Chapter 3

Isabella Roosevelt

I felt a pang of guilt for never inviting my office friends over. They’d mentioned it a few times, and I’d always dodged the suggestion with some flimsy excuse.

But how could I explain why I lived in the richest neighborhood in the country? The truth was, my father’s wealth wasn’t something I liked to flaunt or was around to flaunt because of the whole ‘spy thing’. He was never around, but I respected him because he always took care of us financially. We weren’t spoiled, but our basic necessities were always met.

I let the guilt wash over me, trying to push it away as I poured hot water over the tea leaves, the rich aroma filling my small but elegant kitchen. I was looking forward to curling up on the couch, switching on the television, and losing myself in something mindless for the evening.

The quiet solitude was my haven.

Here, I didn’t have to pretend or keep up appearances. I could just be… Isabelle Brown, the ordinary assistant who worked long hours and kept to herself.

As I stirred the tea, the doorbell rang, slicing through the silence and shattering my peace. I paused, spoon in mid-air, a ripple of unease coursing through me. The doorman always called before sending someone up, and I hadn’t ordered anything or invited anyone over. My heart began to race, a sense of foreboding creeping in as I set the spoon down and wiped my hands on a towel.

I approached the door cautiously, the hair on the back of my neck standing on end. Whoever was on the other side of that door wasn’t supposed to be there. The thought crossed my mind to ignore it, to pretend I wasn’t home, but curiosity got the better of me. I needed to know who it was.

I hesitated for a heartbeat before pressing my eye to the peephole, and when I did, my blood ran cold.

Lucas Harrington.

His face filled the tiny frame, a vision so terrifyingly unexpected that I stumbled back, my heart slamming against my ribcage. The world seemed to tilt on its axis, the walls closing in as I tried to process the reality of what I was seeing. Lucas Harrington was standing outside my door.

Here, at my home.

My mind raced, trying to grasp the situation. How had he found me? Why was he here? Was it possible he knew—no, it couldn’t be. I’d been so careful, so meticulous. But the look on his face, the cold intensity in those piercing blue eyes, told me everything I needed to know.

He knew.

Panic surged through me, every instinct screaming at me to lock the door, to hide, to do anything but face him. But I was paralyzed, rooted to the spot by a terror so profound it felt as if my heart might stop beating altogether. I stood there, my breath shallow and rapid, my pulse roaring in my ears, as his figure loomed on the other side of the door, every second stretching into eternity.

And then he knocked again, the sound sharp and commanding, a summons that left no room for refusal, “Isabella Roosevelt. Open the door. I know you are in there.”

I swallowed hard, my throat dry as I forced myself to reach for the doorknob, my hand trembling uncontrollably. My mind screamed at me to stop, to think, to find a way out, but I knew there was no escape. He was here, and I had to face him.

With a deep, shaky breath, I turned the knob and slowly pulled the door open. As the door swung wide, the reality of his presence hit me like a physical blow. LucasHarrington stood there, his tall, imposing figure filling the doorway with a presence that was both terrifying and magnetic. His dark hair was perfectly styled, and his suit—custom-tailored to perfection—clung to his powerful frame in a way that emphasized every inch of his authority.

But it was his eyes—those cold, piercing blue eyes—that sent a shiver down my spine, freezing me in place. There was something in them, something dark and dangerous, that made it clear this wasn’t a social visit. His gaze locked onto mine, and I felt as though he could see straight through me, stripping away every lie, every defense, until there was nothing left but the raw truth.

I froze, my hand still on the doorknob, and tried to mask the panic rising inside me. Why was he here? How had he found me?

“Good evening, Isabella,” he said, his voice smooth, almost pleasant, but there was an edge to it that made my blood run cold.

“Mr. Harrington,” I stammered, forcing a smile that felt more like a grimace, “What brings you here?”

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he stepped into my apartment without waiting for an invitation, his presence overwhelming the small space between us. I instinctively backed away, my heart pounding in my chest. He shut the door behind him with a soft click, the sound final and ominous.

“I was in the neighborhood,” he finally said, his eyes sweeping over the room, taking in every detail with the meticulousness of a predator assessing its prey. “Thought I’d drop by.”

I tried to calm the rapid beat of my heart, to focus on keeping my breathing steady. His tone was so innocent, so utterly devoid of malice, and yet it was the most terrifying thing I’d ever heard. I knew he was toying with me, like a cat with a cornered mouse.

“Would you like some tea?” I asked, my voice trembling despite my best efforts. I needed to keep calm, to not let him see how terrified I was.

He smiled—a slow, predatory smile that made my stomach twist. “No, thank you. I’m more interested in… other things.”

I swallowed hard, my throat dry. “What other things?”

He took a step closer, closing the distance between us, his eyes locked on mine with an intensity that made my skin crawl. “Like finding out why you’re living in an apartment which’s rent is higher than your salary.”

My blood turned to ice. He knew. He knew everything. “I-I don’t know what you mean. My parents… they own this apartment since the 19-”

He chuckled softly, the sound laced with dark amusement, “Isabella, you’re a terrible liar. But that’s not what bothers me. What really upsets me is the billion dollars I lost because of you.”

My legs nearly gave out beneath me. I grabbed onto the back of the couch to steady myself, my mind racing for a way out of this nightmare. “I didn’t—”

“Save it,” he interrupted, his voice suddenly sharp, cutting through my denial like a knife. “I know you father sent you. I’ve known for a while now.”

I opened my mouth to protest, to deny it all, but the words wouldn’t come. I was too terrified to think, to move, to breathe.

Lucas’s gaze softened, but it only made him more terrifying. He reached out, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear with a gentleness that sent a shiver of fear down my spine. “You’ve been playing a very dangerous game, Isabella. Did you really think you could fool me?”

I flinched at his touch, my skin crawling with the electricity of fear. “I-I wasn’t—”

His hand moved to my chin, tilting my face up so I had no choice but to meet his gaze. The look in his eyes was something I’d never seen before—an icy fury masked by a veneer of calm. “Don’t lie to me, Isabelle. You’re smarter than that.”

I wanted to look away, to escape the intensity of his stare, but I was trapped, held in place by his grip and the force of his presence. “Please,” I whispered, my voice trembling. “I never meant to—”

“To what?” he cut in, his voice low and dangerous. “To get caught? To betray me? To destroy everything I’ve built? And for what? Daddy’s approval?”

His words hit me like a series of blows, each one knocking the breath out of me. “I didn’t want to hurt you.”

For a moment, his expression softened, and I thought I saw a flicker of something—compassion, maybe?—in his eyes. But it was gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by the cold, calculating look that had become all too familiar. “It’s too late for that.”

He released me, and I stumbled back, my legs finally giving way as I collapsed onto the couch. My hands were shaking uncontrollably, my mind a whirlwind of fear and regret.

Lucas reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone, his gaze never leaving mine. “You know what happens to corporate spies, don’t you, Roosevelt? You’ve probably seen your father deal with the people who tried to sabotage him.” He tapped the screen, his expression unreadable. “I think it’s time to call the cops. Your father is smart. He has so many children. Doesn’t matter if one of them ends up in prison, right? Also I can connect all your crimes to you, but not to your father. He was very smart, made sure his name isn’t ruined if you get caught.”

“No!” I gasped, the word escaping before I could stop it.

He raised an eyebrow, the corners of his mouth curving up in a mocking smile. “No? Why not? You’ve cost me a fortune. You’re going to pay for it.”

I could feel the tears welling up in my eyes, my vision blurring as I realized how utterly trapped I was. “Please, don’t. I never wanted to do this. I had no choice.”

Lucas’s smile faded, replaced by something far more menacing. He took a step closer, towering over me, and for the first time, I truly saw the darkness in him. “Begging won’t help you. You’ve made your bed. Now you’ll lie in it.”

He turned away, and I thought for a moment that he might leave, that this nightmare might end. But then he paused, glancing back at me with a look that made my blood freeze in my veins. “I think I’ll let you stew for a while,” he said, his tone casual, as if we were discussing the weather. “You have until tomorrow morning to sort things out before the cops arrest you.”

Lucas walked to the door, his steps slow and deliberate, each one echoing like a death knell in the silence of the apartment. My heart pounded in my chest, the realization of what had just happened crashing over me like a tidal wave. I couldn’t let him leave, not like this, not with my entire future hanging in the balance.

As he reached for the handle, he looked back at me one last time, his eyes cold and devoid of any warmth. “And, Isabelle…” His voice was low, chilling. “Don’t think about running. I’ll find you.”