​A Second Chance with the Tycoon

chapter 13

​A chilling silence met her urgent words. On the other end of the line, Alexander’s breath hitched. "Isabella, listen to me," he said, his voice now a razor-sharp command, all traces of his recent vulnerability gone. "Do not open that door. Do not make a sound. Get somewhere safe, now."

​"I can't," she whispered, her gaze flicking around her open-plan studio. There was nowhere to hide, no back door. The only exit was the one the man was at.

​"I’m calling security," he said, the words a low growl. "Stay on the line with me. I'm getting on the first flight back. I swear to God, if he touches a hair on your head—"

​A loud bang on the door cut him off. It was no longer a buzzer; it was a fist, a heavy, impatient thump that resonated through the thin material. Isabella’s heart leaped into her throat.

​"I hear it," Alexander's voice was a panicked whisper. "Isabella, what can you do? Is there anything? A weapon?"

​She swallowed hard, her mind racing. "The fire escape," she breathed, her eyes darting to the locked window that led to the small, rickety metal staircase. "It's bolted shut."

​"Break it! Break it, Izzy, whatever it takes!" he urged, his voice strained with desperation.

​She grabbed a heavy metal paperweight from her desk, the one she used to hold down blueprints. The banging on the door grew more violent, the sound of splintering wood echoing through the studio. With a surge of adrenaline, she swung the paperweight, striking the window with a loud, cracking sound. The glass spiderwebbed but held firm. She swung again, and again, the glass groaning under the force of her blows.

​The sound of the door being kicked in made her gasp. A large, hulking figure in a black trench coat burst into her studio, his face obscured by the darkness and the hood of his jacket. Isabella didn't wait. With one last, furious swing, the glass of the window shattered, raining down onto the fire escape outside. She dropped the paperweight, a shard of glass catching her hand, but she didn't feel it. She scrambled through the broken window, the icy rain drenching her instantly.

​"Izzy? Isabella! Talk to me!" Alexander's voice was a frantic lifeline in her ear.

​"I'm out," she panted, her voice ragged. "On the fire escape."

​She didn't dare look back. She clambered down the slick, cold metal steps, her bare hands gripping the railing, the sound of shouting and breaking glass from her studio above her. The rain was a relentless assault, chilling her to the bone. She knew the man wouldn't follow her. He had what he came for: her. He didn't care if she got away. The fact that she was alive meant nothing to him.

​She reached the bottom of the fire escape, her legs trembling, and fell to her knees on the wet pavement, the phone still clutched in her hand. "Alex," she sobbed, the word a mix of relief and terror. "Alex, he… he took it. He took the prototype."