Isabella's pulse hadn't settled since the gala, since Julian Blackwood's lips had claimed hers in that private room, his hands igniting a fire she couldn't douse. Now, standing in the mirrored elevator of his penthouse, she felt the weight of her decision. The city glittered below through floor-to-ceiling windows, a dazzling reminder of his world—wealth, power, control. Her cherry-red lips, still swollen from his kiss, curved into a defiant smile. She wasn't here to surrender; she was here to see how far this fire could burn.
The elevator doors slid open, revealing a sprawling penthouse that screamed billionaire excess: sleek black marble floors, modern art dripping with color, a bar stocked with bottles that cost more than her rent. Julian stood by the window, his back to her, the city's glow outlining his broad shoulders. He'd shed his tuxedo jacket, his white shirt rolled to the elbows, revealing forearms corded with muscle. The sight sent a jolt through her, but she kept her stride confident, her heels clicking against the marble.
"You didn't waste time inviting me up," she said, her voice teasing but edged with caution. "Is this your usual move, Blackwood?"
He turned, his gray eyes catching hers with that same predatory intensity. "Nothing about you is usual, Isabella." His gaze swept over her, lingering on her lips, then the black dress that hugged her curves. "And I don't play games I can't win."
She arched a brow, stepping closer, close enough to feel the heat radiating from him. "Then why do I feel like I'm the one holding all the cards?"
His laugh was low, a rumble that vibrated through her. "Keep telling yourself that." He closed the distance, his hand finding her waist, pulling her against him. Her breath hitched as his fingers traced the curve of her hip, slow and deliberate, like he was memorizing her. "You walked into my world tonight," he murmured, his lips brushing her ear. "Now let's see if you can handle it."
Her hands found his chest, fingers curling into his shirt as she tilted her head back, meeting his gaze. "Try me."
His mouth crashed onto hers, hungrier than before, a kiss that was all fire and need. She melted into it, her body arching against his, every nerve alive with want. His hands slid up her back, one tangling in her hair, the other pressing her closer until she felt every hard line of him. Her nails grazed his neck, drawing a low groan that sent heat pooling in her core. He backed her toward a plush velvet couch, the city lights blurring as they sank into it, her legs straddling his hips.
His lips trailed down her throat, hot and teasing, pausing at the pulse point that raced under his touch. "You're dangerous," he whispered, his voice rough, his hand sliding under her dress, skimming her thigh. Her breath caught, a soft moan escaping as she pressed closer, the world narrowing to his touch, his scent, the way he made her feel alive.
A sharp knock on the penthouse door shattered the moment. Julian cursed under his breath, his grip tightening briefly before he pulled back, his eyes dark with frustration. "Stay here," he said, his voice a low command.
Isabella smoothed her dress, her lips tingling, her body still humming. She wasn't one to obey orders, but curiosity kept her rooted. She heard voices—Julian's sharp and controlled, another softer, feminine, and insistent. She slipped closer to the foyer, catching sight of a new face: a woman with sleek black hair and sharp cheekbones, her tailored coat screaming money. This wasn't Celeste's venomous elegance; this was something else—familiar, almost intimate.
"Julian, we need to talk," the woman said, her voice low but firm. "It's about the deal. And her."
Isabella's stomach twisted. Her? She stepped into view, her cherry-red lips set in a hard line. "Care to enlighten me?"
The woman's eyes—hazel, like Isabella's but colder—flicked to her, assessing. "You must be the artist," she said, her tone clipped. "I'm Lena Blackwood. Julian's sister."
Julian's jaw tightened, a rare crack in his composure. "Lena, this isn't the time."
"It's never the time," Lena snapped, her gaze cutting between them. "But you can't keep pretending the past doesn't exist, Julian. Not with her paintings stirring up questions."
Isabella's heart skipped. Her paintings? She thought of the crimson swirls, the shadows she'd poured into them—her past, her pain. How could they mean anything to these people? "What's she talking about?" she demanded, her voice steady despite the unease creeping in.
Julian's eyes met hers, a storm of secrets swirling. "It's nothing you need to worry about."
But Lena's smile was sharp, knowing. "Oh, Isabella. You have no idea what you've stepped into."
Before Isabella could press further, another figure appeared at the door—a man, mid-30s, with a charming grin and eyes that sparkled with mischief. His suit was less formal than Julian's, his blond hair slightly tousled. "Well, this looks like a party I wasn't invited to," he said, his voice smooth as whiskey. "Julian, you didn't tell me you had company."
"Ethan," Julian said, his tone a warning. "Not now."
Ethan's gaze landed on Isabella, lingering on her lips with a playful smirk. "Ethan Caldwell, Julian's business partner. And you are… trouble, I'm guessing?"
Isabella crossed her arms, unfazed. "Isabella Voss. And I don't need to guess—you're definitely trouble."
Ethan laughed, but Lena's eyes narrowed, her posture stiffening. The air crackled with unspoken history, and Isabella felt like she'd walked into a chess game mid-move. Julian's hand brushed her arm, a subtle claim that didn't go unnoticed by the others.
"Lena, Ethan, leave," Julian said, his voice low but final. "We'll talk tomorrow."
Lena hesitated, her gaze lingering on Isabella, then nodded curtly and left. Ethan winked at Isabella before following, leaving a charged silence in their wake.
Julian turned to her, his expression unreadable. "I'm sorry," he said, softer now. "My world comes with complications."
Isabella stepped closer, her fingers brushing his jaw, bold despite the questions swirling in her mind. "I'm not afraid of complications, Julian. But I don't like secrets."
His hand caught hers, his thumb tracing her palm, sending a shiver through her. "Then stay," he said, his voice a low promise. "And I'll show you everything."
Her lips parted, the heat between them flaring again. But Lena's words echoed—You have no idea what you've stepped into. As Julian pulled her close, she wondered if the fire she craved would burn her alive.