Isolde didn't make it five feet past the door. A large hand slammed against the wall right beside her head, blocking her path. The scent of cedar and cigar smoke enveloped her.

She gasped, spinning around. Jacques pinned her against the wall, his body a wall of solid muscle. The hallway was dimly lit, the shadows making his face look even more menacing.

"Running away again?" he asked, his voice a low growl. "You seem to make a habit of it."

"Let me go." Isolde said, trying to keep her voice steady. "I need to get back-"

"Back to what? Playing the dutiful wife?" Jacques leaned in closer, his face inches from hers. "Last night you were throwing yourself at me. Tonight you're serving me drinks. Which one is the real you, Isolde?"

"It was a mistake." she whispered. "I didn't know who you were."

"Didn't you?" He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out the silver bracelet. The Mitchell crest glinted under the dim light. He dangled it in front of her face.

Isolde's eyes widened. She reached for it instinctively. "That's mine!"

Jacques yanked it back, holding it out of her reach. "You left it in my room. Along with a lot of unanswered questions." He stepped closer, his thigh pressing against hers. "You expect me to believe it's a coincidence? That the woman who tried to buy me last night just happens to be the wife of the man begging for my investment?"

"It is a coincidence," Isolde insisted, her voice rising in panic. "I didn't know you were the investor. I didn't even know your name until ten minutes ago!"

Jacques scoffed. "You're a terrible liar. A man in my position meets a lot of women who play games. But you? You're playing a dangerous one. Coming to my room. Leaving your little trinket for me to find. Showing up here with your husband's business partners." He grabbed her chin, forcing her to look at him. "What are you after? Money? Information?"

"I'm not after anything!" Isolde cried, trying to twist away. "My husband made me come here. I don't want anything from you!"

"Is that right?" Jacques's grip tightened. "Then why did you come to the club last night? Why did you look at me like I was the answer to all your prayers?"

Isolde couldn't tell him the truth. She couldn't tell him she was there to cheat on her husband. It was too humiliating. She clamped her mouth shut, her eyes burning with unshed tears.

Jacques took her silence as an admission. His eyes darkened, a dangerous glint entering them. "Let me give you a piece of advice, Isolde. If you're going to play with fire, make sure you don't get burned. And if you come into my territory, you don't get to run away when things get hot."

He released her chin, stepping back. The elevator at the end of the hall dinged, the doors sliding open. Jacques glanced at the sound, his expression hardening.

Isolde didn't wait. She ducked under his arm and sprinted down the hall, away from the elevator. She pushed through the door to the service stairwell, her heart hammering in her chest. She leaned against the cold concrete wall, her legs giving out. She slid to the floor, gasping for breath.

She had to go back. Her purse was still in the dining room. Her phone was in her purse. She couldn't leave without it.

She waited five minutes, trying to compose herself. Then she pushed open the door and crept back down the hall. She took a deep breath and opened the door to the private dining room.

The atmosphere inside had shifted. It was freezing. Jacques was back in his seat, his face like thunder. Rudy and the other men sat in rigid silence, their faces pale.

Rudy saw Isolde and nearly jumped out of his chair. "Mrs. Ruiz! Thank God. Come, sit down. Pour the wine."

Isolde walked over to the table, her hands trembling. She picked up the bottle of wine.

Before she could pour, Jacques slammed his whiskey glass down on the table. The crack of glass against wood was like a gunshot.

Isolde jumped, the wine bottle slipping. Red liquid splashed across the white tablecloth. Rudy opened his mouth to yell, but one look from Jacques shut him up.

Jacques stood up, his movements slow and deliberate. He adjusted his cufflinks, his gaze sweeping over the terrified men. "This meeting is over. The rest of the discussion is confidential." He turned his cold stare to Isolde. "And she doesn't belong here. Get her out."

Rudy scrambled to his feet. He walked over to Isolde, his face red with suppressed anger. He pointed toward the door. "Out. Now."

Isolde stood frozen, her face burning with shame. Every man at the table was staring at her. She saw the pity, the disgust, the amusement. She grabbed her purse off the chair.

She held her head high, refusing to let them see her cry. She walked out of the room, the door clicking shut behind her.

The moment she was alone, the tears fell. She leaned against the wall, her body shaking. She had failed. She had been humiliated. And Clark was going to make her pay.

Isolde stumbled into the hotel lobby, her vision blurred by tears. She fumbled in her purse for her phone. She had to call Clark. She had to try and explain. Maybe if she begged, he would understand.

The phone rang and rang. No answer.

Panic clawed at her throat. She turned back toward the dining room. Maybe she could talk to Jacques. Maybe she could apologize. Maybe-

The door flew open. Rudy Kowalski stormed out, his face twisted in rage. He spotted Isolde and marched over to her.

"You stupid bitch!" he shouted, spittle flying from his lips. "Do you know what you just did? Valdez just killed the deal! Three hundred million dollars, gone! Because of you!"

Isolde shrank back, her hands raised. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean-"

"Sorry doesn't cut it!" Rudy grabbed her arm, his fingers digging in. "Clark is going to destroy you. You hear me? You're finished!"

He shoved her away, storming off toward the elevators. Isolde stood in the middle of the lobby, the stares of the hotel guests boring into her like needles.

Her phone rang. She looked at the screen. Clark.

She answered, her voice a hoarse whisper. "Clark, please, let me explain-"

"You're done." His voice was devoid of any emotion. The line went dead.

Isolde stared at the black screen. The fear that had been simmering in her gut exploded into full-blown terror. Clark's threats were never empty.

Bria.

She dialed the nanny's number. No answer. She dialed the school's front office. The line rang twice before a receptionist picked up.

"Manhattan Preparatory Academy, how can I help you?"

"This is Isolde Ruiz. I need to check if my daughter, Bria, is still at school."

"One moment, Mrs. Ruiz." A long pause. "No, ma'am. Her father picked her up over an hour ago."

The floor dropped out from under Isolde. "What? He wasn't supposed to-did he say where they were going?"

"No, ma'am. He had the proper identification. We couldn't stop him."

Isolde hung up, a scream building in her chest. She ran out of the hotel, into the chaotic Manhattan traffic. She hailed a cab, throwing a bill at the driver. "Manhattan Prep! Hurry!"

By the time she reached the school, the sun was setting. The playground was empty. The building was dark. She ran to the security booth, pounding on the glass.

"Where is she?" she yelled. "Where is my daughter?"

The guard shook his head, confused. "Ma'am, the school is closed. If you don't have custody papers-"

Isolde didn't listen. She ran to the curb, dialing Clark's number over and over. It went straight to voicemail. She texted Agnes. Nothing.

She wandered the streets, her mind racing. Bria was allergic to cats. Clark's mistress, Kelsey, had three Persians. If Bria was there, she could go into anaphylactic shock.

Isolde collapsed onto a bench, her body wracked with sobs. People walked by, giving her a wide berth. She didn't care. Her daughter was gone.

Her phone buzzed. A text from an unknown number.

She opened it. It was a photo. A little girl with dark hair, standing in front of a dessert display. Her back was to the camera, but Isolde would recognize that little pink jacket anywhere. Bria.

Isolde scrambled to her feet. She zoomed in on the photo. In the corner, a poster advertised a jazz night. It was the hotel. The very hotel she had just left. The message felt calculated, timed perfectly to her despair. Whoever sent this wanted her back here.

She sprinted back toward The Cortland, her lungs burning. She burst through the revolving doors and ran into the main dining room. It was packed with people. She pushed through the crowd, her eyes scanning every face.

"Bria!" she screamed. "Bria!"

A waiter tried to stop her. "Ma'am, you can't-"

"Bria!" Isolde shoved him aside, running toward the back of the room.

Two security guards moved toward her. Isolde panicked, her eyes darting around the room. And then she saw him.

Jacques Valdez was walking out of a VIP corridor, his bodyguard Ken a step behind him.

Isolde didn't think. She just acted. She ran toward him, her hands outstretched. "Help me! Please, you have to help me!"

Ken stepped forward, his arm blocking her path. He was a wall of solid muscle.

"Please," Isolde begged, trying to see around him. "Mr. Valdez, please!"

Jacques walked past her. He didn't even look in her direction. His face was impassive, his eyes straight ahead. He treated her like she was invisible. Like she was nothing.

Isolde's knees buckled. She fell to the floor, the sobs tearing from her chest. She was alone. No one was going to help her.

Isolde was on her knees, the cold marble floor biting into her skin. Ken's shadow loomed over her, blocking the light. She was about to give up, about to let the despair swallow her whole, when she heard it.

"Sir, my lollipop fell!"

The voice was small, clear, and achingly familiar.

Isolde's head snapped up. From behind Ken's legs, a little figure stepped out. Bria. She was pointing at a sticky red blob on the floor, her lower lip trembling.

Isolde lunged forward, wrapping her arms around her daughter. She pulled Bria tight against her chest, burying her face in the little girl's hair. The tears came faster, but these were tears of relief.

"Mommy, you're squeezing too tight!" Bria squirmed, but she patted Isolde's back with her small hand. "Don't cry. The nice man helped me."

Isolde looked up. Jacques stood a few feet away, his expression unreadable. But the coldness from a moment ago was gone. He was watching Bria with a strange intensity, his brow furrowed.

Bria pointed at Jacques. "The bad men tried to take me, but he stopped them. He gave me a lollipop."

Isolde's mouth fell open. The man who had humiliated her, who had destroyed her husband's deal, had just saved her daughter. "You... you saved her?"

Jacques shrugged, his voice cool. "I was walking through the lobby. I saw her wandering alone. Two men in cheap suits were trying to coax her into a car. I had Ken handle it."

Isolde's blood ran cold. The men in cheap suits must have been Clark's goons. He had tried to have Bria kidnapped.

"Thank you," Isolde whispered, her voice cracking. "I don't know how to repay you."

Bria tugged on Jacques's trouser leg. "Hey. You still owe me a lollipop. I dropped it."

Jacques looked down at her. The hard lines of his face softened. He crouched down until he was at her eye level. "You're right. I do owe you. What kind do you want?"

"The red kind," Bria said seriously. She leaned in, studying his face. "You look like the prince in my storybook. The one with the big castle."

Jacques blinked. A small, genuine smile touched his lips. It transformed his face, making him look younger, less intimidating. "Is that so?"

Isolde grabbed Bria's arm, pulling her back. "Bria, don't bother Mr. Valdez. We need to go."

"But I want his phone number!" Bria protested, grabbing Jacques's sleeve. "Princes have phone numbers, right?"

Isolde's face burned. "Bria, no-"

Jacques reached into Ken's jacket and pulled out a sleek silver cardholder. He slid out a card and handed it to Bria. "You're right. Every princess needs a direct line to the castle."

Bria took the card, her eyes wide. She looked at the numbers, tracing the embossed lettering with her tiny finger, before clutching it to her chest like a sacred treasure. She turned to Isolde. "Mommy, this is the prince's number. You have to save it for me, okay? Don't lose it!"

Isolde stared at her daughter as she carefully handed the card over. It was a lifeline she hadn't expected.

Jacques's eyebrows rose. "Smart kid," he said, standing up. He looked at Isolde, his gaze turning serious. "Why was she alone, Isolde?"

Isolde straightened her spine, refusing to show weakness. "It was a misunderstanding with her nanny. It won't happen again." She picked Bria up, balancing her on her hip. "Thank you again, Mr. Valdez. We'll be going now."

"Bye, Prince Jacques!" Bria called, waving her little hand.

Jacques raised a hand in return, his eyes never leaving Isolde's face. Isolde turned and walked away, her heart heavy.

Back at Vivian's apartment, Isolde ran a bath for Bria. While her daughter splashed in the tub, Isolde sat on the closed toilet, staring at the business card in her hand.

Jacques Valdez. CEO, Valdez Group.

The reality of who he was hit her like a physical blow. He wasn't just a rich man. He was a titan. He controlled half the real estate in the city. And he had her phone number. He knew who she was.

Bria came out of the bathroom, her hair damp. "Can I sleep with the prince's card, Mommy?"

Isolde wanted to rip the card to shreds. But the look on Bria's face stopped her. She handed the card over, watching as her daughter tucked it under her pillow like a treasure.

After Bria fell asleep, Isolde walked into the living room. Vivian was waiting, a glass of mulled wine in her hand.

"I called a lawyer," Isolde said, her voice hollow. "The best divorce attorney in the city. I'm done running. I'm going to fight."