Isabella

On the afternoon of the dinner, a notification popped up on my phone.

Deposit received: $1,000,000,000.00

For a moment, I was paralyzed.

My heart stopped, my mind racing as I stared at the screen. The number was staggering, and yet, I knew it was coming.

It was real.

The signed contract. The arranged marriage. The sealed deal.

Lucian Devereux was now officially my husband.

I had known the transfer would happen. It was clearly stated in the contract. But seeing such an absurd number on the screen had a weight to it that I wasn’t expecting.

It wasn’t just a simple transaction. It was a reminder.

Lucian hadn’t just bought my bankrupt company. He had bought me.

For a brief moment, the thought of returning the money crossed my mind—of pretending none of this had happened, of somehow escaping the chains that now bound me.

But there was no turning back.

I was already part of his game, a pawn in a game I had no control over.

The rest of the afternoon passed in a blur, with me trying to convince myself that it was just dinner. Nothing more. It was just another step, another part of the plan. Nothing to overthink.

But deep down, I knew it wasn’t that simple.

Lucian Devereux controlled my life now. And I couldn’t deny the grip he had on me, the fact that he knew about my greatest mistake — the night at the club.

I was too far in, too entangled in his web.

As the clock neared eight, I could feel the nervousness creeping up in me. My heartbeat quickened, my palms started to sweat. I hated the feeling. I hated that he was doing this to me.

He wanted me to be afraid. He wanted me to give in, to surrender, to lose control. But that would not happen. Not if I could help it.

The doorbell rang, cutting through my thoughts, exactly at eight.

I took a deep breath and forced myself to move, walking toward the door with determination. When I opened it, I found a man standing rigidly, his expression impassive.

“Miss Moreau,” he said with a slight nod. “Mr. Devereux is expecting you. The car is ready.”

For a fleeting moment, I considered refusing. I considered shutting the door, pretending none of this was happening, refusing to go to dinner.

But Lucian had been clear. Testing his patience was not an option.

I grabbed my purse, my hand trembling ever so slightly, and stepped out of the apartment, forcing myself to keep my head high, my composure intact.

The car waiting outside was a sleek black sedan, and as soon as I got in, I noticed the glass partition separating the driver from the back seat, giving me complete privacy.

It was intentional.

Lucian always did everything with precision, with calculation.

He liked control.

But I wouldn’t let myself be controlled so easily. I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing me break.

The restaurant he chose wasn’t just any place.

It was one of the most exclusive spots in New York, where the city’s most powerful men met in secrecy to seal deals away from the eyes of the media and the public.

The waiter led me through the opulent interior, guiding me to a private table at the back. And there he was, waiting for me. Lucian sat with a glass of whiskey in hand, his posture perfect, his suit impeccable, eyes locked on me as I approached.

He looked relaxed, but I knew better.

“Isabella,” he greeted, his voice smooth, but there was something beneath it that made my skin prickle with awareness.

“Lucian.” I kept my posture firm as I sat across from him, not giving him the satisfaction of seeing me flinch.

His gaze swept over me slowly, and for a brief moment, I saw his expression harden.

The black dress I had chosen was elegant and understated, but I saw the moment he realized the intention behind it. It wasn’t too revealing, but it wasn’t an attempt to avoid him either. It was a subtle challenge, something I knew would provoke him.

The game had already begun.

“I see you were punctual,” he remarked, leaning forward slightly, a faint glimmer of satisfaction in his eyes.

“You didn’t give me much choice, did you?” I shot back, trying to maintain my composure.

Lucian smirked, the kind of smile that made my insides twist. “You always have choices, Isabella. You just don’t usually like the consequences.”

His words lingered in the air, heavy with meaning. I could feel the tension building, the power dynamics shifting between us. I wasn’t going to let him control the conversation.

“And what are the consequences of this dinner?” I asked, keeping my voice steady, though the knot in my stomach was tight.

He took a deliberate sip of his whiskey, his eyes never leaving mine. “That depends on you.”

I hated how he always seemed to have the upper hand in every situation. It irritated me.

“If this is a date, let me make it clear—I’m not interested,” I retorted, my voice cold, cutting through the air.

Lucian chuckled lowly, never breaking eye contact. “Isabella, you signed a contract. That means we are now part of each other’s lives. Couples have dinner together. Couples spend time together.”

“Couples who hate each other usually avoid each other,” I countered, the bitterness in my voice impossible to hide.

“Maybe I enjoy the challenge.”

His eyes gleamed with something dark, something that sent a shiver down my spine.

“Or maybe,” he continued, lowering his voice slightly, “you’re also curious about us.”

I felt my face heat at his words.

“I have no curiosity at all,” I lied, but the lie felt hollow.

Lucian smirked, as if he knew I was lying, as if he could read right through me.

The waiter appeared, bringing a bottle of expensive wine that I knew Lucian had chosen. Everything about him was calculated, everything had a purpose.

I needed to stay in control, stay focused.

But then, Lucian leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a whisper that sent a shiver through me.

“You can keep pretending, Isabella. But I remember that night. The way you gave yourself to me.”

My body froze.

Blood pounded in my ears.

“Don’t bring that up.”

He smirked, that same knowing look in his eyes. “Why not? Does it bother you to remember what we did? How you moaned my name?”

I gripped my silverware tightly, trying to hold myself together. “I didn’t know who you were.”

“But you enjoyed it.”

My breath hitched, the memory of that night too vivid in my mind.

“Tell me, Isabella,” he continued, his voice low, dangerous. “If that night I had taken off my mask and told you who I was… would you have run?”

Yes.

No.

I don’t know.

I couldn’t answer.

Lucian knew it.

And that gave him even more power.

“Don’t worry,” he said smoothly, picking up his wine glass. “We’ll have plenty of time to explore that answer.”

I wanted to hate him.

But the problem was that, at that moment, I hated myself more for not being able to push him away.