The silence between them felt like glass—shimmering, delicate, and seconds away from shattering.
Alexander hadn't moved since Isabella walked out of his office with her calm mask hiding what he knew had to be shock. He stood there, still as stone, hands clenched at his sides, staring at the closed door as though willing her to come back, to yell, to curse him—anything that would've been easier than her composed silence.
But she hadn't. She had left with her head high and her eyes unreadable.
And that terrified him.
He ran a hand down his face, cursing beneath his breath. For a man who ruled boardrooms and built empires, he felt completely powerless—for the first time in years. He had always believed that hiding his past would protect him. But now, the truth was hanging between them like a loaded gun. And Isabella Harper wasn't the kind of woman who'd pretend it didn't exist.
Alexander poured himself a glass of whiskey, the amber liquid swirling like the chaos in his chest. He brought it to his lips, but it did nothing to drown the ache that bloomed in his throat.
Across town…
Isabella sat in her living room, wrapped in a blanket but still freezing from the inside out. Her mind replayed the file she had seen—the one she hadn't even asked to discover. It had landed in her lap like fate itself had decided to test her heart.
The name of Alexander's mother.
The criminal case buried under layers of legal dust.
The bruises he never talked about.
The boy who had survived hell and built an empire from it.
She hadn't known.
She'd been angry—furious, even—when she found the file. She had assumed manipulation, thought he was playing her again. But the truth? It had gutted her. Because it wasn't just about the business anymore. It was never just business.
She saw him now.
Not just the cold CEO who ruled boardrooms with ice in his veins—but the boy who had once been broken and rebuilt himself into something untouchable.
But no one is truly untouchable.
Her phone buzzed.
Alexander Knight.
She stared at the screen, her heart slamming against her ribs. She let it ring. Once. Twice. Then silence.
A minute later, a message.
You weren't supposed to see that.
But you did. So I won't pretend.
Dinner. My place. No games.
Tonight. 8 p.m.
She blinked.
Was this another chess move? Or was this the man behind the mask reaching out, finally?
She didn't text back. Instead, she looked out the window, the city lights below her glowing like stars. And somewhere in that sea of glass and steel, a man waited for her—not as a CEO, not as a deal, but as something raw and real.
8:00 p.m.
The elevator opened into a sleek, dark penthouse with floor-to-ceiling windows and a view that could steal breath. But Isabella barely noticed it.
Alexander stood by the kitchen island, sleeves rolled up, shirt unbuttoned at the collar. No jacket. No armor.
Just him.
"Thanks for coming," he said, his voice softer than she had ever heard it. Vulnerable. And it made her ache in places she didn't know could ache.
"You said no games," she replied, walking in slowly.
"I meant it." He motioned toward the table already set for two. "I cooked. It might be a disaster."
She raised a brow. "You cook?"
A small, rare smile tugged at his lips. "Only when I need to earn forgiveness."
The tension broke just slightly—just enough.
They sat. They ate. And for the first time, words weren't weapons. They talked. Not about business. Not about power.
But about childhood memories. Favorite books. First heartbreaks. The things that built a person beneath their titles.
And when the plates were cleared, silence returned—but this time, it wasn't empty.
Alexander reached out, gently brushing her knuckles with his. "You looked at me today like you finally saw everything I didn't want anyone to see."
"I did," she whispered.
"And?"
"And it didn't make me want to walk away," she said, her voice trembling. "It made me want to know more."
He didn't kiss her. He didn't pull her close.
But the way he looked at her—like she was the first person to ever truly see him—was more intimate than a thousand touches.
Later that night, as Isabella left the penthouse and the elevator doors slid shut, she realized something dangerous.
She wasn't falling for Alexander Knight.
She already had.
And now?
There was no going back.