New York City – Sinclair Tower
Isabella Laurent wasn't supposed to be here.
Draped in an elegant black dress that clung to her curves, she stood in the grand ballroom of Sinclair Tower, surrounded by New York's most powerful elites. Crystal chandeliers cast a golden glow over the marble floors, and champagne flutes clinked in quiet celebration.
She wasn't here to celebrate.
She was here to gather intel—to bring down Damien Sinclair.
Her father, Judge Marcus Laurent, had spent years trying to uncover the ruthless billionaire's secrets, and now Bella was his secret weapon. As an intern at one of the most prestigious law firms in Manhattan, she had access to cases linked to Sinclair Enterprises. All she had to do was get close enough to find something useful.
Simple.
Until she met him.
A sharp shiver raced down her spine as she felt his presence before she even saw him. The energy in the room shifted, a quiet dominance settling over the space. It was him.
Damien Sinclair.
She turned—and there he was.
Tall. Broad-shouldered. Every inch of him oozed wealth and authority. Dressed in a tailored black suit, he was effortlessly powerful, his dark gaze locked onto her with an intensity that sent heat coiling low in her stomach.
His chiseled jaw was set in a knowing smirk, as if he could already taste her surrender.
Isabella sucked in a sharp breath, willing herself to stay unaffected. This man is the enemy.
He moved closer, his steps unhurried, predatory.
"You don't belong here," he murmured, his voice a dangerous whisper against her ear.
Bella's fingers tightened around her champagne flute. "Excuse me?"
His lips curved slightly, as if amused by her defiance. "You're not one of them." He gestured lazily to the room filled with New York's wealthiest. "You're watching, not indulging."
She forced a confident smile, tilting her chin up. "Maybe I'm just admiring the view."
Damien's eyes darkened, his gaze dropping to her lips for just a second before meeting her eyes again. "Careful, little one. You're playing a game you don't understand."
Bella's pulse pounded in her ears. He knows. He sees right through me.
But she wouldn't back down.
"I don't play games, Mr. Sinclair," she said smoothly.
Damien leaned in, his breath warm against her skin. "Oh, Isabella," he murmured, his voice silk and sin. "That's where you're wrong."
His fingers brushed lightly over her wrist, a fleeting touch that sent fire racing through her veins.
"You're already in one," he whispered.
And just like that, she knew—she was in trouble.
Because the one man she was supposed to destroy had just become the one thing she couldn't resist.