Chapter 4 THE DEVIL UPSTAIRS

The echo of the intercom still hung in the air.

Isabella clutched the bedsheet tighter around her chest, her pulse thundering in her ears. Her body was still aching from Grayson's touch, but her mind had already shifted into survival mode.

"Your father?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Grayson was already halfway across the room, pulling on his slacks. "He never comes here without a reason. Especially not unannounced."

"And especially not after you kissed me in front of everyone," she said.

He didn't respond. Just threw her dress at her. "You need to hide."

She stared at him. "I'm not a child, Grayson."

"You're not ready for him."

A slow, tense silence passed between them.

Isabella turned her back to him, let the sheet fall, and started slipping into her gown without shame. She could feel his eyes on her the whole time, a subtle reminder of what they'd just done, what still clung to their skin and mouths.

"Where do you want me?" she asked when she was dressed.

He hesitated. "My bedroom. Stay there. Don't make a sound."

Something about the shift in his tone made her obey without protest.

As she disappeared into the dark of his room, she heard the heavy click of the front door unlocking.

Grayson stood in the center of the penthouse, barefoot but composed.

His father entered like a storm cloud, expensive overcoat flaring behind him, a bodyguard in tow who lingered in the hall.

Maximilian Langford was still intimidating at nearly seventy. Hair silver and slicked back. Power tailored into every inch of his suit. A man who'd once ruled the East Coast like a king-and still held the leash on more than half of New York.

His eyes swept the room. "I see you've redecorated."

Grayson said nothing.

Max's smile was thin. "The girl. She's here, isn't she?"

Grayson's jaw tensed.

Max chuckled. "You always were predictable. You couldn't resist a woman who looked like her."

Grayson took a step forward. "She's not her."

"She's better," Max said, cutting him off. "Young. Smart. And unlike her mother, she won't run. She's too curious."

"What do you want?"

"I want to know what your plan is, son. You've made your position quite clear at the gala. You want out from under my shadow. Fine. But dragging a maid into the spotlight? That's sloppy. Weak."

Grayson's voice dropped. "She's not just a maid."

"Oh, I know," Max said, his tone ice. "She's Maria's daughter. Which means she's a liability."

Grayson moved like a whip-one hand on his father's chest, shoving him back.

Max laughed. "You've got fire. But you're not ready to face the truth."

"What truth?"

"That your girl is looking for something she shouldn't find."

Max stepped back, brushing off his coat. "I warned Maria once. She didn't listen. Don't make the same mistake."

And just like that, he turned and walked out.

Grayson stood frozen, fists clenched.

From the hallway, Isabella stepped into view.

"I heard everything," she said.

He didn't stop her this time.

Later, they sat in silence on the penthouse balcony, the city glittering below like a constellation of broken promises.

"I think he's lying," Isabella said.

Grayson lit a cigarette. The only time he ever smoked was when his father showed up. "No. He's telling the truth. The twisted version of it."

"You believe he hurt my mother?"

"I think he did worse."

She wrapped her arms around herself. "Then we need to find out what."

He looked at her then, eyes storm-dark.

"This won't end clean," he said. "It won't end in a boardroom. It ends in blood."

A pause.

"Why are you still here?" he asked.

She turned to him. "Because I need answers. And because I want you."

He stared.

Then he stubbed out the cigarette and pulled her to her feet.

This time, the urgency was gone. Replaced with something darker. He pressed her against the glass, the skyline a backdrop to their reflection.

His hands explored her slowly, reverently, like he was memorizing her.

She unbuttoned his shirt, kissed every inch of skin she revealed, feeling his heart race under her lips.

"I want to forget everything for one night," she whispered. "Just... us."

He stripped her with quiet care, lifting her onto the edge of the glass balcony wall, the wind wrapping around them like silk. She moaned as his tongue teased her again, this time slower-achingly sensual.

He tasted her like she was his only religion.

She gripped his hair, rocking into him, breathless, lost.

When she begged, he didn't make her wait.

He lifted her again, pinning her between the glass and his body, pushing into her in one deep, slow thrust. She gasped-both from the stretch and the sheer intimacy of it.

They moved like fire and silk.

His lips brushed her ear. "Say it again."

"I'm yours," she whispered.

"Louder."

"I'm yours, Grayson."

He thrust harder, his rhythm rough now, his teeth grazing her neck.

The pleasure built too fast. She came around him, nails digging into his shoulders, crying out into the wind.

He followed seconds later, holding her like she was the only thing tethering him to earth.

They collapsed together on the bed afterward, hearts pounding.

"I want to protect you," he said.

"You can't protect me from your father."

"No. But I can burn everything down before he touches you."

She believed him.

Which terrified her.

But before she could say another word-his phone buzzed.

He checked it.

His face changed.

"What is it?" she asked, sitting up.

He looked at her, expression unreadable.

"My father just froze your bank accounts."

Her heart stopped.

"What?"

"He's sending a message. You're not safe anymore, Isabella."

He stood, already moving toward the walk-in closet.

"I'm taking you somewhere," he said. "Somewhere only I know."

"Where?"

He turned to her, pupils dark.

"A safehouse. But we have to leave now."

She didn't question him.

Not until they reached the garage and the black Maserati rolled to a stop beside them.

Grayson opened the door.

And a woman stepped out.

Tall. Blonde. Stunning.

Wearing one of his shirts.

"Grayson," she said coolly. "We need to talk."

Isabella froze.

"Who is she?" she asked.

The woman smiled. "I'm his fiancée."