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.

The penthouse at The Beresford was a fortress. The doorman checked Isolde's ID twice before allowing her into the private elevator. The ride up was silent, the polished brass walls reflecting her pale face.

The elevator opened directly into the apartment. It was a massive, open-plan space, all glass and steel. The entire wall facing Central Park was a window, the city lights glittering below like scattered diamonds.

Jacques was sitting at a grand piano near the window. His fingers moved lazily over the keys, playing a slow, melancholy tune. He didn't turn around.

Isolde stepped out of the elevator, the doors sliding shut behind her. She clutched her purse in front of her like a shield. "Mr. Valdez?"

The music stopped. Jacques turned on the bench, his gaze sweeping over her. He was wearing a loose silk shirt, the top buttons undone. He looked relaxed, but the danger radiating from him was palpable.

"You came," he said, his voice a low purr.

"I said I would." Isolde took a step forward. "I want to talk about the Ruiz Architecture contract. I know things went badly at the dinner, but if you would just look at the revised projections-"

Jacques stood up and walked over to the bar. He picked up a bottle of whiskey and poured two glasses. He walked toward her, holding one out. "You came all the way up here at midnight to talk about construction materials?"

Isolde didn't take the glass. "I came to ask you to reconsider. A lot of jobs depend on that contract."

Jacques set the glass down on a nearby table. He kept walking until he was right in front of her. Isolde took a step back, her legs hitting the back of the bar. She was trapped.

He reached out, twirling a strand of her hair around his finger. "If you were so scared of me at the club, why did you come tonight? Alone?"

"I'm not scared of you," Isolde lied, her breath catching as his knuckles brushed her neck.

"Liar." He leaned in, his lips brushing her ear. "You're terrified. But you're also desperate. It's an intoxicating combination."

Isolde pushed against his chest, but he didn't budge. "I'm here for the contract. Nothing else."

"The contract is dead." Jacques pulled back, his eyes hard. "Clark Ruiz is a fool, and his company is a sinking ship. I don't invest in lost causes."

"Then why did you agree to see me?" Isolde demanded, her frustration boiling over.

Jacques reached into his pocket and pulled out the silver bracelet. He placed it on the bar counter between them. "I wanted to see what you would offer me in exchange."

Isolde reached for the bracelet, relief flooding her. "Thank you. I-"

Jacques's hand shot out, grabbing her wrist. His grip was firm, his skin burning hot against hers.

"Did you really think it would be that easy?" he asked, his voice dropping an octave. "You want the contract? You want me to save your husband's company? Then you have to give me something in return."

"I don't have anything else," Isolde whispered, her pulse racing under his fingers.

"Yes, you do." Jacques released her wrist, his hand moving up to cup her jaw. His thumb traced the line of her cheekbone. "Be mine, Isolde. Until I get bored of you. That's the price."

Isolde stared at him, the words sinking in like stones. He wanted to buy her. He wanted to turn her into his mistress, his plaything. The same thing Clark had accused her of being.

"You're insane," she breathed, snatching the bracelet off the counter. "I would never-"

"Think about it," Jacques interrupted, his voice cold. "Without me, you have nothing. Clark will take your daughter. You'll be out on the street. I'm offering you a way out. A comfortable way out."

"I'd rather be homeless than be your whore," Isolde spat. She turned and ran for the elevator, jabbing the button. The doors slid open, and she threw herself inside, her heart pounding in her ears.

As the doors closed, she saw Jacques standing by the bar, his face impassive. "You'll change your mind," he called out. "They always do."

The elevator descended, and Isolde collapsed against the wall, the tears she had been holding back finally spilling over. She clutched the bracelet to her chest, the metal biting into her skin. She was trapped. Clark was going to take Bria, and there was nothing she could do to stop it.

When she got back to Vivian's apartment, she told her friend everything. Vivian was furious, pacing the living room. "He's a pig! A manipulative, arrogant pig!"

Isolde sat on the couch, her head in her hands. "It doesn't matter. I have to find another way."

The next morning, her phone rang. It was her lawyer.

"Mrs. Ruiz, I just received notice. Your husband has filed for emergency temporary custody of Bria. He's claiming you abandoned her last night and are an unfit mother."

Isolde's blood ran cold. She called Clark immediately.

"Having a bad morning?" Clark asked, his voice dripping with smugness. "I told you what would happen if you failed. Unless you want to say goodbye to Bria forever, you better figure out a way to get Valdez's signature."

Isolde hung up, her mind racing. She looked at the bracelet in her hand. Then she looked at Bria's tablet, sitting on the coffee table.

She remembered the number she had saved for Bria. She remembered the way he had smiled at her daughter.

It was a terrible idea. It was manipulative. It was risky. But she was out of options.

She picked up the tablet and opened the messaging app. She typed in the number Jacques had given Bria.

She stared at the blank screen. What could she possibly say? She thought of Bria's drawing, of the little girl who thought she had found a prince.

Pride? Dignity? In the face of losing Bria forever, those words were meaningless. That man... Jacques Valdez... he was a devil, but perhaps he was the only devil she could cling to right now. A bitter taste of shame and self-loathath rose in her throat, but for her daughter, she was willing to gamble.

She typed a message, her fingers trembling.

"Prince uncle, my mommy is crying. Can you help us?"

She hit send before she could change her mind. The sender name was auto-filled from Bria's profile.

Bria Ruiz.