Isabella Roosevelt has spent the last five years undercover in enemy territory, serving the Harrington family while secretly working for her own. She’s brilliant, sweet, and has never allowed herself to be vulnerable—until now. When her cover is blown and she’s forced into a marriage with the dangerous, ruthless, yet handsome Lucas Harrington, the stakes reach an all-time high. Their union was supposed to be purely strategic—a way to keep her out of prison and for him to exact revenge on her family. But with every heated glance, every accidental touch, the line between enemies and lovers begins to blur. Lucas smoldering presence drives her wild, and as their game of seduction escalates, Isabella finds herself caught in a web of forbidden desire. What begins as a marriage of convenience quickly turns into a battle of wills, where the only way to win is to surrender to the passion that consumes them both.
View MoreIsabella Roosevelt“Can I get my pillow and blanket?” I asked, standing awkwardly at the edge of the bed, my fingers twisting nervously as I avoided looking directly at Lucas. The very idea of sleeping next to him—shirtless him—was enough to make my head spin.How on earth was I supposed to fall asleep with my massive crush lying a few feet away? Lucas glanced up from where he was casually leaning against the headboard, his phone in hand, and raised a brow. “Alright, I’ll get it,” he said, pushing off the bed with an effortless grace that had no right being so attractive. I swallowed hard, my gaze following him as he walked out of the room. His broad, muscular back flexed with each step, his bare shoulders rolling in a way that made it impossible to look away. The man was built like a Greek god, and the low-slung sweat pants hanging off his hips didn’t help matters. I need some holy water. Help me, God.As soon as he left, I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. I stare
Isabella RooseveltI stared at the clock on the bedside table: 2:03 a.m. The faint glow of the numbers illuminated the dark room, a constant reminder that I was wide awake while the rest of the world slept. My mind replayed every moment of the client dinner earlier that evening, each detail clawing at me with relentless intensity. I hated it. Hated how much I wanted Lucas, how every glance, every fleeting touch set my skin ablaze. And hated even more the bitter truth that I could never have him. "This might just be Stockholm syndrome," I muttered to myself, trying to make light of the storm swirling inside me. But the humor fell flat. My chest felt tight, my emotions too overwhelming to ignore. I needed to get out of here—out of this house, out of his house. Without allowing myself time to second-guess the impulse, I threw off the covers and grabbed my wallet and phone. My fingers found a soft shawl hanging on the back of a chair, and I draped it over my shoulders, realizing too la
Isabella Roosevelt We both stood up as an older man entered the restaurant, his steps steady but carrying the weight of experience and authority. He smiled when he saw Lucas—a small, reserved smile—but when his gaze shifted to me, it softened, warming considerably. “Ah, so you’re the one who finally saddled this man,” he said, his tone begrudging but laced with subtle amusement. “Now maybe he can keep his paws off my daughter.” The comment caught me completely off guard. My eyes widened as I glanced at Lucas, but he remained unfazed, raising his hands in mock surrender. “I didn’t do anything with her,” Lucas said, his tone calm but tinged with mild annoyance. “Yeah, sure,” Mr. Nagasaki replied bitterly, his eyes narrowing. “My daughter came onto you, because you’re such a Casanova.” Lucas exhaled softly, a hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips before he quickly replaced it with a more serious expression. “I’m sorry for everything, Mr. Nagasaki,” he said, his voice u
Isabella RooseveltAfter what felt like the most agonizingly slow drive of my life, we finally pulled up to the fanciest restaurant I could imagine. The glowing lights, valet attendants, and the steady stream of well-dressed patrons all screamed sophistication. Lucas parked the car, his movements as calm and deliberate as ever, and walked around to open my door.I wanted to roll my eyes at the gesture.Now he’s going to be nice? After ignoring me all day, after acting like nothing had happened between us, he was suddenly playing the perfect gentleman? My irritation simmered just beneath the surface, threatening to bubble over.The second he offered his hand to help me out of the car, I ignored it, stepping out on my own and walking briskly ahead. My heels clicked against the pavement, each step fueled by my growing annoyance at the infuriating man behind me."Isabella, we need to—" His voice, deep and steady, stopped mid-sentence, the words trailing off into silence.I slowed my pace
Isabella RooseveltI hate Lucas. I hate him for the way he’s been ignoring me ever since the kiss. He hasn’t looked at me, hasn’t spoken to me, hasn’t even acknowledged me. The silence is unbearable, gnawing away at me with every passing second.I wish I hadn’t kissed him. I wish I hadn’t drunk so much wine. I wish I didn’t exist at all, just to escape the ache twisting in my chest. Having a crush is exhausting. It’s gut-wrenching, embarrassing, and it makes you feel like an idiot every single second of the day.And worst of all? I don’t even know what I want from him. Do I want him to like me? Yes. Do I want him to make me feel special? Definitely. But what does that even mean? What does “special” even look like coming from someone like Lucas?I sighed, my gaze drifting toward his office door, the very thought of him pulling at something deep inside me. Should I talk to him? Ask him something about the schedule? Anything to break this unbearable tension? I couldn’t tell if my questio
Isabella Roosevelt“Lucas,” I growled, my voice thick with frustration, anger, and an undeniable, overwhelming need. My gaze bore into his, my eyes heavy with desire.“Okay, you need to stand straight,” he said, his tone a mix of command and restraint, his large, warm hands settling firmly on my waist. His grip was steady, the strength in his hands sending a flutter of anticipation through me as I glanced up at his gorgeous, chiseled face.The moonlight cast shadows along his jawline, highlighting every sharp angle, making his intense gaze even more captivating. I had to press my thighs together just to control the overwhelming need his presence stirred within me.He drew in a sharp breath, his voice taut with tension. “Isabella, you need to—”But I didn’t care to listen. “No. I’ll tell you what I need,” I whispered, the words spilling out as desire overtook me. Grabbing his tie, I pulled him down to my level, pressing my lips to his in a fierce, demanding kiss, silencing any protest
Isabella RooseveltFor the first time that evening, I finally felt like I was bonding with someone. Nicola had been warm, welcoming, and easy to talk to, a rare presence in a sea of intimidating faces and conversations that felt entirely foreign. With her beside me, I didn’t feel like the odd one out. But, as my luck would have it, she was called away mid-conversation by her husband, Cole.As soon as she left, a sense of isolation washed over me. Everyone else was gathered in tight-knit groups, laughter and murmured words filling the space around me, yet none of them felt welcoming. My anxiety rose, the noise, the lights, the scent of expensive cologne and perfumes—all of it began to close in on me. And without a “conventional” fiancé I could easily tag along with, I was left adrift, wondering if I’d made a mistake by coming at all.In an attempt to calm my nerves, I headed to the in-house bar, tucked in one of Cole’s many lavish rooms. Cole’s home had the unmistakable warmth of someo
Isabella RooseveltI stood in the corner of the room, taking in the scene before me. I was at the Christmas party, and Lucas’s younger brother, Cole, had decided to go all out this year. Dressed as Santa, complete with a red suit, white beard, and a jolly laugh that could fool anyone, Cole looked every bit the part. The room was filled with children, their excited chatter filling the air as they waited for presents and candy. But it was Lucas, not Cole, who had all my attention.Lucas was holding his niece, Arabella, in his arms, gently bouncing her to soothe her as she clung to him. Her big eyes, a little red from crying, darted between her “Santa” dad, uncle and the crowd of rowdy children around her. ‘Lucas, sensing her discomfort, murmured something softly into her ear, and the little girl’s face slowly relaxed. His hand brushed tenderly over her back, his voice low and comforting, like he had all the time in the world just for her.I watched, spellbound, as he patiently coaxed h
Lucas HarringtonI paced around my office, still unsettled by the brief encounter with Walsh Raymond. I should have expected this—everyone knew that the Roosevelts and Raymonds were close, practically joined at the hip in our world of old-money alliances. But it was something else seeing him here, knowing he’d once been a fixture in Isabella’s life.In university, Walsh had been surprisingly grounded for a guy with his pedigree. I could easily see why Isabella might have had a thing for him; he had that quiet, reliable charm that a girl like her would be drawn to.But the thought of it grated on me, of Isabella once being in love with someone else. It didn’t make sense. This wasn’t a marriage of love—nothing about it was supposed to feel remotely romantic, and Isabella didn’t exactly have a choice in the matter either. And yet, the idea of my future wife having feelings for another man didn’t sit well with me.She hadn’t told me she was meeting Walsh, though I had a feeling something
Isabella Roosevelt The lights flickered overhead as I scurried behind Mr. Harrington, my heels clicking rhythmically against the polished marble floor, a sound that echoed through the vast, empty hallways. His long strides were a challenge for my 5’6" frame, but I was determined to keep up, no matter how out of breath I felt. After all, I’d been doing this dance for five long years—chasing after him, trying to anticipate his needs, and fading into the background like a shadow that knew its place. Always on edge, always riddled with anxiety, because five years ago, my father sent me here as a spy, a pawn in his grand game. Alfred Harrington, a man who molded his empire with an iron will and now set his sights on politics, driven by ambition. The Harringtons were generational enemies of the Harringtons, locked in a rivalry that spanned decades, and I was the youngest daughter in a family where obedience was non-negotiable, a rule carved in stone. My father was strict and rarely th
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