The heavy silence in Alexander's office was palpable as Isabella sat across from him, her posture rigid. The weight of their fabricated relationship, forged from necessity and manipulation, hung between them. Days had passed since their agreement to carry on the charade of an arranged relationship, and though she continued her work as his personal assistant, the tension between them had grown increasingly unbearable.
Isabella had always known Alexander was a complex man—cold, calculating, and entirely too used to controlling every aspect of his world. However, she never anticipated how difficult he would make her life in the months to come. The contract they had both signed laid out strict terms: Isabella had a curfew of 9:00 p.m., and if she failed to adhere to it, not only would her salary as an assistant be docked, but her compensation as part of their "relationship" agreement would also take a hit. And that was just the beginning.
"Bring me lunch," Alexander barked from behind his desk, not even bothering to glance up at her. The sharpness in his tone cut through the quiet like a blade.
Isabella's grip tightened on the tablet in her hand. For days, he had been relentless, finding every excuse to assert his dominance over her. Despite being in a mutually beneficial arrangement, it was clear Alexander was bent on making her existence as difficult as possible. Still, she forced herself to remain calm, knowing the contract left her with little recourse. She stood and left the room without a word.
Her fury simmered just beneath the surface as she made her way to the kitchen to fetch his lunch. Isabella wasn't some powerless pawn, and she certainly wasn't going to be reduced to a mere servant in Alexander Gray's elaborate game of control. By the time she returned, balancing a tray of delicately prepared dishes, she found him deep in conversation on the phone, his voice clipped and terse as he argued with someone on the other end. He barely acknowledged her when she placed the tray on his desk.
The dismissal was the final straw.
"I'm not your personal servant, Alexander," Isabella snapped, her voice shaking with restrained fury. "I didn't sign up for this to be treated like some unpaid intern."
Alexander's eyes finally flicked up to meet hers, and the fury simmering in his blue gaze was chilling. He hung up the phone with deliberate slowness, leaning back in his chair as he regarded her with an air of smug indifference.
"You're paid to do what I say," he said coldly, his voice smooth but laced with disdain. "And if fetching me lunch is part of your duties, you'll do it. Don't forget who's in control here."
The arrogance, the complete disregard for her dignity, stoked the embers of her anger into a full-blown fire. "I'm not your errand girl, Alexander," she retorted, her hands trembling as she stood her ground. "I'm your assistant. And I didn't agree to be treated like a piece of furniture you can command around."
Alexander rose from his chair, his towering frame casting a shadow over her as he stepped closer. The cold fury in his eyes sent a shiver down her spine, but she refused to back down. He had pushed her to the edge, and she was no longer willing to tolerate his manipulations in silence.
"You seem to be forgetting your place, Isabella," he said, his voice lowering dangerously. "This isn't just about your job. You agreed to this arrangement. You agreed to follow my rules. If you can't handle it, then maybe you should reconsider your options."
The tension between them was electric, a palpable force that filled the room with a sense of imminent explosion. Isabella's heart pounded in her chest, but she wasn't going to let him intimidate her.
"I haven't forgotten anything," she said quietly, her voice steady despite the storm raging inside her. "But I won't be treated like this. Not by you, not by anyone."
With that, she turned and stormed out of the office, her heels clicking sharply against the polished marble floors. She couldn't stay there, couldn't stand to be near him for another second without losing her composure entirely.
---
Back at the luxurious penthouse Alexander called home, Isabella's emotions boiled over. She slammed the door behind her, the sound reverberating through the grand living room. Her pulse was racing, her mind spinning as she tried to make sense of everything. This wasn't how it was supposed to go. She had thought she could handle Alexander's coldness, his controlling nature—but this was too much.
She paced back and forth, her heels sinking into the plush carpet as she struggled to contain her anger. Every room in the penthouse was a stark reminder of the opulence that surrounded Alexander's life, the life she had become a part of in exchange for security. But none of this felt like hers. None of it was real.
Her eyes fell on the contract that lay on the coffee table. The meticulously drafted document had dictated every aspect of their so-called relationship—curfews, appearances, rules, and consequences. The curfew clause had been a particularly galling addition, a way for Alexander to maintain control over her even when she wasn't at work. If she dared to stay out past 9:00 p.m., her salary would be docked. As if she were a child being punished.
A surge of anger and defiance welled up inside her, and before she could think twice, Isabella grabbed the contract and tore it in half. The sound of ripping paper was cathartic, but it wasn't enough. She tore the halves into quarters, then into tiny, jagged pieces, until the once-imposing contract lay in a shredded heap at her feet.
She was done. Done with playing by Alexander's rules, done with this ridiculous charade of a relationship. She didn't care about the money, didn't care about the security anymore. She would find another way, but she wasn't going to let him control her life.
The doorbell rang, jolting her from her thoughts.
Isabella's heart sank when she opened the door to find Alexander standing in the hallway, his face a mask of cold indifference. His piercing blue eyes swept over her, and for a moment, she thought she saw something flicker in them—uncertainty, perhaps. But it was gone as quickly as it had appeared.
"I see you're still upset," he said, his voice dripping with condescension as he stepped inside without waiting for an invitation.
Isabella crossed her arms over her chest, her anger bubbling to the surface once more. "I'm not upset, Alexander. I'm done."
Alexander's eyebrows raised slightly, but his expression remained cool. "Done with what?"
"This," Isabella gestured around the room, her voice firm. "I'm done with this fake relationship. I'm done with your rules, your curfews, your ridiculous demands. I'm not going to let you control me any longer."
For the first time, Alexander seemed taken aback. The cool, impenetrable facade he always wore cracked just a little, and Isabella saw the briefest flicker of surprise in his eyes. But it didn't last.
"If that's what you want, then leave," Alexander said coldly, his voice harsh. "You think I need you? I don't."
Isabella turned on her heel, ready to storm out of the apartment and never look back. But before she could take a single step, Alexander grabbed her arm, spinning her back around to face him. His grip was tight, his fingers digging into her skin as he pulled her closer.
"You're not going anywhere," he growled, his voice low and dangerous.
Isabella's heart raced as she tried to pull away, but his hold on her was unyielding. His eyes blazed with something dark, something she had never seen in him before.