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Chapter 26: The Game Begins

last update Last Updated: 2025-02-04 00:48:24

The city was alive with the hum of late-night traffic, neon lights reflecting off the rain-slicked streets. Inside Isabella’s penthouse, however, the air was thick with a suffocating silence.

She sat at her desk, staring at the note in her hand.

I KNOW EVERYTHING.

The words burned into her mind, a silent threat wrapped in ink and paper.

Her mind raced.

Who?

It couldn’t be Ryan—he was too controlled, too calculating. If he had this kind of leverage, he would use it directly, not leave anonymous threats.

Then who else knew about Camilla Laurent?

Her past had been buried—every trace of her old identity erased with painstaking precision. She had spent years ensuring no one could connect Isabella King to the girl who had once lived under a different name.

Yet someone had.

A sharp knock on the door made her jolt.

She quickly folded the note and tucked it beneath the laptop before moving toward the entrance.

She peered through the peephole.

Ryan.

Of course.

Taking a deep breath, she schooled her expression into one of mild annoyance before unlocking the door.

“Mr. Byrne,” she drawled, crossing her arms. “You do know the concept of personal space, don’t you?”

Ryan’s gaze swept over her, unreadable. Then, without a word, he stepped past her, walking inside as if he owned the place.

She shut the door, resisting the urge to sigh. “Make yourself at home, why don’t you?”

Ryan turned to face her, his expression calm—too calm. “You didn’t call me.”

Her lips twitched. “Was I supposed to?”

“I gave you a flash drive filled with information about you. I expected a reaction.”

She met his gaze steadily. “And yet, you’re the one who showed up at my door uninvited. Should I be concerned?”

Ryan let out a soft chuckle, but there was no amusement in it. “You tell me. Are you concerned, Isabella?”

She tilted her head, studying him. “If you came here expecting me to panic, I hate to disappoint.”

Ryan stepped closer, the warmth of his presence a stark contrast to the cold edge in his voice. “You’ve got a good poker face. But I know you better than you think.”

“Do you?” she mused. “Because last I checked, you only think you know who I am.”

Ryan smirked. “True. But I do know this—you don’t like being caught off guard.”

Isabella’s fingers twitched. He was testing her, pushing for a reaction.

She refused to give him one.

Instead, she exhaled slowly and walked past him, grabbing a bottle of wine from the bar. “If you’re here to play mind games, I suggest you at least have a drink while you do.”

Ryan watched her, his sharp gaze analyzing every move. Finally, he leaned against the counter, arms crossed.

“I don’t play games without knowing the stakes,” he murmured. “And something tells me yours are higher than most.”

She poured herself a glass but didn’t take a sip. “That depends. What exactly do you think I’m hiding?”

Ryan’s silence was deafening.

Then, slowly, he pulled out his phone and slid it across the counter toward her.

She glanced down.

Her stomach dropped.

A new photo. Different from the one Victor had shown her earlier.

This one was taken tonight—of Ryan standing outside her penthouse door.

From across the street.

Isabella’s fingers tightened around her glass.

Someone was watching both of them.

She lifted her gaze back to Ryan, who was now studying her reaction carefully.

“Still not concerned?” he asked.

Isabella set the wine glass down with a soft clink. “I don’t like being spied on.”

“Neither do I.”

A pause.

Then Ryan reached into his pocket and pulled out a small black device, setting it on the counter.

A signal jammer.

Smart.

It meant whoever was watching them wouldn’t be able to listen in—at least for now.

“I assume you have a suspect,” he said casually, as if discussing stock market trends.

Isabella exhaled, running a hand through her hair. “I have enemies, Ryan. Some I know. Some I don’t.”

Ryan tilted his head. “Camilla Laurent made a lot of enemies, didn’t she?”

Her breath hitched.

He said it so smoothly, as if testing the weight of the name in his mouth.

Slowly, Isabella met his gaze, her lips curving into a slow, deliberate smile. “You think that name means something to me?”

Ryan chuckled. “I know it does.”

She held his gaze, refusing to let even a flicker of emotion betray her.

“Say I was her,” she murmured. “What then?”

Ryan leaned in slightly. “Then I’d say you have a very interesting story to tell.”

Silence stretched between them, thick with unspoken truths.

Finally, Isabella picked up her wine glass and took a slow sip.

“If I were Camilla Laurent,” she said, voice smooth as silk, “I would tell you that she died years ago.”

Ryan smirked. “And yet… here you are.”

She exhaled softly, setting the glass down. “What do you really want, Ryan?”

He studied her for a long moment before answering.

“The truth.”

She let out a soft laugh. “The truth is relative.”

Ryan’s eyes darkened. “Not when it comes to survival.”

For the first time, a flicker of something crossed Isabella’s face.

Not fear.

But something close to it.

Because Ryan was right.

And if someone else out there knew her truth—her real truth—then survival was no longer a guarantee.

It was a race.

And she wasn’t sure who was ahead.

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