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."

The lawyer's office was all glass and steel, perched high above Park Avenue. Isolde sat across from the mahogany desk, her signature drying on the retainer agreement.

"Clark Ruiz will not take this lying down," the lawyer warned, steepling his fingers. "He will fight for every penny, and he will fight for the child."

"I know," Isolde said, her jaw set. "But I'm not giving up."

An hour later, Isolde walked into the lobby of Ruiz Architecture. She wasn't alone. Two paralegals from the law firm flanked her. The receptionist tried to stop them, but a flash of legal documents sent her scrambling for the phone.

Isolde didn't wait to be announced. She pushed open the doors to Clark's office.

He was standing by the window, a golf club in his hand. When he saw her, his face twisted with rage. He threw the club at the wall, the metal clanging loudly. "You have some nerve showing your face here."

He lunged toward her, but one of the paralegals stepped in front of Isolde. Clark stopped, his chest heaving.

Isolde reached into her bag and pulled out the divorce papers. She threw them onto his desk. "It's over, Clark. I'm filing for divorce, and I'm seeking full custody of Bria."

Clark laughed, a harsh, grating sound. "You think you can take my daughter? You'll leave this marriage with nothing, Isolde. The prenup guarantees it."

Isolde didn't flinch. She nodded to the paralegal, who stepped forward and placed a second document on the desk. "Have you read your own prenup recently, Clark? Section four, paragraph two. The infidelity clause."

Clark's smile faltered.

The paralegal spoke up, his voice clear and professional. "In the event of documented marital infidelity, Mrs. Ruiz is entitled to thirty percent of the company's shares. A significant stake. Enough to give her a seat on the board and challenge your authority."

Clark's face went pale. "That's bullshit. I never-"

Isolde pulled a manila envelope from her bag and tossed it onto the pile. Inside were photos of Clark and Kelsey entering a hotel room, along with a copy of Kelsey's ultrasound. "You're having a child with another woman. The courts don't look kindly on that."

Clark's hands balled into fists. He looked like a cornered animal. Then, suddenly, his expression shifted. The rage melted away, replaced by a cold, calculating smile.

"Fine," he said softly. "You want a divorce? You can have it. And you can have full custody of Bria. I won't fight you."

Isolde narrowed her eyes. This was too easy. "What's the catch?"

"No catch." Clark walked around the desk, leaning against the edge. "I just have one little condition. You fix the Valdez deal. You get Jacques Valdez to sign that contract by the end of the week, and I'll give you everything you want."

Isolde stared at him in disbelief. "You're delusional. You ruined that deal. He hates us."

"Then I guess you'll be staying married to me for a very long time." Clark's smile was venomous. "And if you can't close the deal, it just proves how worthless you are. I'll make sure the judge knows you're an unfit mother."

Isolde's nails dug into her palms. It was an impossible task. Jacques had made his feelings perfectly clear. But it was the only way out.

"Fine," she said, the word tasting like ash in her mouth. "I'll do it."

Clark chuckled, straightening his tie. "Good luck. You're going to need it."

Isolde walked out of the office, her legs trembling. In the elevator, she leaned against the wall, closing her eyes. How was she supposed to convince a man like Jacques Valdez to give her a second chance?

Back at Vivian's apartment, Isolde sat on the edge of her bed, staring at the business card she had taken from Bria's pillow. She pulled out her phone and typed in the number. Her finger hovered over the call button.

Bria skipped into the room, holding a piece of paper. It was a crayon drawing of a tall man in a suit, holding hands with a little girl. "Look, Mommy! It's me and the prince!"

Isolde looked at the drawing, a desperate plan forming in her mind. She took a deep breath and pressed call.

It rang once. Twice. Three times. Isolde was about to hang up when the line clicked.

"What?" Jacques's voice was curt, annoyed.

"It's Isolde," she said quickly. "Isolde Ruiz. I need to speak with you about the contract-"

"No." The word was flat, final.

"Please," Isolde begged. "Just give me five minutes. I can explain everything. The dinner, the club, all of it."

There was a long pause. Isolde could hear the faint sound of ice clinking in a glass.

"Fine," Jacques said, his tone shifting. "You want to talk? Come to my apartment. Tonight."

He rattled off an address in the most exclusive building in the city. Before Isolde could respond, the line went dead.

She stared at the phone in her hand. Going to a powerful man's private residence at night, a man who thought she was a liar and a spy. It was dangerous. It was stupid.

But it was her only chance.