Isabella's stomach churned violently as the elevator doors opened to the executive floor.
She'd skipped breakfast—again. Just the smell of eggs this morning had made her gag. Her nausea was getting worse, but she couldn't afford to call in sick. One mistake, and Dominic would fire her without blinking.
And this job meant everything now.
She took a shaky breath, steadied herself, and stepped out.
A pile of folders sat on her desk already, with a post-it stuck to the top in his cold, slanted handwriting: By 10 a.m.
It was 9:12.
She sat down quickly and got to work, ignoring the twisting in her stomach. The screen blurred in front of her. She blinked hard, trying to focus. Her fingers trembled slightly as she typed, and a sheen of cold sweat broke out across her back.
She didn't notice Dominic come out of his office until his voice snapped across the room.
"Romano."
She stood too quickly.
And everything tilted.
The floor rushed up to meet her. The world went white around the edges. Her vision tunneled, and she felt her body sway.
Strong hands caught her before she hit the ground.
"Damn it," a low voice growled near her ear.
She blinked rapidly, heart hammering as she tried to focus. Dominic Volkov was holding her—one arm under her shoulders, the other steadying her waist. His face hovered inches from hers, his eyes no longer cold but alarmed.
"Are you—what the hell is going on?" he demanded.
"I'm fine," she mumbled. "I just… I stood up too fast."
"You're pale as a ghost." He guided her toward the couch in the corner of his office, ignoring her protests. "Sit. Now."
She sat, too dizzy to argue.
He disappeared and returned seconds later with a glass of water. "Drink."
She took it with shaking hands.
He watched her like a hawk. "Have you eaten today?"
She hesitated.
"Romano."
"No," she admitted. "I didn't have time."
His jaw clenched. "You think I hired you to work yourself into a hospital bed?"
"No," she said quietly.
He straightened and walked to his desk, picked up his phone, and made a call. "Ariana, get something light from the café downstairs. Crackers. Fruit. Ginger tea. No coffee."
He hung up before she could argue.
She stared at him. "You didn't have to do that."
His expression was unreadable again. But his voice was softer now. "I don't tolerate weakness in my employees. But I also don't let them collapse at my feet."
A small, unwanted smile touched her lips. "Charming."
He looked at her then, really looked—like he was trying to figure her out. "You've got that same look."
"What look?"
"Determined. But exhausted. Like you're carrying too much and refusing to let anyone see it."
Isabella's throat tightened. She quickly looked away. "You're imagining things."
"Am I?"
He stepped closer, and her heart skipped. He crouched slightly, so they were almost eye-level. "If there's something going on—something personal that's interfering with your work—I need to know."
Her hand unconsciously moved to her stomach.
He followed the motion with his eyes, brows drawing together—but she quickly dropped it.
"There's nothing," she said firmly. "I'm just adjusting. It won't happen again."
He didn't believe her. She could see it.
But he didn't push. Just said, "Eat when the food arrives. Then get some air."
She nodded.
As he returned to his desk, Isabella exhaled shakily. She had come here expecting to avoid him, to stay small and unnoticed.
But Dominic Volkov wasn't the kind of man you could stay invisible around.
And the more time she spent near him, the harder it became to keep her secret buried.