Isabella POV
I was still at my desk at six in the morning, surrounded by empty coffee cups and stacks of financial reports, when Marcus burst into my office with the kind of expression that meant someone had just set our world on fire.
"Morrison Construction just terminated their contract," he said without preamble, dropping a legal document on my desk like it was a bomb. "Effective immediately."
The words hit me like ice water. Morrison Construction wasn't just Sterling Industries' biggest client—they were our lifeline. The two-hundred-and-fifty-million-dollar infrastructure project we were managing for them represented nearly forty percent of our current revenue.
"On what grounds?" I asked, though my hands were already shaking as I reached for the termination notice.
"Breach of financial stability clauses," Marcus said grimly. "They're claiming that Sterling Industries' recent financial difficulties constitute a material change in our ability to fulfill contractual obligations."
I scanned the document, my business school training automatically cataloging the legal terminology, but my heart was racing with something that felt dangerously close to panic. This wasn't just a contract termination, t was a death blow. Without Morrison's project, Sterling Industries would be bankrupt within weeks, not months.
"This is bullshit," I said, my voice sharper than I'd intended. "We've never missed a deadline, never failed to meet specifications. Morrison has no legitimate grounds for—"
"It gets worse," Marcus interrupted. "Morrison Construction filed for Chapter 11 bankruptcy protection an hour ago. Someone called in their debt."
Someone.
I didn't need him to spell it out. There was only one person with the resources and motivation to orchestrate something this surgical, this devastating.
Damien.
My phone buzzed with an incoming text, and I knew before I looked at it who it would be from:
"Good morning, bella. I hope you slept well. I certainly did, dreaming about the look on your face when you realized I wasn't bluffing. —D"
The casual cruelty of it made my vision blur with rage. He'd destroyed Morrison Construction—eight hundred jobs, dozens of families—just to prove a point. Just to show me how completely powerless I was against him.
"Isabella?" Marcus's voice seemed to come from very far away. "We need to discuss damage control. If Morrison's bankruptcy becomes public knowledge before we can spin this—"
"It's already public knowledge," I said numbly, staring at my phone as news alerts began flooding the screen. Financial blogs, industry websites, even the mainstream media were picking up the story of Morrison Construction's sudden collapse and Sterling Industries' terminated contract.
Someone had made sure this story would spread like wildfire.
My office door opened again, and Victoria Walsh appeared with her perfectly styled hair slightly mussed and her usually immaculate makeup showing signs of early-morning stress.
"The board is calling an emergency meeting," she said without preamble. "Henry wants everyone in the conference room in twenty minutes."
Twenty minutes to figure out how to explain that Sterling Industries was being systematically destroyed by a man I'd once loved, a man who had every right to hate everything my family represented.
Think, Isabella. There has to be something you can do.
But even as I tried to focus on corporate strategy and damage control, I couldn't stop thinking about Damien's text. The casual endearment—bella—that he wielded like a weapon. The way he'd signed it with just his initial, intimate and possessive in a way that made my skin flush with unwanted heat.
He was playing games with me, psychological warfare designed to keep me off-balance and emotionally compromised. The smart thing would be to ignore his provocations, to focus on business and treat this like any other hostile takeover.
The problem was that nothing about Damien Cross felt like business to me.
"Isabella?" Victoria was looking at me with concern. "Are you all right? You look..."
"Like someone who just lost forty percent of her company's revenue," I finished. "I'm fine. Just processing."
Processing the fact that the boy I gave my virginity to is now systematically destroying my life.
I stood and straightened my skirt, checking my reflection in the window that overlooked the city. I looked exactly like what I was—a woman who'd been up all night, running on caffeine and stubbornness. But I also looked like a Sterling, and that would have to be enough.
"Let's go face the vultures," I said.
The emergency board meeting was every bit as brutal as I'd expected. Henry Morrison sat at the head of the table looking like he'd aged ten years overnight, while the other board members whispered among themselves with the kind of nervous energy that preceded corporate executions.
"The Morrison situation is catastrophic," Henry began without preamble. "Not just financially, but from a reputation standpoint. If our clients start questioning our stability—"
"Our clients should be questioning our stability," interrupted James Pemberton, the board member whose family's company had already canceled their contract with us. "Sterling Industries is hemorrhaging money, losing major contracts, and apparently being targeted by corporate raiders. Maybe it's time to consider a controlled sale before things get worse."
A controlled sale. Corporate speak for surrendering to Damien with whatever dignity we could salvage.
"No," I said firmly. "Sterling Industries is not for sale."
"Isabella," Henry's voice was gentle but implacable. "You need to be realistic about our position. Cross Enterprises clearly has resources we can't match. If they're determined to destroy us—"
"Then we fight back," I interrupted. "We find out who else is backing them, what their weaknesses are, how to apply pressure of our own."
"With what leverage?" Victoria asked. "They own eighteen percent of our stock, they've got unlimited financial resources, and they clearly have connections throughout the industry. What exactly do we have that they want?"
Me.
The thought hit me like lightning, dangerous and illuminating at the same time. Damien didn't just want Sterling Industries—he wanted me to come to him, to beg for mercy, to surrender everything the way he'd been forced to surrender seven years ago.
Which meant I was the only weapon we had.
"I need to speak with Damien Cross," I said suddenly.
The conference room went silent. Henry looked like I'd suggested jumping off the roof, while the other board members exchanged the kind of glances that suggested they were seriously questioning my mental state.
"Isabella, that's exactly what you can't do," Marcus said carefully. "If Cross Enterprises thinks we're desperate enough to negotiate—"
"We are desperate enough to negotiate," I said bluntly. "Morrison's termination just cut our revenue by forty percent. We need to know what Cross Enterprises really wants, what it would take for them to back off."
What it would take for Damien to forgive me for sins I never committed.
"Absolutely not," Henry said firmly. "Isabella, you're too emotionally invested in this situation. Let our legal team handle any negotiations."
Emotionally invested. The understatement of the century.
"I'm the CEO of this company," I said, letting steel enter my voice. "I'll handle this however I see fit."
Before anyone could object, my phone rang. The caller ID showed an unknown number, but something about it made my pulse spike with recognition.
"Excuse me," I said, stepping out of the conference room to take the call in private.
"Hello, bella."
Damien's voice was silk and smoke, intimate enough to make my skin flush despite the fact that he'd just destroyed one of our biggest clients.
"You bastard," I breathed. "Morrison Construction. Eight hundred people out of work because you wanted to prove a point."
"Eight hundred people out of work because your father taught me that collateral damage is the price of doing business," he corrected smoothly. "Did you get my message this morning?"
His message. The casual cruelty wrapped in an endearment that made my heart race for all the wrong reasons.
"What do you want, Damien?"
"I want to see you," he said simply. "Tonight. Dinner."
Dinner. As if we were old friends catching up instead of enemies circling each other with drawn knives.
"So you can gloat? So you can watch me beg for mercy?"
"So I can explain exactly what I'm going to take from you next," he said, his voice dropping to that register that used to make me shiver. "And so you can try to convince me to show mercy. Though we both know how well that worked out for me seven years ago."
The reference to the past hit like a physical blow. Because I was beginning to understand that this wasn't just about Sterling Industries or corporate revenge. This was about a boy who'd loved me enough to ask for my hand in marriage, who'd been destroyed for that love, who thought I'd been part of that destruction.
"Where?" I asked, the word out of my mouth before I could stop it.
"Chez Laurent. Eight o'clock. And Isabella?"
"What?"
"Wear something that reminds me why I used to think you were worth destroying my life for."
The line went dead, leaving me standing in the hallway with my heart pounding and my body responding to his voice in ways that had nothing to do with business strategy.
You're playing with fire, Isabella.
But maybe fire was exactly what I needed. Maybe the only way to save Sterling Industries was to walk straight into the flames and see if anything survived.
I walked back into the conference room, where the board members were still discussing damage control strategies and emergency protocols.
"I'm having dinner with Damien Cross tonight," I announced.
The room erupted in protests and objections, but I held up a hand for silence.
"This is not a negotiation," I said firmly. "It's reconnaissance. I need to understand what we're really up against, and the only way to do that is to look him in the eye and find out what he really wants."
What I didn't tell them was that I already knew what he wanted.
He wanted me to remember what we'd been to each other. He wanted me to understand what my father had stolen from him. And most dangerous of all, he wanted me to choose him over everything else, the way he'd once been willing to choose me.
The terrifying part was that after seven years of wondering what had happened to the boy I'd loved, I was starting to think I might be willing to make that choice.
God help me.