Isabelle Mercer never underestimated a storm—but she also never bowed to one. And Amelia Hawke, despite her showstopping performance and that perfectly calculated kiss, was just a storm. Beautiful. Loud. Short-lived.
And Isabelle?
She was the earthquake beneath it.
Surrounded by bright screens, legal papers, and the soft tinkling of ice against her bourbon, she sat in her penthouse office. The glow of the city below highlighted her outline like that of a queen in her tower. And she was ready to strike.
Across from her sat Marcus Klein, a corporate investigator whose reputation was almost as expensive as his hourly rate.
“She’s too clean,” Isabelle muttered, crossing her legs slowly, and deliberately. “No skeletons, no leaks, no weaknesses. No one’s that spotless.”
Marcus tapped his t
