Deanna arched an eyebrow, her expression cool and unreadable.


    A flicker of greed shed in Rowena''s eyes.


    "Deanna, I truly care about Vi—about Victor," Rowena pleaded, her voice trembling with hope. "If you don''t mind, could you let me stay by his side? I


    promise, I''ll be loyal and do whatever you ask."


    Before she could say more, Pattie mmed the lid of the suitcase shut with a loud


    bang.


    Startled, Rowena turned to Deanna in confusion.


    Deanna''s voice cut through the room, sharp andmanding. "Who do you think you are? You think you''re qualified to bargain with me?"


    Her words carried a cold, unquestionable authority.


    Rowena stiffened, fear creeping into her posture.


    "Deanna, I—I don''t care about status... I don''t need a title," she stammered.


    A cold smile curled on Deanna''s lips. "Don''t overestimate yourself. If you keep dreaming, you''ll walk away with nothing."


    Rowena shrank back, the look in Deanna''s eyes enough to send a chill through her.


    Her voice shook as she whispered, "I understand. I—I won''t dare to hope for more."


    Clutching the two suitcases tightly, Rowena hurried away without looking back.


    *


    A private jet sat on the runway, its door opening with a hiss.


    A tall, imposing figure emerged and descended the steps, each footfall measured and heavy.


    Victor was dressed head-to-toe in ck, his movementsposed but noticeably slow if one looked closely.


    Kemp followed, his arm bound in a stark white sling, bruises and cuts still fresh on his face.


    "Mr. Fitzgerald, maybe you should go to the hospital first."


    Victor''s voice was unreadable, cold and low. "That''s not necessary."


    He didn''t pause. "Find out where Isadora is right now."


    Kemp hesitated, concern etched across his battered features. "But sir, your injuries they need urgent care."


    They had just returned from a business trip in Argentia, where Victor was handling a betrayal within the Fitzgerald Group''s local branch.


    On their very first night, Farrar Fitzgerald had orchestrated an ambush.


    Fortunately, Victor wasn''t caught off guard. He''d arranged for private security in advance; otherwise, they might not have made it back alive.


    Still, Argentia was Farrar''s territory, and he hadn''t held back. The attack had been brutal-Victor bore both a bullet graze and a deep knife wound.


    He''d spent a day and a half unconscious in a European hospital.


    When he woke, he saw the newsing out of Capitolion.


    Without waiting for a full recovery, he''d checked himself out and boarded a flight, enduring more than ten hours in the air just to get back to Capitolion. He didn''t even stop to clean up Farrar''s mess.


    Victor''s face was pale, but his tone brooked no argument. "Since when do my orders mean nothing?"


    *


    When Isadora reached the basement garage, she paused beside her ck Mercedes, ncing back at the man trailing after her.


    "Mr. Fawcett, you should go home. I have something to take care of."


    Terrell shook his head. "Let me take you."


    Isadora refused. "That''s not necessary."


    He persisted, his voice gentle but determined. "I''m worried about you. Just for tonight, don''t turn me away. I promise I won''t say anything to make things harder for you."


    Only now did Isadora realize just how stubborn he could be. But right now, all she wanted was to be alone.


    "Really, Terrell, I mean it. I''m not used to having someone hovering over me like this."


    Not far away, the door of a long, limited-edition Rolls-Royce swung open.


    Terrell''s gaze shifted past Isadora, catching sight of a dignified man approaching


    from the shadows. He froze, recognition dawning on his face.


    Noticing the change, Isadora turned, following Terrell''s line of sight.


    There he was the man she''d been waiting for.


    Victor, dressed in ck from head to toe, his striking features framed by sharp-cropped hair, looked as if he''d stepped out of a dream. His eyes were deep, his expression intense, though hisplexion was still pale.


    It had only been a few days since they''dst seen each other.


    He''d promised, "Wait for me. I''lle back."


    To Isadora, it felt like a century had passed.


    Victor moved toward her, tall and steady, his footsteps echoing through the


    garage.


    "Isadora." His voice was low and unmistakable.