Monday morning came faster than Isabella expected.
She stood in front of the mirror, adjusting the high collar of her blouse for the third time. Her reflection stared back with wide, anxious eyes and lips painted in a calm, confident red. It was a lie but a necessary one.
This was her new reality. She was working for the man who unknowingly fathered her child.
She touched her lower belly gently, the smallest flutter of emotion stirring beneath her palm. I'll protect you, she said. No matter what.
Volkov Enterprises buzzed with activity as she entered. Phones rang. People in tailored suits strode purposefully down the hall. And her desk just outside Dominic Volkov's office felt like the eye of a storm.
She barely had time to put down her bag before the office door opened.
He was already dressed for war.
Dominic Volkov wore a steel-gray suit that fit like it was sewn onto his body, his icy gaze scanning the room and landing on her. "Coffee. No sugar. No cream."
She jumped up. "Yes, sir."
"Bring it in."
Moments later, she returned with the mug in hand, silently praying her hands wouldn't shake. She stepped into the office, carefully placing it on a coaster.
He looked up, watching her closely.
"You're early," he said.
"I prefer to be ahead of schedule."
His brows lifted slightly, as if mildly impressed. "Good. I expect you to maintain that habit."
She gave a tight nod and turned to leave, but his voice stopped her.
"And Miss Romano?"
She paused.
"Tell me," he said, reclining slightly in his chair. "Why are you here?"
The question caught her off guard. "I.. I applied for the position."
"That's not what I meant." He studied her with that unsettling intensity. "You're overqualified for a secretary role. Your resume says you have a degree from Columbia."
She swallowed. "I needed a job."
"You need money."
"Yes."
He tapped a pen against his desk. "Debt? Family obligations? Or something else?"
Try an unplanned pregnancy, she thought bitterly.
"Does it matter?" she asked, voice cool.
A flicker of surprise touched his eyes. Then, slowly, a smile curved his lips a real one this time. Sharp. Dangerous.
"No," he said. "It doesn't. As long as you do your job."
She turned and walked out, forcing herself not to let her legs shake.
Stay calm. Stay quiet. Stay invisible.
But that was easier said than done. Dominic Volkov was not a man who let anyone remain unseen for long.
Over the next few hours, she shadowed his meetings, took calls, organized documents, and witnessed firsthand how merciless he could be. One poor manager made a minor mistake on a presentation and was verbally eviscerated in front of the entire boardroom.
When the meeting ended, Dominic stalked out first, speaking lowly to Isabella as she fell into step beside him.
"You take notes?"
"Yes."
"Send them to legal. And have my noon call with Osaka rescheduled. I don't do back-to-back negotiations."
"Understood."
She handed him a folder. Their fingers brushed.
It was nothing. A half-second of contact. But electricity shot through her regardless.
He paused, his brows drawing slightly together.
For a moment, his gaze softened. Just slightly. As if some faint recognition stirred in him.
"Have we met before?" he asked suddenly.
Her breath caught.
She forced a smile. "No, sir. I don't think so."
He didn't answer, just stared at her a beat too long before turning away.
As she returned to her desk, Isabella's pulse thundered in her ears. He doesn't remember. He can't. That night was nothing to him.
But to her?
It was the beginning of everything.
And the clock was ticking.
Sooner or later, Dominic Volkov would learn the truth.