The penthouse at The Beresford was a fortress. The doorman checked Isolde's ID twice before allowing her into the private elevator. The ride up was silent, the polished brass walls reflecting her pale face.
The elevator opened directly into the apartment. It was a massive, open-plan space, all glass and steel. The entire wall facing Central Park was a window, the city lights glittering below like scattered diamonds.
Jacques was sitting at a grand piano near the window. His fingers moved lazily over the keys, playing a slow, melancholy tune. He didn't turn around.
Isolde stepped out of the elevator, the doors sliding shut behind her. She clutched her purse in front of her like a shield. "Mr. Valdez?"
The music stopped. Jacques turned on the bench, his gaze sweeping over her. He was wearing a loose silk shirt, the top buttons undone. He looked relaxed, but the danger radiating from him was palpable.
"You came," he said, his voice a low purr.
"I said I would." Isolde took a step forward. "I want to talk about the Ruiz Architecture contract. I know things went badly at the dinner, but if you would just look at the revised projections-"
Jacques stood up and walked over to the bar. He picked up a bottle of whiskey and poured two glasses. He walked toward her, holding one out. "You came all the way up here at midnight to talk about construction materials?"
Isolde didn't take the glass. "I came to ask you to reconsider. A lot of jobs depend on that contract."
Jacques set the glass down on a nearby table. He kept walking until he was right in front of her. Isolde took a step back, her legs hitting the back of the bar. She was trapped.
He reached out, twirling a strand of her hair around his finger. "If you were so scared of me at the club, why did you come tonight? Alone?"
"I'm not scared of you," Isolde lied, her breath catching as his knuckles brushed her neck.
"Liar." He leaned in, his lips brushing her ear. "You're terrified. But you're also desperate. It's an intoxicating combination."
Isolde pushed against his chest, but he didn't budge. "I'm here for the contract. Nothing else."
"The contract is dead." Jacques pulled back, his eyes hard. "Clark Ruiz is a fool, and his company is a sinking ship. I don't invest in lost causes."
"Then why did you agree to see me?" Isolde demanded, her frustration boiling over.
Jacques reached into his pocket and pulled out the silver bracelet. He placed it on the bar counter between them. "I wanted to see what you would offer me in exchange."
Isolde reached for the bracelet, relief flooding her. "Thank you. I-"
Jacques's hand shot out, grabbing her wrist. His grip was firm, his skin burning hot against hers.
"Did you really think it would be that easy?" he asked, his voice dropping an octave. "You want the contract? You want me to save your husband's company? Then you have to give me something in return."
"I don't have anything else," Isolde whispered, her pulse racing under his fingers.
"Yes, you do." Jacques released her wrist, his hand moving up to cup her jaw. His thumb traced the line of her cheekbone. "Be mine, Isolde. Until I get bored of you. That's the price."
Isolde stared at him, the words sinking in like stones. He wanted to buy her. He wanted to turn her into his mistress, his plaything. The same thing Clark had accused her of being.
"You're insane," she breathed, snatching the bracelet off the counter. "I would never-"
"Think about it," Jacques interrupted, his voice cold. "Without me, you have nothing. Clark will take your daughter. You'll be out on the street. I'm offering you a way out. A comfortable way out."
"I'd rather be homeless than be your whore," Isolde spat. She turned and ran for the elevator, jabbing the button. The doors slid open, and she threw herself inside, her heart pounding in her ears.
As the doors closed, she saw Jacques standing by the bar, his face impassive. "You'll change your mind," he called out. "They always do."
The elevator descended, and Isolde collapsed against the wall, the tears she had been holding back finally spilling over. She clutched the bracelet to her chest, the metal biting into her skin. She was trapped. Clark was going to take Bria, and there was nothing she could do to stop it.
When she got back to Vivian's apartment, she told her friend everything. Vivian was furious, pacing the living room. "He's a pig! A manipulative, arrogant pig!"
Isolde sat on the couch, her head in her hands. "It doesn't matter. I have to find another way."
The next morning, her phone rang. It was her lawyer.
"Mrs. Ruiz, I just received notice. Your husband has filed for emergency temporary custody of Bria. He's claiming you abandoned her last night and are an unfit mother."
Isolde's blood ran cold. She called Clark immediately.
"Having a bad morning?" Clark asked, his voice dripping with smugness. "I told you what would happen if you failed. Unless you want to say goodbye to Bria forever, you better figure out a way to get Valdez's signature."
Isolde hung up, her mind racing. She looked at the bracelet in her hand. Then she looked at Bria's tablet, sitting on the coffee table.
She remembered the number she had saved for Bria. She remembered the way he had smiled at her daughter.
It was a terrible idea. It was manipulative. It was risky. But she was out of options.
She picked up the tablet and opened the messaging app. She typed in the number Jacques had given Bria.
She stared at the blank screen. What could she possibly say? She thought of Bria's drawing, of the little girl who thought she had found a prince.
Pride? Dignity? In the face of losing Bria forever, those words were meaningless. That man... Jacques Valdez... he was a devil, but perhaps he was the only devil she could cling to right now. A bitter taste of shame and self-loathath rose in her throat, but for her daughter, she was willing to gamble.
She typed a message, her fingers trembling.
"Prince uncle, my mommy is crying. Can you help us?"
She hit send before she could change her mind. The sender name was auto-filled from Bria's profile.
Bria Ruiz.
