The day Isabella Rose divorced Alexander Blackwood, she promised herself three things. First, she would never cry over him again. Second, she would never allow another arrogant man to control her life. Third, if she ever saw Alexander Blackwood again, she would pretend he was nothing more than a mosquito she couldn't be bothered to kill. Unfortunately, the universe had a terrible sense of humor. Two years later, she was standing in front of a mirror, arguing with a zipper that had apparently declared war on her. "Come on!" Isabella hissed, twisting her body. "You cost me half my salary. At least pretend you're worth the money!" The zipper refused to cooperate. She pulled harder. There was a tiny ripping sound. Isabella froze. Slowly, she looked down. "Oh, wonderful." The dress had split along the side. She stared at the damage for three seconds before throwing her hands into the air. "I should have become a nun!" Her best friend, Chloe Bennett, walked into the bedroom carrying a sandwich. "Again?" "Don't look at me like that." "I'm not looking at you like anything. I'm looking at the dress that just lost a fight with your backside." "CHLOE!" "What? I'm supporting you emotionally." "By insulting my backside?" "Would you prefer financial support? Because I'm broke." Isabella snatched a pillow and threw it at her. Chloe ducked, laughing. "Seriously, though," Chloe said, taking another bite of her sandwich. "You need to stop buying dresses online. The pictures always lie." "This one said it was elegant and comfortable." "It was probably elegant on a clothes hanger." Isabella grabbed another dress from the wardrobe. Tonight was supposed to be simple. Attend a business charity gala, meet potential clients, smile politely, and return home before midnight. There was just one small problem. The charity gala was being hosted by Blackwood Enterprises. Alexander's company. The company he had built into one of the most powerful business empires in the country. The company whose CEO had once looked her in the eyes and told her that love was a luxury he couldn't afford. Isabella swallowed the sudden bitterness in her throat. Two years. She had spent two years rebuilding herself after their divorce. She had worked until her fingers ached, studied business management at night, and started her own event-planning company with almost no money. Now, her business was finally growing. She was no longer the frightened young woman who had signed divorce papers with trembling hands. She was stronger. Smarter. And, according to Chloe, considerably more dangerous when hungry. "I don't have to talk to him," Isabella announced. Chloe raised an eyebrow. "Of course not." "I can attend the event without even looking at him." "Absolutely." "I don't care whether he's married, engaged, dating, or secretly raising twelve children." "That's very convincing." Isabella pointed at her. "One more word and I'll cancel your birthday cake." Chloe immediately zipped her lips. Twenty minutes later, Isabella stood in front of the mirror wearing an elegant emerald-green dress. Her dark curls fell over her shoulders, and a delicate gold necklace rested against her collarbone. For the first time that evening, she smiled. "Beautiful," Chloe declared. "I know." "Confident." "Obviously." "Emotionally stable." Isabella picked up her handbag. "Let's not exaggerate." They arrived at the hotel shortly before eight. Crystal chandeliers glittered above hundreds of wealthy guests. Waiters carried trays of champagne, photographers crowded around celebrities, and business executives exchanged smiles that probably concealed enough secrets to fill a library. Isabella lifted her chin. She belonged here. She had earned her place. Then the host stepped onto the stage. "Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome our distinguished guest and tonight's principal sponsor, the CEO of Blackwood Enterprises, Mr. Alexander Blackwood." Applause erupted. Isabella's fingers tightened around her handbag. A tall man walked onto the stage in a perfectly tailored black suit. His dark hair was neatly styled. His jaw was sharper than she remembered, and his expression remained cold enough to freeze the champagne in everyone's glasses. Alexander Blackwood. Her ex-husband. The man she had sworn never to love again. He accepted the microphone and surveyed the room. Then his gaze stopped. On her. For one brief moment, his expression changed. His fingers tightened around the microphone. Isabella smiled sweetly and lifted her champagne glass in a silent toast. Hello, darling. Did you miss me? Alexander stared at her as if he had just seen a ghost. Then, slowly, he smiled. It wasn't a friendly smile. It was the kind of smile that made sensible people check whether the exits were unlocked. And Isabella suddenly remembered why divorcing him had been the easiest decision of her life. Unfortunately, forgetting him had been much harder.

"Don't panic," Chloe whispered. "I'm not panicking." "You're crushing your handbag." Isabella glanced down. Her fingers were wrapped around the expensive leather bag so tightly that the material had begun to wrinkle. She immediately loosened her grip. "I'm not crushing it. I'm checking the quality." Chloe stared at her. "By trying to murder it?" "Do you want to go home?" "No. The dessert table is still open." "Then stop talking." Chloe grinned and lifted her champagne glass. Across the ballroom, Alexander Blackwood was still watching them. Isabella could feel his gaze even when she refused to look in his direction. It was an irritating talent he had possessed throughout their marriage. He could sit across an entire room and somehow make her feel as though she were the only person present. Two years ago, that attention had made her heart race. Tonight, it made her want to hide behind a waiter. Unfortunately, she was a grown woman with a business to run, bills to pay, and a reputation to protect. She refused to let Alexander ruin her evening. "Let's go," she told Chloe. "Where?" "Anywhere he isn't." "Excellent. I know a beautiful location." "Where?" "The dessert table." Isabella closed her eyes. "Sometimes I wonder why we're friends." "Because I'm beautiful, funny, and emotionally supportive." "You're hungry." "That too." They started toward the refreshments. They had barely taken five steps when a familiar voice stopped them. "Isabella." She froze. Chloe looked at the ceiling as if silently asking God for patience. "Please," she whispered. "Not tonight." Isabella turned around. Alexander stood a few feet away, his black suit fitting him so perfectly that it seemed to have been designed specifically to annoy her. His expression was controlled, but his eyes gave him away. He looked surprised. He looked angry. And, if Isabella wasn't mistaken, he looked relieved. She hated that she noticed. "Alexander," she replied pleasantly. "Can we talk?" "We're talking now." "Privately." "Why? Are you planning to confess to a crime?" His eyebrows drew together. "Must you turn everything into a joke?" "Must you appear everywhere I go?" "I was invited to this event." "So was I. Isn't life wonderfully unfair?" Chloe covered her mouth. Alexander glanced at her. "Do you always encourage her to behave like this?" "Absolutely," Chloe answered. "I'm her best friend. It's practically my job." "Then you're doing a terrible job." "Thank you. I try." Isabella almost smiled. Alexander noticed. For one brief moment, his expression softened, as though he remembered the woman who used to laugh at his terrible jokes while sitting beside him on their living-room sofa. Then the moment disappeared. "Isabella, please. Five minutes." She folded her arms. "You have two." "Five." "One." "You're impossible." "And you're wasting my time." He exhaled slowly. "I want to invite you to dinner." Silence. Isabella blinked. Chloe stopped chewing. Even the waiter passing behind them seemed to slow down. Then Isabella burst out laughing. Alexander's expression turned cold. "I don't see what's amusing." "Oh, I'm sorry." Isabella wiped the corner of her eye. "I just remembered something funny." "What?" "Marriage." His jaw tightened. "Isabella." "Two years ago, I practically had to beg you to come home for dinner. I cooked your favorite meals, waited until midnight, and fell asleep on the sofa more times than I can count." She paused. "And now you're standing here inviting me to dinner as if we're old friends?" "I made mistakes." "That's a very polite way to describe what happened." "I know." "Do you?" His silence answered her. For a moment, the noise of the ballroom seemed distant. Isabella remembered their first apartment, the tiny kitchen where they had once danced while waiting for pasta to boil, and the rainy evening when Alexander had carried her across a puddle because she refused to ruin her new shoes. She remembered the little things. That was the cruelest part of heartbreak. It wasn't always the enormous betrayals that hurt the most. Sometimes it was remembering how happy you had been before everything fell apart. She swallowed the memory. "What do you want from me, Alexander?" He looked directly into her eyes. "Dinner. One conversation. That's all." "Why?" "Because I want to know how you've been." She stared at him. "You could have asked two years ago." His expression tightened. "I should have." The answer was so quiet that she almost missed it. For one dangerous second, she felt the familiar ache in her chest. Then she remembered the divorce papers. She remembered signing her name while Alexander stood by the window, refusing to look at her. She remembered leaving their apartment with two suitcases and a heart she had barely been able to carry. "No," she said firmly. "Isabella-" "I've moved on." His eyes darkened. "Have you?" She smiled. "Very successfully." "Are you seeing someone?" Chloe's head snapped toward him. "Excuse me?" Alexander ignored her. Isabella tilted her head. "Why do you want to know?" "I asked a question." "And I asked why you're interested." He said nothing. Isabella laughed softly. "Don't tell me you're jealous." "I'm not jealous." "Wonderful. Then my answer shouldn't matter." She turned away. Alexander caught her wrist. The movement was quick, almost instinctive. But the instant his fingers touched her skin, Isabella stiffened. "Let go." He released her immediately. "I'm sorry." She rubbed her wrist, not because he had hurt her, but because the familiar contact had stirred memories she wanted buried. "Don't touch me without permission again." "I won't." His voice was different now. Quieter. He looked as though he wanted to say something else, but the words remained trapped behind his teeth. Isabella refused to help him find them. She turned toward Chloe. "Come on. I need cake." Chloe nodded solemnly. "Chocolate or vanilla?" "Both." "Excellent. Heartbreak requires carbohydrates." They walked away together. Alexander remained where he was. Isabella could feel his eyes following her, but she didn't look back. Not once. At least, that was what she told herself. Unfortunately, her curiosity betrayed her approximately twelve seconds later. She glanced over her shoulder. Alexander was still standing in the same spot. And he was smiling. Not the cold, arrogant smile he wore when negotiating business deals. A small, almost disbelieving smile. As if her refusal had somehow made him happy. Isabella immediately faced forward. "What is wrong with that man?" she muttered. Chloe handed her a plate. "Where do you want me to start?" "Preferably with his brain." "I don't think anyone has found one yet." Isabella laughed despite herself. For the next twenty minutes, she concentrated on enjoying the event. She sampled three different desserts, complimented a woman on her jewelry, and exchanged business cards with a hotel manager who expressed interest in hiring her company. It was going well. Almost suspiciously well. Then a tall blonde woman appeared beside them. "You're Isabella Rose, aren't you?" Isabella turned. The woman wore a silver gown that shimmered beneath the chandeliers. Her blonde hair fell in perfect waves, and a diamond necklace rested against her collarbone. She was beautiful, elegant, and smiling in a way that immediately made Isabella suspicious. "Yes," Isabella replied. "And you are?" "Vivian Hart." The name didn't mean anything to Isabella. But Chloe reacted as though someone had announced the arrival of a poisonous snake. Vivian noticed. "Ah. I see you've heard of me." Chloe forced a smile. "I've heard several things about several people. It's a terrible habit." Vivian's expression tightened. "I'm Alexander's fiancée." Isabella nearly dropped her fork. Then she placed it carefully on the plate. "Oh." She looked Vivian over again. "Congratulations." Vivian blinked. "Thank you." Isabella picked up her fork. "Would you like some cake?" Chloe made a strangled sound. Vivian stared at her. "Excuse me?" "The chocolate one is excellent," Isabella explained. "The vanilla one tastes like somebody described vanilla to a person who had never eaten it." Chloe turned away, laughing silently. Vivian's smile became strained. "I expected you to be more upset." Isabella looked genuinely puzzled. "About what?" "Alexander and me." "Oh." Isabella took another bite of cake. "Why would I be upset?" "Because you were married to him." "Were," Isabella repeated. "Past tense. A very useful grammatical construction." Vivian's cheeks colored. "You may pretend you don't care, but I know how women like you behave." Isabella slowly put down her fork. "Women like me?" "Women who can't accept that their ex-husbands have moved on." For a moment, Isabella said nothing. Then she smiled. "Vivian, if I wanted Alexander back, I wouldn't need to compete with you." The other woman's face stiffened. Chloe coughed into her napkin. Isabella continued pleasantly. "But I don't want him back. So you can relax, enjoy your evening, and stop worrying about a woman who signed the divorce papers two years ago." Vivian's eyes narrowed. "Alexander still cares about you." "Then you should discuss that with Alexander." "He invited you to dinner." Isabella's eyebrows rose. "You were listening?" "I don't need to listen. People talk." "Interesting. You must have excellent hearing." "Don't play games with me." "I'm not. I was planning to eat cake, but you've interrupted that activity twice now." Vivian leaned closer. "Alexander belongs with someone who understands his world." Isabella smiled sweetly. "Then I hope you understand his world very well." "I do." "Wonderful. Perhaps you can explain why he looks miserable whenever you approach him." Vivian's smile vanished. For the first time, Isabella saw genuine anger in her eyes. Before Vivian could reply, a familiar voice interrupted them. "Is there a problem?" Alexander stood behind Vivian. His expression was unreadable. Vivian immediately transformed. The anger disappeared from her face, replaced by a delicate smile. "Darling! No problem at all. Isabella and I were just getting acquainted." Alexander looked at Isabella. "Is that true?" Isabella shrugged. "Your fiancée introduced herself. We exchanged a few compliments. She told me you belong with someone who understands your world." His gaze moved toward Vivian. "Did she?" Vivian laughed nervously. "She misunderstood me." "Did she?" The repeated question made Vivian's smile falter. Isabella decided she had enjoyed enough drama for one evening. She picked up her handbag. "Well, this has been lovely, but I have a business to run tomorrow. Chloe, let's go." Alexander stepped aside to let them pass. As Isabella walked by him, he spoke quietly. "Goodnight, Isabella." She stopped for half a second. Then she looked at him. "Goodnight, Alexander." There was no anger in her voice. No bitterness. Just distance. And somehow, that hurt him more than any insult she could have delivered. Isabella walked toward the exit with Chloe beside her. Outside, the cool night air brushed against her face. Chloe waited until the hotel doors closed behind them before speaking. "That woman hates you." "She doesn't know me." "Exactly. That's how you know she hates you for the right reasons." Isabella laughed. Then her phone vibrated. An unfamiliar number had sent her a message. Unknown: You looked beautiful tonight. She frowned. Another message arrived. Unknown: I hope you got home safely. Isabella stared at the screen. Then she typed: Isabella: Who is this? The reply arrived almost immediately. Unknown: Someone who remembers how you take your coffee. Her heart stopped for a second. Only one person remembered that she hated sugar in her coffee but always wanted cinnamon when she was upset. Only one person knew she slept with the bedroom window slightly open, even in winter. Only one person used to call her his little storm whenever she got angry. Alexander. Isabella locked her phone. "No," she whispered. Chloe glanced at her. "What?" "Nothing." But the phone vibrated again. Alexander: Goodnight, little storm. Isabella stared at the message until the screen dimmed. Then she shoved the phone into her handbag. She had survived two years without him. She had built a business, made new friends, and learned how to smile without wondering whether he would notice. She was not going backward. Not for his money. Not for his handsome face. And certainly not because he remembered her favorite coffee. "Chloe?" "Yes?" "Tomorrow, we're deleting every memory of Alexander Blackwood from my life." Chloe considered this. "Can we start with his number?" "Yes." "And his photographs?" "Yes." "And the expensive watch he gave you?" Isabella hesitated. Chloe gasped. "I knew it! You still have the watch!" "It's a very nice watch." "It's a watch from your ex-husband!" "It tells the time, Chloe. Time is useful." Chloe burst out laughing. Isabella tried to look offended, but she couldn't hold the expression. They laughed all the way to the car. For the first time in years, Isabella believed she could face the past without allowing it to destroy her future. She had no intention of returning to Alexander. None whatsoever. Unfortunately, the following morning would bring an unexpected offer from Blackwood Enterprises. And accepting it might be the biggest mistake of her life. Or the beginning of the truth she had been waiting two years to discover.

At seven the following morning, Isabella Rose was having a serious argument with her alarm clock. "Five more minutes," she mumbled, pulling her blanket over her head. The alarm continued ringing. "Three minutes." It rang louder. "One minute, you heartless piece of technology!" She slapped the screen. Silence. Isabella smiled triumphantly and closed her eyes. Then her phone began ringing. She groaned. "If this is another bank calling to remind me that I'm poor, I swear I'll change my identity." She reached for the phone without opening her eyes. "Hello?" "Good morning, Ms. Rose." The unfamiliar male voice was polite, professional, and entirely too energetic for seven in the morning. "Who is this?" "Daniel Brooks, executive assistant to Mr. Alexander Blackwood." Isabella sat upright so quickly that her blanket fell to the floor. "No." There was a pause. "Excuse me?" "No, thank you. Whatever you're selling, I don't want it." "I'm not selling anything, ma'am." "Wonderful. Then we have nothing to discuss." "Mr. Blackwood would like to arrange a meeting with you this morning." Isabella stared at her phone. Of course. Of course Alexander had to invade her morning. Couldn't he invade someone else's? A politician's? A celebrity's? Perhaps a billionaire who collected expensive watches and enjoyed ruining people's breakfast? "Tell Mr. Blackwood I'm unavailable." "May I ask when you would be available?" "Never." Another pause. "I understand, ma'am. However, Mr. Blackwood asked me to explain that this is a professional opportunity concerning your company." Isabella's expression changed. Her company. Yesterday, Alexander had mentioned the charity event. She had assumed he was simply trying to find an excuse to talk to her. Apparently, he was serious. "What opportunity?" "He would prefer to explain the details in person. Would ten o'clock work for you?" "No." "Eleven?" "No." "Would tomorrow be more convenient?" Isabella rubbed her forehead. "Does Mr. Blackwood pay you to be persistent?" "Yes, ma'am." She blinked. The assistant continued in the same polite tone. "Although, to be precise, persistence isn't listed as a separate item on my payslip." Despite herself, Isabella laughed. She immediately regretted it. She was not supposed to find anything associated with Alexander Blackwood amusing. "Listen, Daniel. I don't work for your boss." "Not currently, ma'am." "And I have no intention of working for him." "Understood." "Then why are we still talking?" "Because Mr. Blackwood asked me to offer your company a contract worth three hundred thousand dollars." Silence. Isabella slowly lowered her phone. Then she raised it again. "Excuse me?" "Three hundred thousand dollars, ma'am." She stared at the wall. Three hundred thousand dollars. Her company could pay its employees, replace its aging equipment, rent a proper office, and take on several new projects. She could stop calculating every expense as though she were preparing for a financial apocalypse. She could finally breathe. But the money would come from Alexander. Her ex-husband. The man who had once made her feel like she was begging for scraps of his attention. She squeezed her eyes shut. "What's the catch?" "There is no catch, ma'am. Mr. Blackwood wants your company to organize the Blackwood Children's Foundation annual charity gala." "Why me?" "Your company has received excellent reviews." "That doesn't explain why a billionaire who owns half the businesses in this city wants his ex-wife to organize his charity event." Daniel went quiet. Then he cleared his throat. "I'm afraid I cannot answer that question." "Because you don't know?" "Because I value my employment." Isabella laughed again. "At least you're honest." "Thank you, ma'am." "Send me the proposal. I'll review it." "Certainly. I'll send it immediately." "And Daniel?" "Yes?" "If Alexander tries to contact me before I've reviewed the documents, tell him I'll add an inconvenience fee." "I'll make a note of that." "Goodbye." "Have a wonderful morning, Ms. Rose." She ended the call. For several seconds, she sat motionless on her bed. Then she screamed into her pillow. Twenty minutes later, Chloe walked into the kitchen and found Isabella staring at her laptop. A cup of untouched coffee sat beside her. Chloe stopped. "Who died?" "Nobody." "Then why do you look like someone has offered you a million dollars and demanded your soul in return?" Isabella turned the laptop toward her. Chloe read the proposal. Her eyes widened. She read it again. Then she looked at Isabella. "Three hundred thousand dollars?" "Yes." "For one event?" "Apparently." "Is this legal?" "I assume so." "Should we call the police?" "Why would we call the police?" "Because no one offers that much money without hiding a body somewhere." Isabella snatched the laptop back. "You're not helping." Chloe pulled out a chair and sat down. "All right. Let's be sensible. What are the terms?" Isabella scrolled through the document. "The event takes place in six weeks. We handle the venue, catering, entertainment, decorations, guest coordination, and fundraising arrangements." "That's a lot of work." "Yes." "But it's manageable." "Yes." "And the payment?" "Thirty percent upfront, forty percent after the planning stage, and the remainder after the event." Chloe whistled. "That upfront payment alone could solve most of your immediate problems." Isabella leaned back. That was precisely what worried her. Alexander knew she had lost a major client. He might not know every detail of her finances, but he knew enough to understand that she needed the contract. Was he trying to help her? Or was he trying to buy his way back into her life? She hated not knowing. "Accept the meeting," Chloe said. Isabella turned toward her. "Have you lost your mind?" "Possibly. But I still have excellent business instincts." "He is my ex-husband." "And this is a business contract." "He will use every opportunity to irritate me." "Then irritate him back. You're exceptionally talented at that." "Chloe!" "What? You can organize an entire charity gala without kissing the client." Isabella nearly choked on her coffee. "Why would you even say that?" "Because you turned red." "It's hot in here!" "It's October." "The weather doesn't care what month it is!" Chloe burst out laughing. Isabella threw a napkin at her. Then she looked back at the proposal. Three hundred thousand dollars. Six weeks of work. One very irritating ex-husband. She could do this. She had to do this. "Fine," Isabella announced. "I'll attend the meeting." Chloe clapped her hands. "Excellent!" "But you're coming with me." Chloe's smile vanished. "Why?" "Because I need moral support." "You need moral support against one man?" "He's Alexander Blackwood." Chloe considered this. "Fair point. I'll wear comfortable shoes in case we need to run." At eleven o'clock, Isabella stood outside the headquarters of Blackwood Enterprises. The building was enormous. Its glass exterior reflected the sunlight, and a golden sign bearing the company's name stood above the revolving entrance doors. Employees in expensive suits hurried through the lobby. Security guards stood beside the reception desk. Everything looked polished, powerful, and intimidating. Isabella hated how familiar it felt. She had once walked through those doors holding Alexander's hand. Back then, employees had greeted her as Mrs. Blackwood. Some had smiled warmly. Others had looked at her with curiosity, as though they couldn't understand what a man like Alexander saw in a woman like her. She remembered pretending not to notice. She remembered Alexander telling her not to care what other people thought. And she remembered the day he stopped standing beside her. Isabella straightened her shoulders. Those memories belonged to the past. Today, she was here as the owner of Rose Events. Not as Alexander Blackwood's ex-wife. "Ready?" Chloe asked. Isabella lifted her chin. "Ready." They entered the building. A receptionist greeted them immediately. "Good morning. How may I help you?" "I'm Isabella Rose. I have an eleven o'clock meeting with Mr. Blackwood." The receptionist glanced at her computer. Then she looked up again. "Of course, Ms. Rose. Mr. Brooks is expecting you." Her expression became unusually polite. "Please follow me." Isabella exchanged a glance with Chloe. "Why is everyone acting like we're royalty?" Chloe whispered. "Because we're important businesswomen." "Or because Alexander has threatened to fire anyone who annoys you." "That's ridiculous." "Is it?" Isabella didn't answer. They followed the receptionist into an elevator. When the doors closed, Chloe leaned closer. "If he says anything inappropriate, I'll spill water on him." "Please don't." "Coffee?" "No." "Orange juice?" "Chloe." "Fine. I'll behave." The elevator opened on the executive floor. A man in a navy suit approached them. "Ms. Rose? I'm Daniel Brooks." Isabella recognized his voice. "Ah. The persistent assistant." Daniel smiled. "I prefer to think of myself as professionally determined." "That's a very expensive way of saying stubborn." "Mr. Blackwood has been called worse." "I imagine he has." Daniel led them down a corridor and stopped outside a large office. "Mr. Blackwood is waiting for you." Chloe squeezed Isabella's hand. "Remember," she whispered. "Business first. Murder second." Isabella stared at her. "Where do you get these ideas?" "Television." Before Isabella could respond, Daniel opened the door. And there he was. Alexander stood beside the windows, speaking on the phone. His jacket was draped over a chair, and the sleeves of his white shirt were rolled up. He looked effortlessly handsome. Which was deeply inconsiderate of him. He noticed Isabella and immediately ended his call. "Thank you, Daniel." The assistant nodded. "Would you like me to bring coffee?" "Yes, please." Alexander looked at Isabella. "How do you take yours?" She stiffened. "That information is confidential." Chloe snorted. Daniel looked down at his notepad, apparently determined not to laugh. Alexander's mouth twitched. "Understood. Coffee for everyone, then." He gestured toward the chairs opposite his desk. "Please, sit." Isabella sat down. Chloe settled beside her, looking around the office with undisguised curiosity. "This is a lovely office," she remarked. "Thank you," Alexander replied. "Very expensive-looking." "Chloe," Isabella muttered. "What? I'm complimenting him." Alexander looked amused. "I'll let the interior designer know." "Please do. She deserves a raise." Isabella covered her face with one hand. This meeting was going to be a disaster. Alexander returned to his chair and opened a folder. "Let's discuss the contract." For the next twenty minutes, they reviewed the event requirements. Isabella asked about the venue, the guest list, the fundraising target, and the foundation's previous events. Alexander answered every question. To her surprise, he didn't interrupt her or dismiss her suggestions. He listened. When she proposed replacing the traditional formal dinner with a more interactive charity auction, he asked her to explain how it would work. When she suggested inviting families who had benefited from the foundation's hospital programs, his expression softened. "That would make the event more meaningful," he said. Isabella looked up from her notes. "You agree?" "Why wouldn't I?" She shrugged. "You usually prefer things your way." His expression grew serious. "People can change." The words landed between them. Isabella lowered her gaze. "Sometimes." Alexander watched her for a moment. Then he returned to the contract. "The foundation has one additional requirement." She immediately became suspicious. "What requirement?" "You'll work directly with me on major decisions." "Absolutely not." "Isabella-" "I'll work with your events director, your foundation manager, and whoever else is necessary. But I will not spend six weeks reporting directly to you." "It's my company." "And I'm the professional you're hiring." His eyes narrowed slightly. "You're suggesting I interfere with your work?" "I'm suggesting that our personal history makes this arrangement complicated." For once, Alexander didn't argue. He leaned back in his chair. "Then let's establish boundaries." Isabella studied him cautiously. "Go on." "All communication will concern the event. Meetings will be scheduled during business hours. I won't contact you about personal matters." "And you won't show up at my office unannounced." "Agreed." "You won't use this contract as an excuse to discuss our marriage." "Agreed." "And if we disagree about a decision, my professional recommendation will be considered seriously." "Of course." She narrowed her eyes. "You're agreeing rather quickly." "Would you prefer an argument?" "With you? Never. I have better things to do with my life." Alexander smiled faintly. "Then we have an agreement." He slid the contract across the desk. Isabella read the final page carefully. She wasn't going to make the mistake of signing something without understanding it. After checking the payment schedule, cancellation terms, and responsibilities of both parties, she placed the document on the desk. "I'll need my lawyer to review this." "Of course." "And I won't sign anything until she approves it." "That is entirely reasonable." Isabella looked at him. He wasn't arguing. He wasn't trying to pressure her. He was treating her like a professional. Somehow, that unsettled her more than his arrogance would have. "All right," she said. "I'll have the contract reviewed and respond within forty-eight hours." Alexander extended his hand. "Thank you, Ms. Rose." She stared at his hand for a moment. Then she shook it. His fingers were warm. Familiar. She released him quickly. "You're welcome, Mr. Blackwood." Chloe stood. "Wonderful meeting. I especially enjoyed the part where nobody threatened anybody." "Chloe!" "What? That's progress." Alexander laughed quietly. And Isabella discovered, much to her annoyance, that she still liked the sound of it. She grabbed her handbag. "We should leave." Alexander stood as well. "I'll have Daniel send the event documents to your email." "Fine." "And Isabella?" She turned toward him. "What?" For a moment, he seemed uncertain. Then he said, "I'm glad you came." Her heart betrayed her with one painful little flutter. She ignored it. "I'm glad the meeting was productive." She walked out before he could say anything else. In the elevator, Chloe waited until the doors closed before grabbing Isabella's shoulders. "That man is still in love with you." Isabella stared at her. "Don't be ridiculous." "He looked at you as though you were the last piece of chocolate cake in the world." "That's a terrible comparison." "Why? You love chocolate cake." "I love chocolate cake because it doesn't lie to me." Chloe nodded thoughtfully. "An excellent point." They stepped out into the lobby. Isabella's phone vibrated. An email notification appeared on her screen. BLACKWOOD ENTERPRISES - CONTRACT DOCUMENTS Below it was a second message. From Alexander. Thank you for hearing me out. I know I haven't earned your trust, but I hope I can earn your professional respect. Isabella read it twice. Then she locked her phone. She would not let a polite message confuse her. The contract would be reviewed. The terms would be negotiated. And if everything checked out, she would do her job. Nothing more. She had no intention of falling in love with Alexander Blackwood again. Not even a little. Not even if he remembered how she took her coffee. Not even if he looked at her with those maddening eyes. And definitely not if he apologized. Because an apology couldn't erase the past. And until Isabella understood why their marriage had fallen apart, she refused to let Alexander anywhere near her heart. That evening, however, an anonymous email arrived in her inbox. It contained a single photograph. A photograph of Alexander standing outside a hotel room two years earlier. Beside him was a woman Isabella recognized immediately. Vivian Hart. The message beneath the photograph contained only seven words: Your ex-husband never told you the truth. Isabella stared at the screen. For the first time in two years, she wondered whether her divorce had been built on a lie. And she knew exactly who she needed to confront. Alexander Blackwood.