Morning light sliced through the loft, illuminating dust motes suspended in the air. Isabelle sat at her desk, cradling a cup of black coffee, when her encrypted phone chimed. A notification from her Swiss bank. The quarterly dividend from her Astra Corp shares had been deposited.
She dismissed the notification.
Another call came through. Arthur Sinclair. A titan of the industry, one of the few who had seen through the "Mrs. Lloyd" façade.
"Isabelle, my dear," his warm, gravelly voice filled the speaker. "I'm just calling to check on the Henderson acquisition. My people tell me you're the mastermind behind it."
"Arthur," she said, her own voice carrying a rare warmth. "It's progressing well. But I may be leaving Lloyd Group soon."
A pause. "Darius?"
Her silence was answer enough.
"Good," Arthur said. No sympathy. No pity. "That boy was never worthy of you."
She hadn't even hung up before another call cut in. Lloyd Manor. Winston Hayes, the family's butler of many years. His voice was formal and strained.
"Ms. Stone. Magnus requests your presence at the manor. He wishes to… discuss the current situation."
"I'll be there in an hour, Winston."
As she ended the call, Isabelle's eyes narrowed. A summons from Magnus meant only one thing: he was worried. And a worried Magnus was a dangerous Magnus.
She drove her matte-black sports car, the engine emitting a low, throaty growl. When she pulled up to the imposing iron gates of the Long Island estate, Darius's Bentley was already there. He was opening the passenger door for Daphne with a flourish of public display.
Isabelle parked beside them, ignoring their stunned, hostile stares as she stepped out.
Darius's mother, Genevieve Lloyd, floated out of the main house. A mask of social decorum was fixed on her face, but her eyes were chips of ice. She walked right past Isabelle and enveloped Daphne in a fragrant embrace.
"Daphne, my dear, you're finally here!" Genevieve's voice was loud, a performance for an audience of one. She held Daphne at arm's length, appraising her. "We've been so looking forward to meeting you properly."
Then she turned to Isabelle, her expression hardening. "Isabelle. Since you and Darius are divorcing, you should learn some manners. It's best not to linger where you're not welcome."
Daphne offered a small, pitying smile. "Ms. Stone. I do hope we can handle this amicably."
Genevieve's gaze fell on Daphne's flawless skin. "Darling," she said, her tone loaded with meaning, "do you still have access to that miraculous regenerative cream? My dermatologist was positively astonished."
It was a deliberate, vicious stab. The cream came from Aegis Laboratories, one of Isabelle's hidden companies. It wasn't commercially available. She had given a small jar to Genevieve as a gift. The request was a test—a way to strip Isabelle of her value.
Daphne didn't miss a beat. "Of course, Mrs. Lloyd," she lied smoothly. "A Swiss friend of mine developed it. Extremely exclusive, but I can certainly procure some for you."
Genevieve beamed, her victory complete. She squeezed Daphne's hand. "You see, Darius? A girl with connections."
Isabelle cut through the theater. "Where's Magnus?"
Without waiting for an answer, she strode past them toward the east wing of the mansion, where the patriarch held court in his cavernous study.
As she walked, she made a mental note. Aegis Laboratories would revoke Genevieve's access to that cream immediately.
Darius watched her go, his gaze drawn against his will to the straight, unyielding line of her spine.
She hadn't crumbled. There were no tears, no pleas, no pathetic bids for his attention. Instead, she moved with a cold, untouchable grace he had never seen before.
Something unnameable and deeply irritating coiled hot in his chest. He wanted to crack that composure. He wanted to see her fall apart over losing him.
Miles away, Arthur set down his phone. He turned to his butler. "Get me a file on every current trouble facing Lloyd Group. And send Brion Hudson's contact information to Isabelle Stone. Tell her he's the best. She's going to need him."
