The receptionist at Grey Enterprises barely looked up when Isabella entered, her fingers flying over the keyboard.
"Do you have an appointment?" the woman asked in a clipped tone.
Isabella met her gaze coolly.
"No."
The receptionist's eyes flickered up then, catching on Isabella's calm expression — and the way she carried herself, like she owned the place.
"Then I'm afraid—"
"Tell him," Isabella interrupted smoothly, leaning just enough over the counter to make her point, "that Isabella Reed is here. And that he should hear what I have to say before I leave."
The receptionist hesitated, clearly torn between dismissing her and picking up the phone.
After a moment, she reached for the receiver.
Isabella stood tall, ignoring the curious looks from passing employees.
A few minutes later, the receptionist's eyes widened slightly as she hung up the phone and gave a stiff nod.
"Mr. Grey will see you now."
The private elevator was silent except for the soft hum of cables and the faint rush of blood in her ears.
As the doors opened, she stepped into a vast office — all glass and steel, with floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the entire city.
And there he was.
Alexander Grey.
Leaning casually against his massive desk, he looked every inch the predator he was rumored to be — sharp suit, dark tie, sleeves rolled to his forearms, revealing a faint line of ink on his wrist that disappeared under his cuff.
He was younger than she remembered — of course he was — but still carried himself like a king who knew no one could dethrone him.
When his cold grey eyes landed on her, Isabella felt the air in the room shift.
"Well," he drawled, his lips curving into the faintest, dangerous smile.
"I have to say, Miss Reed… you're either very brave, or very stupid to walk in here uninvited."
Isabella didn't flinch. She walked forward until she stood just a few feet away, her heels clicking against the polished floor.
"Perhaps a little of both," she replied evenly.
His brow arched slightly, clearly amused.
"And what could the daughter of Richard Reed possibly want from me?"
Isabella held his gaze, her heart hammering in her chest though she refused to let it show.
"I want…" she began, then let her voice drop, soft but sharp enough to cut through the silence.
"I want your help."
Alexander chuckled — low, dark, and far more unsettling than outright laughter.
"My help? Do you know what you're asking for?"
"Yes," she said firmly.
"You destroyed my father once. I want you to do it again."
For a moment, he just stared at her — those cold grey eyes assessing, calculating. Then his smirk deepened, and he straightened, walking slowly toward her.
He stopped just close enough that she could see the faint shadow of stubble on his jaw, the faint scent of his cologne — something sharp and clean, with an undertone of danger.
"You really are brave," he murmured, leaning down slightly so his face was level with hers.
"Or very, very desperate."
Isabella lifted her chin.
"Maybe both," she said again.
A slow, dangerous grin spread across his face.
"Well, Miss Reed…"
His voice dropped, smooth as silk and twice as lethal.
"If you want to dance with the devil, you'd better be prepared to burn."
He stepped back, his eyes glinting with something she couldn't quite name.
"Tomorrow. Nine o'clock. Come back. Alone. And we'll talk."
Then, without another word, he turned and walked toward his desk, dismissing her with the wave of a hand — but she could still feel his eyes on her back as she turned toward the elevator.
Her heart was racing, but her lips curled into a small, secret smile.
She had his attention.
And now the game had truly begun.