Six weeks had passed since that evening at the Sapphire Lounge. Six weeks of careful planning, of late nights poring over spreadsheets and corporate bylaws, of strategic meetings behind closed doors. Isabella had allowed Edwin to believe his scheme was progressing undetected, watching from the shadows as he continued to gather support.
She sat now in her penthouse office, the city sprawled beneath her like a circuit board of lights and darkness. The massive desk—imported Italian marble that had once belonged to her father—was covered with documents, her tablet displaying a complex network of financial projections for Ashworth Luxury Events' next quarter.
A soft knock at the door broke her concentration.
"Come in," she called, not looking up.
Liam entered, carrying two cups of coffee. He set one beside her, black with a single ice cube—exactly how she preferred it in the evening.
