Isadora was stunned.
One moment there had been a hand clamped around her neck, cutting off her breath and pinning her in place. The next, it was gone. The pressure vanished as abruptly as it had come, the fingers sliding away from her skin and leaving behind only the echo of their grip and the ragged sound of her breathing.
The man who had been towering over her, filling the narrow storeroom with his presence, took a deliberate step back. It was not a stumble or a retreat but a controlled withdrawal, as if he had decided she no longer needed restraining.
He moved even farther, going so far as to step completely out of the storeroom. The space felt both larger and emptier with him gone, yet her heart still pounded as if he were inches away.
Isadora herself rushed out, her face frozen in a terrified expression. She clutched at the strap of her bag like it was a lifeline, her steps uneven, her pulse wild.
But when she emerged into the open area beyond the storeroom, she found a tall young man standing calmly by the door. His expression was neutral, almost impassive, as though nothing unusual had just happened. With a simple, quiet motion of his hand, he directed her to follow him.
There was not a single trace — no flicker, no shift in his features — to hint that this was the same man who had been squeezing her throat only minutes earlier.
This unsettled her more than the actual attack had. Yet she could do nothing about it. She could only watch as he led her into a long, empty waiting area and, with that same even tone, instructed her to sit.
"The CEO is not yet around. I'll let you know when he is," he said.
Isadora nodded, her fingers tightening around the bag she held in her lap. The last thing she thought about was heading to the bathroom, though her nerves were frayed enough to make her stomach churn.
All she could think of — every ounce of her concentration — was fixed on what she was going to say once she was let into the CEO's office and how she was going to say it.
Sweat poured down and dotted her forehead, dampening her palms. She wiped her hands on her orange skirt, the fabric absorbing the moisture, and tried to ignore the looks she got from people moving past her.
Time seemed to crawl and rush all at once, each second stretching yet slipping through her like water.
She had been sitting for two full hours, nerves grinding down to an edge, when she was about to stand and demand to know what was wrong.
Then she saw Dante Bellini emerge from the corridor with a couple of men behind him.
They looked like bodyguards in their tailored suits. The man who had shoved her into the storeroom walked beside Dante, dressed the same, moving with the same practiced ease.
Isadora scrambled to her feet, only to watch them enter his office without giving her a single glance or the courtesy of acknowledgment.
It would have been false to say she wasn't angry — she was — but she forced herself to sit back down, to curl her hands into tight fists and keep quiet.
She knew the dangers of drawing attention in that particular place and moment. She understood why she'd come; making a scene would only make things worse and give leverage to those who already held power.
Thankfully, she had barely settled when a woman came through the double doors and told her to follow.
Isadora sprang up and went in, surprised to find a secretary's office even more majestic than the one she had first entered.
"You can go right in," the blonde-haired secretary said after taking one look at Isadora's outfit and briefly averting her eyes — a small gesture that made clear she regarded Isadora as no competition.
Isadora nodded, her heart pounding harder than before, and tried to appear confident as she stepped forward, though she did not feel even an ounce of that confidence.
She steadied her hands on the strap of her bag and moved toward the inner office.
She had only just passed through the door when she became aware of an intense gaze — the one belonging to the man who had pushed her into the storeroom.
He stood behind Dante's chair while Dante himself did not spare her a single glance.
The office was enormous and lavishly appointed; every detail was immaculate and deliberately curated to impress anyone who entered, from polished surfaces and gleaming fixtures to high-backed chairs.
As she moved further inside, Dante's attention remained on the papers before him, not on her.
Then, unexpectedly, he spoke.
"You know Cole?" he asked, the pen in his hand still moving across the page.
"How do you know Cole?"
His voice was soft and calm, but the way he said it suggested her answer could be judged right or wrong.
Isadora opened her mouth to speak and felt herself begin to stutter before a word escaped.
She took the phone from her bag and stepped closer in a motion that was both nervous and purposeful.
She had taken only a couple more steps when the man who had shoved her into the storeroom drew a gun from a holster inside his jacket and held it where she could see it.
"You can speak from there! Fabio does not deal well with strangers!" Dante warned, lifting his gaze to meet hers; she froze, caught between fear and resolve.
His hair was still white and his eyes dark; he was tall, his frame muscular rather than heavy, and he wore glasses that sat precise on his face.
Although his tone was gentle, his stare was not.
Isadora tapped on the phone and began playing the video she had taken while turning it toward him.
"I—I took a video of you harassing a man last night. If you don't help me, I'll release it. I read enough about stocks to know your reputation is linked to your company," she said, surprised she could speak without stammering and surprised at the clarity of her own voice under pressure.
The video played and ended quickly; Isadora replayed it, making sure he had seen the evidence and that there could be no mistake.
"I—I need help. But if my life is ruined, I don't mind ruining yours," she told him bluntly, aware that the CCTV in his office would have recorded her attempt at blackmail and that he could have had her arrested on the spot.
She did not care if it came to that. She would release it before they could touch her.
For a long, heavy moment there was only silence as she stared at him and he stared back.
Neither Fabio — who stood silent beside Dante — nor Dante spoke.
"Can I see the video?" he asked politely.
Isadora nodded and moved closer to hand her phone over, transferring the device as if placing her evidence where it could be inspected.
"I have copies," she added in a quiet voice, in case he planned to destroy the evidence; she had indeed copied the file to her laptop at home to ensure it could not be erased.
She watched in stunned surprise as he took the phone and watched the clip in silence, reading his face for any sign of reaction.
She found herself thinking, absurdly, that he was handsome; Just as handsome as Lorenzo.
She instantly chastised herself at the thought, remembering how she had bared herself to him the night before and been rejected without ceremony.
Of course he would never go for a girl like you, she told herself, clutching her bag tighter as she waited for him to speak, waiting for the verdict she knew she could not predict.
For all she knew, he could have a way of ensuring the video was censored even on social media.
'He is a billionaire!'