Isabella's POV

The rejection email stared right back at me as though daring me to say something.

We regret to inform you that we will not be moving forward with your application at this time.

I'd read it five times already, as if the words would rearrange themselves into something less humiliating. The New York Chronicle. My dream publication. The place where real journalists were made.

And they didn't want me.

I threw my phone across the bed and pressed my palms against my eyes until I saw stars. This was supposed to be my fresh start. New city, new life, new Isabella who had her shit together and definitely didn't make terrible decisions involving older men in strip clubs.

Except I couldn't stop thinking about him.

It had been three weeks since that night, and my body still remembered every single thing he'd done to me. The way his hands had gripped my hips. The gravelly sound of his voice when he'd whispered filthy promises against my skin. How he'd made me come so hard I'd seen stars.

Stop Isabella.

I squeezed my thighs together, trying to ignore the heat stirring up in them. This was pathetic. I didn't even know his name-well, his first name.

Mr. Whatever-He-Was had walked into my life for one night and apparently decided to take up permanent residence in my head.

And other places.

My hand drifted down my stomach before I could stop myself. I was already wet just thinking about him. About the way he'd pinned my wrists above my head and told me I was his. The way his tongue had-

My phone buzzed.

I snatched it up, grateful for the interruption before I did something really stupid like touch myself in the middle of the afternoon while thinking about a man whose full name I didn't even know.

Mom was calling.

I groaned. Of course.

"What, Mom?"

"Isabella Marie Moretti, is that any way to greet your mother?"

I closed my eyes. "Hi, Mom. What's up?"

"I need you to come home this weekend."

"I can't. I'm busy."

I wasn't actually. I had exactly zero plans beyond eating Chinese takeout and wallowing in my rejection.

"Busy with what?"

"Internship stuff. Applications. You know, trying to build a career."

She scoffed and then in a low soft voice she said, "Isabella, please. I need you here. I want you to meet someone."

I rolled my eyes, "If this is about setting me up with someone-"

"It's not just that. I want you to meet my husband."

Right. The husband she'd married just almost after burying my father. The husband I'd been successfully avoiding by throwing myself into school and pretending Brooklyn didn't exist anymore.

"I'm not interested in playing happy family, Mom."

"He's a good man. And he's been asking about you."

"Great. Tell him I said hi."

"Isabella." Her voice shifted, taking on that particular tone that meant she was about to guilt trip me into oblivion. "You're all I have left. Your father is gone, and I know you're angry with me, but I'm still your mother. I'm asking you-begging you-to come home for one weekend. Just meet him and the young man I told you about. Just give me this one thing."

I bit down on my tongue so hard that I tasted blood. She always did this, always knew exactly which buttons to push.

"Mom..."

"And," she continued, her voice brightening, "I found you the perfect internship opportunity. Remember my friend Diane? Her brother runs Hartley Media Group. They're looking for interns, and I already put in a good word for you. But you'd need to come see the office, meet with him in person."

I sat up straighter. Hartley Media Group. They weren't the Chronicle, but they were legitimate. Real investigative journalism, my professors in college had hyped them. They were second best, I just didn't apply because I wanted to leave Brooklyn but this offer was too good....

"You're bribing me."

"I'm being a good mother."

"That's literally the definition of a bribe."

She laughed, and for a second she sounded like the mom I remembered from before everything in our lives crashed.

"One weekend, sweetheart. That's all I'm asking."

I looked around my dingy apartment, looked at my laptop screen still displaying that rejection email. I think I needed a detox.

"Fine. One weekend. But I'm not making any promises about this guy you want me to meet."

"That's my girl. I'll send a car for you Saturday morning."

"I can take the train-"

"The car will be there at ten. I love you, baby."

She hung up before I could argue.

I flopped back on the bed and stared at the ceiling. One weekend. I could survive one weekend of playing nice with my mom's new husband and whoever she was trying to set me up with. Get the internship connection, put in my time, then get back to my real life.

Easy.

***********************

The house was huge.

Mom had moved since I'd left for school-traded our comfortable family home for this ridiculous mansion in the nice part of Brooklyn.

The driver who'd picked me up (because of course she'd sent an actual driver) pulled up in the circular driveway, and I grabbed my bag before he could get the door for me.

"Thanks. I've got it."

Mom was already at the front door, practically bouncing. She looked good, younger somehow, like she'd shaved off five years in the past few months. Her hair was different. Wore a Designer dress and her smile was so bright it made me wonder if Dad made her smile like this.

"Isabella! Oh, sweetheart, let me look at you."

She pulled me into a hug, I hugged her back, hating myself a little for how much I'd missed her.

"You look thin. Are you eating?"

"I'm fine, Mom."

"Come in, come in. I have lunch ready, and-oh, he's here! Perfect timing." She grabbed my hand, tugging me through a hall. "I want you to meet him. I've told him so much about you."

I felt a weird feeling in my guts. "Mom, can I at least put my bag down first-"

"Damian! She's here!"

I heard footsteps and watched a figure emerge from what looked like a study or office.

He had dark hair with just a touch of white at the temples. Sharp jaw. Those eyes-Jesus, those eyes that had looked at me like I was something to be devoured while he'd had his hands inside me.

My head spun.

"Isabella," Mom said, beaming like she'd just won the lottery. "This is my husband, Damian Blackwell. Damian, this is my daughter."

He looked at me. I looked at him. The air between us felt really tense and charged.

His expression barely changed, but I saw the flash of recognition on his face. The shock of it all.

My mother's husband. The man she'd married. The man she glowed about and clearly adored was the same man who'd bent me over his bed and made me scream.

No way. No fucking way.

Isabella's POV

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Isabella."

His voice was smooth and professional. He extended a hand with a smile on his face.

I forced my hand into his. His grip was firm, warm, and I hated that my body remembered it instantly.

"Likewise." I said through gritted teeth.

Mom didn't notice. She was too busy smiling, her hand on his arm like she needed to touch him to believe he was real.

"I've been dying for you two to meet. Damian's been so patient, waiting for you to come home."

"I'm sure he has." I pulled my hand back, shoved it in my pocket so he wouldn't see it trembling.

His eyes stayed on mine a second too long. I saw the calculation there. This wasn't what he was expecting.

"Your mother speaks very highly of you," he said. "Journalism student, correct?"

"That's right."

"Ambitious. I admire that."

I wanted to throw something at his head. Preferably something heavy.

Mom clapped her hands together like we were all old friends. "Oh! I almost forgot. Cole is coming tomorrow for lunch. You'll finally get to meet him."

"Cole?"

"Daniella's son. My best friend, remember? The guy I wanted you to meet " She gave me a meaningful look. "I think you two will really hit it off."

"Mom....."

"Just lunch, sweetheart. No pressure. He's a lovely young man. Very polite, very successful. And handsome!"

"I should go unpack," I said, already heading toward the stairs. "I'm tired"

"Of course! Your room is the third door on the right ." Mom said and kissed my cheek. "We'll have dinner in an hour. Wear something nice."

I practically ran.

***********

My room was huge and tastefully designed.

I locked myself in the bathroom and gripped the sink until my knuckles went white.

This couldn't be happening. This wasn't real. Any second now I'd wake up in my shitty apartment and realize this was just some fucked up anxiety dream.

But I could still feel his hand in mine, could still see the way he'd looked at me. Like I was going to be his downfall.

My stepfather.

I'd fucked my stepfather.

I took the longest shower of my life, changed into jeans and a sweater that covered everything. I braided my hair and did everything I could to look as unsexy as possible.

It didn't matter. At dinner, I felt his eyes on me. Every time Mom turned away, he was watching me in a way anyone else would notice.

But I noticed.

And my body noticed too.

****************

I couldn't sleep.

I'd tried everything but nothing worked, all I could think about was the fact that Damian was with my mom, doing to her what he'd done to me.

The thought made me want to vomit.

I gave up around midnight and slipped out onto the balcony. The air was cooler, which helped clear my head. The pool glowed blue in the darkness below me

I leaned against the railing and closed my eyes.

"Can't sleep?"

I spun around so fast I almost tripped.

Damian stood a few metres away from me. He was in pajama pants and nothing else, and I hated that my eyes went straight to his chest, to his muscles and abs.

"Please leave."

"We need to talk."

"There's nothing to talk about. You're married to my mother. That's the end of this conversation."

He stepped closer anyway . "I didn't know."

"I don't care."

"I didn't know you were her daughter, Isabella." He moved closer, and I backed up until I hit the railing. "I never asked for your last name. You never told me. Hell I didn't even know you"

"Noted. Whatever happened that night was a mistake"

"Was it?"

He was right in front of me now, close enough that I could smell him. He still had the same scent and cologne, "Because your body doesn't seem to think so."

"Fuck you."

"You already did."

I shoved him. Hard. He barely moved.

"You need to leave. Now. Before I scream and wake up Mom."

"Then scream. Let her hear you. Let her know what you let me do to you."

"You're insane."

"Maybe." He replied with his mouth inches away from mine. "But you're just as crazy. Because you want this. Even now, despite knowing who I am"

"No-"

He kissed me.

I should've bitten him. I should've done literally anything except kiss him back.

But I did.

It was angry, desperate and wrong on every level, and I couldn't stop. His tongue was in my mouth and his body was pressed against mine and I was already reaching for him, pulling him closer.

He broke away first, breathing hard. "Tell me to stop."

"I hate you." I breathed.

"That's not what I asked."

I couldn't say it. The words wouldn't come. Instead, I grabbed his face and kissed him again, and this time he made a sound low in his throat that made my inner thighs shake.

He lifted me onto the balcony table, shoving my legs apart. His hands went to the waistband of my shorts.

"Tell me no, Isabella. Tell me to leave you alone."

"Shut up."

He yanked my shorts down, and I barely had time to register the cool air before his mouth was on me.

I choked on a gasp, my hand flying to my mouth.

He worked with his tongue, slow and deliberate, like he had all the time in the world. Like we weren't on the balcony where anyone could see. Like my mother wasn't sleeping in a room a couple of metres away from us.

"Oh god..." I bit my lips trying to stay quiet.

He pulled back just enough to speak. "Careful, doll. You'll wake your mother."

Then he dove back in, and I had to press both hands over my mouth to keep myself from crying out.

He was relentless. Licking and sucking until my thighs were shaking, until I was grinding against his face and whimpering into my hands.

"That's it," he murmured. "Give it to me. Show me how much you hate me."

I was so close. So desperately close and his tongue was working my clit in a rhythm that was going to kill me.

"Damian..." His name escaped before I could stop it.

"Quiet." But his voice sounded pleased.

My orgasm hit like a train. I clamped my hand harder over my mouth, my whole body convulsing as he licked me through it. He didn't stop until I was pushing at his head, too sensitive to take anymore.

He stood up slowly, locking eyes with mine.

"This changes nothing," I said, my voice shaking.

"Does it?" He asked, his eyes narrowing.

Isabella's POV

Cole Smith was of course exactly the kind of guy my mother would pick for me.

He'd shown up with flowers, actual flowers, like this was 1952 and kissed Mom's cheek before turning to practice his charm on me.

"Isabella. I've heard so much about you." He said as he took my hand and brought it to his lips.

I resisted the urge to pull away. Mom was watching me, and I'd promised myself I'd play nice. One lunch. I could survive one lunch.

"Cole. Nice to meet you."

"The pleasure is all mine."

We sat down at the dining table-where lunch had already been served. Mom now has a fleet of domestic staff at her disposal and she was clearly making the most of it.

Damian had barely looked at me. Now he was the picture of the attentive husband, touching Mom's shoulder, refilling her wine glass, acting like I didn't exist.

Good. That's what I wanted. The devil he was.

"So, Isabella," Cole said, his hand finding mine on the table. "Your mother tells me you're looking for internship opportunities."

"That's right."

His thumb traced circles on my palm. It should've been pleasant but it wasn't.

"I might be able to help with that. I have connections at several publications in the city." He leaned closer, his fingers lacing through mine. "We should discuss it sometime. Over dinner, perhaps?"

Mom was literally trying to contain her grin.

I forced a smile. "Maybe."

"I'd love to hear more about what you're passionate about. What drives you. What keeps you up at night."

"I'm interested in investigative journalism. Uncovering the truth, exposing corruption-"

"How noble." He replied with a smile and his hand moved to my shoulder, squeezing it gently. "Beautiful and principled. You're quite remarkable."

I heard Damian's fork scrape against his plate.

Cole didn't seem to notice. He kept touching me; my hand, my arm, my shoulder, each contact lingering too long. His smile never wavered. Neither did his attention.

"Tell me," he said, caressing the back of my hand with his thumb, "what made you choose journalism? Was it..."

"Drop her hand."

Everyone froze.

Damian's voice was cold and controlled, there was something underneath it that made my hairs stand on end

Cole blinked. "I'm sorry?"

"I said drop her hand. Now."

"Damian..." Mom began looking confused, her smile vanishing from her face.

"She's clearly uncomfortable." Damian replied, his eyes locked on Cole, and if looks could kill, we'd be planning a funeral. "You've been making her uncomfortable since you sat down."

My cheeks blushed red. "I'm fine..."

"You're not fine." He said in a firm voice that could be mistaken for fatherly concern but we both knew it wasn't.

"You remind me of my niece. She had a boyfriend who couldn't keep his hands to himself either. He made her miserable."

The lie came out smooth and believable. I almost bought the lie as well.

Cole released my hand slowly, his perfect smile still in place. "My apologies. I didn't mean to overstep."

"Of course you didn't." Mom said as she reached over and squeezed Damian's arm. "That's sweet of you to look out for her. You're right, Cole tends to be a bit... enthusiastic."

"I just know what I want when I see it."

Cole looked at me with a smile, "And I see a lot of potential in Isabella."

The words sounded innocent but they weren't.

Mom stood up, still smiling even though the tension in the room was choking "Why don't we have dessert in the sitting room? I made that chocolate cake you love, Damian. Let me just grab it from the kitchen."

Damian stood up with her. "I'll help."

They disappeared together, leaving me alone with Cole.

The second they were gone, his expression changed.

The charming smile vanished. Something evil and sinister replaced it.

"Well," he said, leaning back in his chair. "That was interesting."

I started to stand. "I should probably..."

"Sit down, Isabella."

Something in his tone made me freeze. This wasn't the same man who'd been kissing my hand five minutes ago. This was someone else entirely.

"What do you want?"

"The same thing everyone wants. Information."

He pulled out his phone, swiped through it casually. "I have to admit, when I agreed to this little lunch date, I wasn't expecting much. But then I had a sudden stroke of luck."

My heart raced, he had something up his sleeves.

"What's going on here Cole?"

"The Velvet Room. That's the club where you worked, right? Nice place. Pretty upscale too. I was there a few weeks ago, actually. Celebrating a business deal."

No. No no no.

"I saw something interesting that night." He said as he turned his phone toward me.

The photo was grainy, taken from a distance. But it was clear enough. Me and Damian leaving together, his hand on my butt. My face turned up toward his.

I grasped onto the table for support.

"There are more," Cole said with a smirk on his face. " Very thorough documentation, if I am to say so myself."

I couldn't breathe. I couldn't think. Panic was clawing its way up my throat, but I forced it down, forced my face to remain expressionless

"I don't know what you think you saw..."

"Oh, I know exactly what I saw. The question is, does your mother?"

"What do you want?" I was surprised at the steadiness of my own voice.

"That's better."

He pocketed his phone. "I want something very simple, really. Your cooperation."

"With what?"

"That depends. How much do you value your mother's happiness? Her mental health? Because I imagine finding out her daughter fucked her husband before she even married him would be... devastating."

I gripped the edge of the table. "You're blackmailing me."

"I prefer to think of it as a mutually beneficial arrangement." He leaned forward, his voice low" You do what I ask, when I ask it, and these photos stay private. Your mother never has to know what kind of daughter she raised."

"Go to hell."

"Tempting, but I'll pass." He stood up, straightening his jacket. "Think about it, Isabella. Think about what this information could do to your mother. To your stepfather's reputation. To your future as a journalist. One anonymous tip to the right people, and your entire life explodes."

I heard footsteps in the hallway. Mom and Damian were returning.

Cole's smile was back, bright and innocent. But his next words were barely a whisper.

"You know what I can do with this information. I just want one thing though. Your life will be pretty much safer if you do it."