.Her palms were damp against the wooden podium, and she could feel her heart beating against her ribs as though it wanted to escape. She almost swayed under the weight of so many eyes upon her, but she didn’t retreat. Retreat was the one thing she had promised herself she would never do again. For weeks she had dreamed of this moment, and for years she had been silenced by fear, shame, and the poisonous whispers of others. Tonight, that ended.Damian sat in the front row, his shoulders broad and imposing, his presence like a mountain no one dared climb. He had been her shield in private batt
The boardroom was silent, but not with peace. It was the kind of silence that had weight, pressing against the chest, filling the lungs with unease. The tall windows behind Damian knight spilled morning light across polished oak and glass, yet the brightness only seemed to highlight the uncertainty in the air. Rows of executives sat in their high backed chairs, some leaning forward with carefully veiled interest, others reclined with arms crossed, their faces schooled into polite blankness. They had followed Damian for years. They had obeyed his every directive, carried out his vision with unquestioned loyalty.But this morning, they waited for something different.Damian rose first. His chair slid back with the sound of leather against stone flooring. Every pair of eyes tracked his movement. He was a man who rarely wasted words, and when he spoke, the world listened. That was the way of Damian knight. Yet today, he did not stand alone.Isabella rose with him.It was not a small gestu
The ink on her inheritance papers was barely dry, yet Isabella’s thoughts were already far from wealth. The lawyer’s words still echoed faintly in her ears, but she was no longer listening to numbers or percentages. Wealth had once been something distant, almost abstract, belonging to other people. Now it sat heavily in her hands, yet her mind wandered elsewhere, toward memories of cold nights, trembling hands, and a girl who had once felt invisible in the vast world.She sat at the long oak table in Damian’s office, blueprints spread before her like a sea of possibilities. The smell of parchment and ink filled the air, mingling with the faint scent of the fire burning in the hearth. Buildings. Walls. Empty spaces waiting for purpose. Accounts with numbers that once felt untouchable, now hers to direct with a single word, a single decision. For the first time, the power did not frighten her, it filled her with determination.“I don’t want palaces,” she said firmly, her voice carrying
The lawyer’s office smelled faintly of polished wood and old paper, the kind of place where legacies were written and rewritten. The scent was not merely from furniture polish or the brittle pages of case files, but from generations of decisions and battles that had been fought within these walls. Every shelf lined with law books seemed to whisper of fortunes defended, of empires crumbling, of heirs who walked in defeated or triumphant. The heavy curtains filtered the afternoon sunlight into soft amber, painting the room with an air of solemn reverence. Isabella could almost imagine her father sitting here once, long before betrayal touched their lives, discussing estates and future plans with that same calm determination he had always carried. The thought pressed into her chest, bittersweet and sharp.Isabella sat between Damian and Eleanor, her palms pressed flat against the table as the final document was slid toward her. The cool surface beneath her fingers grounded her, though he