Emily stood on the terrace of Alexander's penthouse suite at the Hotel Hermitage. The sunrise painted Monte Carlo's harbor in shades of gold and rose. The Mediterranean stretched endlessly before her—beautiful, vast, and utterly unreachable. She felt like a princess locked in a tower. Surrounded by luxury, yet imprisoned just the same.
Behind her, through the floor-to-ceiling windows, Alexander sat at his laptop. He was already deep in business despite the early hour. Since five AM, he'd been on calls with his legal team. His voice was a low, dangerous rumble as he orchestrated his response to Vincent Blackwell's latest move.
The photograph from the yacht had already made its way into three tabloids. Each came with salacious speculation about their relationship.
Drake's Mystery Woman: Love or Leverage?
Billionaire's New Obsession: Who is Emily Chen?
High-Stakes Romance: Inside the World of Monaco's Power Couple
Emily closed her eyes, trying to push away the memory of Alexander's fury when the first article went live. She had seen him angry before. But this was different—colder, sharper, more calculating. He wasn't only furious about the invasion of privacy. He was furious that Vincent dared to use her as a weapon.
The irony cut her. Alexander hated that someone else treated her like a pawn, while never seeing he had done the same from the start.
"Emily?"
She turned. Alexander's housekeeper, Maria, approached with a silver tray. The older woman had served the Drake family for over twenty years. Her discretion was legendary. She was also one of the few people who showed Emily genuine kindness, without hidden motives.
"A lady called for you," Maria said quietly. She glanced toward the penthouse, making sure Alexander couldn't hear. "She said it was urgent. Something about meeting at Café de Paris in an hour."
Emily frowned. "Did she give a name?"
"Isabelle." Maria's expression was carefully neutral, but her eyes flickered with concern. "She seemed… worried about you."
Emily's heart raced. Isabelle Rossi wanted to meet her? Alexander's great love. The woman who had escaped his gilded cage.
"Thank you, Maria," Emily whispered. "Did you tell Mr. Drake?"
"He was on an important call. I thought perhaps… it could wait."
Emily met her gaze. She saw understanding in those dark eyes. Maria had watched Alexander destroy his relationship with Isabelle. She knew what Emily was facing.
"I need to go out," Emily said carefully. "For a walk. Some fresh air."
Maria nodded. "Of course. I'll let Mr. Drake know you've gone to the hotel spa for a massage. These things can take hours, yes?"
The complicity in her voice filled Emily's chest with gratitude. "Yes. Hours."
Forty minutes later, Emily sat at a corner table in Café de Paris. Her hands wrapped around a cup of coffee that had long since gone cold. The café bustled with tourists and locals. She barely noticed the Belle Époque interior or the lively conversations. All her focus was on the entrance. She was waiting for the woman who represented both everything she could become and everything she might lose.
When Isabelle Rossi walked in, Emily's breath caught. In daylight, without the dramatic glow of the opera house, she was even more beautiful. And more human. She wore dark jeans and a cream silk blouse. Her hair was pulled into an elegant chignon. She looked like any other sophisticated woman meeting a friend for coffee. Except every head turned as she passed.
Isabelle saw her immediately and moved with fluid grace. Up close, Emily noticed faint lines around her eyes. They spoke of a life fully lived, of emotions deeply felt.
"Emily," Isabelle's voice was warm, genuine. "Thank you for coming. I wasn't sure you would."
"I wasn't sure I should," Emily admitted as Isabelle settled across from her. "Alexander doesn't know I'm here."
"I imagine he doesn't." Isabelle signaled the waiter for an espresso. Then she turned her full attention on Emily. Her dark eyes were kind but searching, as if she were solving a complex puzzle. "Tell me, how long have you been with Alexander?"
"It's complicated." Emily chose her words with care. "We have a… business arrangement."
Isabelle's expression stayed calm, but something flickered in her eyes—understanding, maybe recognition. "Ah. And how is that working out for you?"
The question hit Emily like a blow. Because the truth was—it wasn't working at all. She was losing herself piece by piece. Becoming someone she didn't recognize. Playing a role in Alexander's games that grew more dangerous each day.
"I don't know," she said quietly. "I'm not sure I know anything anymore."
The waiter brought Isabelle's espresso. She cradled the small cup in her elegant hands. She wore no rings, only simple gold earrings. After years of Alexander's excessive luxury, that simplicity felt almost radical.
"Would you like to know how I met Alexander?" Isabelle asked suddenly.
Emily nodded, afraid to speak.
"I was twenty-four, just starting my career. My first major role at La Scala—Mimi in La Bohème. I was terrified, exhilarated, unprepared for the pressure." Isabelle's smile softened with memory. "Alexander was in Milan on business. He came to the performance. Afterward, he was waiting with flowers. Not just any flowers. White roses. He'd somehow learned my grandmother grew them, and he filled my dressing room with them."
Emily felt something twist inside her. She could picture it—Alexander younger, less controlled, less calculating. Using his power not to manipulate, but to court.
"He was different then," Isabelle said, as if reading her thoughts. "Ambitious, ruthless in business, yes. But there was softness too. He could laugh—really laugh. He could be spontaneous. Romantic even."
"What changed?" Emily asked, though dread knotted her stomach.
Isabelle fell silent, staring into her espresso. When she spoke, her voice carried old sadness. "Success. Power. The realization that he could have anything he wanted by simply taking it." She lifted her gaze. "Including me."
Emily's stomach clenched. "He tried to control you."
"Control is too simple for what Alexander does," Isabelle said softly. "He doesn't just control. He possesses. Completely. Mind, body, soul. He must be the center of your universe—the sun around which everything else orbits."
She sipped her espresso, her expression distant. "At first, it was romantic. He'd buy out entire restaurants so we could dine alone. He'd charter jets for private concerts. He bent heaven and earth to accommodate my career, my schedule, my dreams."
"That sounds… wonderful," Emily said, though Isabelle's tone hinted otherwise.
"It was. Until I saw he wasn't accommodating my dreams. He was reshaping them to fit his vision of my life." Her voice hardened. "He wanted me to quit performing. To become his perfect companion. He swore he could give me everything I needed. That I wouldn't have to work or travel or be away from him."
Emily's blood ran cold. She could picture it perfectly—Alexander's logical arguments, his belief that he was protecting, not imprisoning.
"When I refused, things changed," Isabelle said. "Suddenly, my agent got calls questioning my reliability. Venues double-booked. Contracts collapsed at the last moment. Nothing traceable to him, of course. Alexander is far too clever."
"He was sabotaging your career," Emily breathed.
"He was removing obstacles to what he saw as our happiness." Isabelle's smile turned bitter. "In his mind, if I failed in opera, I'd turn to him for fulfillment. He thought he was saving me from disappointment."
Emily felt sick. She could see the twisted logic. The same reasoning Alexander used when he destroyed her life, only to offer her his contract.
"How did you escape?" Emily whispered.
"By breaking both our hearts." Isabelle's face pained. "I left in the middle of the night. Like a coward. I knew if I tried to explain, he'd convince me to stay. Alexander can be very persuasive."
Emily thought of his kiss on the yacht. The way her body betrayed her while her mind screamed no.
"I moved to New York, changed management, rebuilt from scratch. It took years to recover from the damage. And all that time, I wondered—if I'd fought harder, if I'd been stronger—could I have changed him?"
"Could you have?" Emily asked, though she knew.
"No." Isabelle's voice was firm. "Alexander doesn't want to change. His empire is built on the belief that everything—and everyone—has a price. With money, with pressure, with manipulation, he can bend the world to his will. And mostly, he's right."
She reached across, covering Emily's hand with her own. Her touch was warm, comforting. So unlike Alexander's possessive heat.
"You remind me of myself at your age," Isabelle said gently. "Beautiful, intelligent, fiery. But also vulnerable. Searching—for love, for security, for purpose. Alexander is very good at finding that need. Then he makes himself the only answer."
Tears pricked Emily's eyes. Isabelle was right. She had been searching when she crashed the gala. Searching for a way to change her life.
"He's using you," Isabelle continued, voice gentle but unyielding. "The way he used me. The way he's used every woman he wanted. We're not people to him—we're acquisitions. Objects to display, protect, control."
"But he said—" Emily began, then stopped. What had Alexander really said? That she was magnificent. That she belonged to him. That he'd kill anyone who touched her. Not love. Ownership.
"What did he promise you?" Isabelle asked softly.
Emily thought of the contract, the money, the luxury prison. "Security," she whispered. "A way out of poverty. Out of desperation."
"And the price?"
Her voice was barely audible. "Everything else."
Isabelle nodded sadly. "That's always the price. Your freedom. Your dreams. Yourself. He'll give you the world, but only if you agree to see it through his eyes."
She reached into her purse and pulled out a small phone. Simple. Anonymous. A burner. She slid it across the table.
"What is this?" Emily asked, though she knew.
"A lifeline," Isabelle said. "My number's programmed in. When you're ready to know the whole truth—about Alexander, about the women before you, about what he's really capable of—call me."
Emily stared at the phone like it might strike. Taking it felt like betrayal. Leaving it felt like suicide.
"There have been others?" she whispered.
"Oh, Emily." Isabelle's compassion was heavy. "You thought you were different? That he feels something unique for you?"
The words slapped. Because yes, she had thought exactly that. That she was special. That his obsession meant something more.
"There was Sophia, a Greek model. Stunning. He kept her in a penthouse in Athens for six months. She tried to leave. Ended up in a psychiatric facility after her 'breakdown.'" Isabelle's voice was steady, but her eyes were sad. "Then Catherine, a young lawyer he met during a takeover. She vanished from law entirely. Last I heard, she was working as a receptionist in Oregon."
Emily's blood drained. "What are you saying?"
"I'm saying Alexander collects women the way other men collect art. Beautiful, intelligent, rare. And when he's done—when they've served their purpose or resist—" She paused. "They disappear. Not literally. But their careers, reputations, confidence. Gone."
Emily's hands trembled. She thought of Vincent's warning. Of Julian's concern. Of the photo that could destroy the last scraps of her old life.
"Why are you telling me this?" she whispered.
"Because you still have a chance," Isabelle said urgently. "You're not too deep. You haven't signed your soul away. You can still walk."
"And go where? Do what?" Emily's laugh was bitter. "He's destroyed my life, just like he destroyed yours. I have nothing left."
"You have yourself," Isabelle said fiercely. "Your mind, your strength, your fire. He can't take those, no matter how he tries. I rebuilt my life after him. It was harder. But it was real. Mine."
She rose, setting money on the table. "The phone is untraceable. Use it when you're ready. But don't wait too long. The deeper you sink, the harder the escape."
Emily looked up at her. "Why did you really come to the opera? It wasn't coincidence."
Isabelle's smile was sad. "I heard rumors. About Alexander's new companion. About a woman who looked like his past. I had to see. To know if history was repeating."
"And is it?"
"That depends on you." Isabelle adjusted her purse. "Tomorrow I perform at Palais Garnier. My farewell. Alexander will be there. He always comes. Especially now."
Emily's heart clenched. Alexander watching his lost love. His emotions on display.
"If you decide to leave, that's the time," Isabelle said. "He'll be focused on me. Not you."
She paused, her gaze soft with almost maternal care. "You are different, Emily. Stronger. That's what worries me. He'll fight harder to keep you. Which makes him more dangerous when you try to go."
"And if I don't?" Emily whispered.
"Then you'll spend your life wondering who you could have been—if only you were brave enough to find out."
Then she was gone.
Emily sat alone, staring at the burner phone. Life went on around her—tourists planning, locals gossiping, the world spinning. As if her life hadn't just been upended.
She thought of Alexander, likely wondering already where she was. She thought of the contract binding her two more weeks. She thought of the gifts, the clothes, the jewels—the beautiful chains tying her to him.
Most of all, she thought of the choice Isabelle laid before her. Stay and lose herself. Or run and risk everything.
Her real phone buzzed. Alexander.
Where are you? Marcus says you never went to the spa.
Emily's blood ran cold. Of course he was having her followed. Of course he knew.
Another message flashed. I'm sending the car. Don't make me come looking for you.
The threat was subtle. Unmistakable. Emily slipped the burner phone into her purse and rose. Her hands shook as she left money on the table.
At the entrance, a mirror caught her reflection. Designer clothes. Perfect makeup. Diamond earrings worth more than cars. She looked like her dreams come true. And she had never felt more lost.
The Bentley waited outside. Marcus at the wheel. He said nothing as she climbed in, but his eyes flicked in the mirror. Did he know about Isabelle? Did Alexander?
They drove through Monte Carlo. Emily clutched the burner phone like a talisman. It meant choice. Freedom. A different life. But also betrayal. Uncertainty. Starting over with nothing.
By the time they reached Alexander's building, she had made her decision. She just didn't know yet which one it was.
The elevator lifted her to the penthouse. Alexander waited in the foyer. He looked the part of the concerned lover. Until she saw his eyes. Cold. Calculating. Furious.
"Where were you?" he asked quietly.
Emily met his gaze. The phone weighed in her purse. "Getting coffee. Thinking."
"About what?"
Her smile came. For the first time in weeks, it was real. "About choices."
His face didn't change, but something flickered in his steel-gray eyes. Suspicion. Unease.
"And what did you decide?" he asked.
Emily's smile widened. Something inside her stirred. Something that felt like hope.
"I decided tomorrow night should be very interesting."
She walked past him toward her room. He stayed in the foyer, full of questions she wasn't ready to answer.
The game, Emily realized, was finally about to get interesting. And for the first time since she signed Alexander's contract, she wasn't sure who would win.