Victoria’s POV

Victoria Langley knew the art of control.

From the moment she stepped into a room, she dictated the pace, the narrative, the power dynamic. It was what had made her one of the most formidable players in the corporate world.

But tonight?

Tonight had been a miscalculation.

She hadn’t expected Isla Carter to be a pushover—she had read the woman’s file, after all. But she had anticipated a level of caution, hesitation—perhaps even fear.

Instead, Isla had met her head-on.

Victoria’s jaw tightened as she swirled the deep red wine in her glass, seated in the back of her town car. She replayed the dinner conversation in her mind, every glance, every response, every shift in body language.

Isla Carter wasn’t just bold.

She was dangerous.

The city lights flickered through the tinted windows as she pulled out her phone, dialing a number she hadn’t used in a long time.

The line clicked, and a deep, smooth voice answered. “It’s late, Victoria.”

“You still owe me favors.”

A low chuckle. “That’s debatable. What do you need?”

Victoria’s fingers tapped against the leather seat. “I want everything on Isla Carter. Past, present, weaknesses, leverage—whatever you can find.”

A pause. Then, “This sounds personal.”

Victoria’s lips curled slightly. “It’s business.”

Another beat of silence. Then, “I’ll get back to you.”

She ended the call and stared out the window, her grip tightening around the stem of her glass.

If Isla Carter wanted a war, she had just declared it with the wrong person.

---

Grayson’s POV

The weight of the city stretched before him—towering skyscrapers, neon lights flickering against the night sky.

Grayson stood on his penthouse balcony, glass of whiskey in hand, but his mind wasn’t on the view.

It was on her.

Isla Carter.

He had underestimated her.

He had known she was intelligent, ambitious, and utterly relentless. But watching her stand her ground against Victoria tonight? Watching her refuse to break even when Victoria’s words were laced with unspoken threats?

That had been something else entirely.

And, damn it, he liked it.

More than he should.

A knock at the door pulled him from his thoughts. He already knew who it was.

When he opened the door, Isla stood there, her posture rigid, her expression unreadable.

But her eyes?

They burned with questions.

“We need to talk,” she said.

Grayson exhaled slowly and stepped aside, letting her in.

---

Isla’s POV

The moment she stepped into Grayson’s penthouse, she felt the weight of unspoken tension settle between them.

His home was just as she had imagined—sleek, modern, and exuding effortless wealth. Dark wood, expensive art, floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the city.

But she wasn’t here to admire his taste in décor.

She turned to face him. “Why didn’t you tell me about your history with Victoria?”

Grayson shut the door, his expression unreadable. “Because it doesn’t matter.”

Isla crossed her arms. “It does when she’s clearly making this personal.”

A muscle in his jaw ticked. “Victoria plays games. That’s what she does.”

Isla let out a short laugh, shaking her head. “And what game are we playing, Grayson?”

Silence stretched between them—thick, charged, dangerous.

His eyes darkened, scanning her face as if deciding how much to say.

Then, he stepped closer.

Close enough that she could feel the heat radiating off him, close enough that his scent—whiskey, musk, and something uniquely him—wrapped around her.

“You tell me,” he said quietly.

Her breath hitched. Damn him.

This was what he did—pulling her in, making her forget why she was even angry.

But not tonight.

“I don’t have time for distractions,” Isla said, stepping back.

A flicker of something—frustration? amusement?—crossed his face.

“Victoria is planning something,” she continued. “And we both know it.”

Grayson ran a hand through his hair, exhaling. “Then we stop her before she makes her move.”

Isla narrowed her eyes. “And how exactly do we do that?”

A slow smirk tugged at his lips.

“By making a move first.”