The Forbiden Game

Chapter 3: The Key

Isabella

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The key sat on my desk like a ticking time bomb.

I hated that I kept looking at it.

Every few minutes, my gaze drifted back to the small silver key lying beside my laptop. As if staring at it long enough would somehow change what it meant.

It wouldn’t.

The key wasn’t an invitation.

It was a reminder.

A reminder that my future was sitting in someone else’s hands.

I pushed away from my desk and stood. The office around me was nearly empty now. Most employees had gone home hours ago. The lights from the surrounding skyscrapers glittered through the windows.

Usually, being here late made me feel in control.

Tonight, it just made me feel alone.

My phone buzzed.

A message from Cole.

Are you coming?

No greeting.

No explanation.

Just three words.

I stared at the screen.

Then typed:

Still deciding.

The reply came almost instantly.

No, you’re not.

I hated that he was right.

I have been staring at it for the past three hours. The metal glinted under the office lights, small and innocent-looking. But I knew better. It was a trap. A door I wasn't sure I wanted to open.

8 PM. His apartment.

I checked my phone. 6:47 PM.

An hour and thirteen minutes.

My stomach churned.

You don't have to go, I told myself. You can ignore it. Pretend you never got it.

But I knew I couldn't.

Cole wasn't the kind of man you ignored. He was the kind of man who showed up at your door if you didn't show up at his.

And besides , he had the file.

I let out a long breath and grabbed my bag.

The drive downtown gave me far too much time to think.

Traffic crawled through the city streets while my thoughts spiraled.

This was insane.

Normal people didn’t go to the apartments of men who blackmailed them.

Normal people will call lawyers.

Or security.

Or the police.

Instead, I was heading straight toward him.

I tightened my grip on the steering wheel.

Part of me blamed the file.

The other part knew that wasn’t entirely true.

Because beneath the fear and frustration was something else.

Curiosity.

Cole Blackwood made no sense.

One moment he was cold enough to destroy someone’s career.

The next, he was revealing pieces of himself that felt painfully real.

I didn’t trust him.

Not even close.

But I wanted to understand him.

And that might have been worse.

The address led me to a high-rise in the heart of the city. The kind of building with a doorman and an elevator that required a key card. The kind of building that screamed money.

I stepped inside, my heels echoing against the marble floors. The doorman glanced at me, then at the key in my hand, and nodded.

"Penthouse," he said. "Top floor."

Of course it is.

The elevator ride felt endless. Floor after floor. Numbers flashing by.

I stared at my reflection in the polished metal doors. My hair was still pinned. My blazer was still pressed. My face was still a mask of calm.

Inside, I was a mess.

What am I doing?

The elevator doors opened.

I stepped out into a private foyer. One door. One key.

I inserted it into the lock. Turned it.

The door swung open.

The apartment was massive.

I moved slowly through the space.

The apartment looked exactly like what I expected from Cole.

Perfect.

Controlled.

Every piece of furniture seemed deliberately chosen. Every surface was spotless.

There were no family photos.

No clutter.

No signs that anyone actually lived here.

It felt less like a home and more like a carefully constructed image.

My eyes landed on a bookshelf against one wall.

That surprised me.

For some reason, I hadn’t imagined Cole as a reader.

I stepped closer.

Business strategy.

Leadership.

Finance.

Psychology.

Rows and rows of books.

Many of them were worn from use.

I ran my fingers across the spines.

A photograph sat hidden between two books.

Small.

Almost invisible.

I picked it up.

A younger Cole stared back at me.

Maybe sixteen.

Beside him stood a woman with tired eyes and a gentle smile.

His mother.

The resemblance was unmistakable.

For the first time since meeting him, Cole looked happy.

Not powerful.

Not intimidating.

Just happy.

The realization hit harder than I expected.

“You shouldn’t touch things that don’t belong to you.”

I jumped.

Cole stood a few feet away, watching me.

I looked down at the photograph.

“I’m sorry.”

His expression softened slightly.

“Keep it.”

“What?”

“You found it.”

His gaze lingered on the picture for a moment.

“I haven’t looked at that in years.”

Something in his voice made me carefully place it back on the shelf.

And suddenly the apartment didn’t feel quite as cold anymore.

Floor-to-ceiling windows. A view of the entire city. Leather furniture. Dark wood. Minimalist. Cold. Perfect.

And there, in the middle of it all, stood Cole.

He was wearing a black button-down shirt. Sleeves rolled up. No tie. His hair was slightly messy, like he had been running his hands through it.

He looked... different.

"Softer" wasn't the right word. "Human," maybe.

"You came." His voice was unreadable.

"You gave me a key."

"I gave you a choice."

I stepped inside, letting the door close behind me. "Is this how you always operate?"

"Usually, people do what I want without the key."

"Then I must be special."

He almost smiled. "You are."

I walked past him into the living room, my heels sinking into the plush carpet. The city sprawled beneath me, glittering and indifferent.

"Why am I here, Cole?"

"You know why."

"For practice?"

"Among other things."

I turned to face him. He was closer than I expected. Close enough to see the flecks of gold in his dark eyes.

"What other things?"

He studied me for a moment. Then: "I wanted to see if you'd come."

"I told you I would."

"People say a lot of things."

"Clearly, you don't trust anyone."

"Clearly." He stepped closer. "And yet here you are."

"Here I am." I held his gaze. "So what happens now?"

He reached out and took my hand. His fingers were warm. Steady.

"Now," he said softly, "we learn."

Cole released my hand and walked toward the kitchen.

“Sit.”

I frowned.

“Was that an order?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t take orders.”

A corner of his mouth lifted.

“And yet you’re still here.”

I hated that I didn’t have a comeback for that.

With an annoyed sigh, I dropped onto one of the bar stools lining the kitchen island.

Cole grabbed two glasses from a cabinet and filled them with water.

When he returned, he slid one toward me.

“What now?”

He leaned against the counter.

“Questions.”

I blinked.

“Questions?”

“If we’re going to convince people we’re dating, we need to know each other.”

I crossed my arms.

“And if I refuse?”

“Then you’ll embarrass yourself the first time someone asks what my favorite food is.”

Unfortunately, he had a point.

“Fine.”

“Good.”

His expression became thoughtful.

“What’s your favorite coffee order?”

I rolled my eyes.

“That’s your first question?”

“It’s important.”

“No, it isn’t.”

“It is if someone asks.”

I sighed.

“Vanilla latte.”

A smug look crossed his face.

“I knew it.”

My eyes narrowed.

“How?”

“You stop at the café downstairs every morning.”

I stared at him.

“You’ve been watching me.”

“I’ve been observing you.”

“That’s somehow worse.”

His laugh surprised me.

It was brief.

Rough.

Real.

For a moment, he looked younger.

Less dangerous.

The realization unsettled me.

“My turn,” I said quickly.

His expression shifted back into place.

“Go ahead.”

“Favorite food.”

“Steak.”

I nodded.

“See? That wasn’t difficult.”

“I never said it was.”

The questions continued.

Favorite movie.

Favorite color.

Favorite season.

Simple things.

Safe things.

But eventually, the conversation slowed.

The easy questions ran out.

And the difficult ones moved in.

Cole’s gaze held mine.

“Biggest fear?”

The question caught me off guard.

I looked away first.

“I thought we were sticking to coffee and movies.”

“We were.”

“And now?”

“Now I’m curious.”

I swallowed.

The honest answer sat heavily in my chest.

“Failing.”

His expression didn’t change.

“At what?”

“Everything.”

The word escaped before I could stop it.

I immediately regretted it.

Cole remained silent.

Waiting.

Listening.

It felt strangely intimate.

More intimate than touching.

More intimate than standing too close.

Being seen always was.

“I spend my entire life trying to prove myself,” I admitted quietly. “And no matter what I achieve, someone always assumes it happened because of my father.”

Understanding flickered in his eyes.

Not sympathy.

Understanding.

“It’s exhausting.”

The room fell silent.

For a moment, neither of us spoke.

Then I straightened.

“My turn.”

He nodded.

I held his gaze.

“What’s your biggest fear?”

The answer came immediately.

“Needing someone.”

I blinked.

Of all the answers I expected, that wasn’t one of them.

“What?”

His jaw tightened.

“You heard me.”

“That’s your biggest fear?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

For the first time all evening, he hesitated.

The pause lasted only a second.

But I noticed it.

“Because the moment you need someone, you give them power.”

Something in his voice made my chest tighten.

This wasn’t philosophy.

This was an experience.

Someone had taught him that lesson.

The hard way.

I wondered who.

I wondered when.

And I wondered why I suddenly wanted to know.

The realization was dangerous.

Because curiosity was how people got attached.

And attachment was exactly what I couldn’t afford.

Yet as I sat across from Cole Blackwood, listening to answers he never intended to give, one thought kept repeating itself.

This man was far more complicated than I wanted him to be.