Isla Brown sat in her penthouse suite at the Plaza Athénée, the city lights of Paris twinkling through the floor-to-ceiling windows. A Baccarat crystal glass of champagne dangled between her fingers as she reclined on the chaise lounge, lost in thought.
Money or love?
What a ridiculous question.
The answer had always been money. Love was for fools, for people who hadn’t seen how easily it shattered. She had learned that lesson young, too young.
Her father had been the first man to teach her that money meant everything. The Brown family’s wealth had shielded her from the world’s cruelties, but it had also come with its own price. Isla had grown up as a spoiled heiress, showered in luxury but never in affection.
Her father had made it clear: emotions were a weakness. Attachments were
