Chapter 2 The Beginning of the End

Issabella's POV

The message came two days later. A clean, cold email with one line:

You've been shortlisted. Report to the address below at 9 a.m. tomorrow. Don't be late.

No name. No signature. Just coordinates and consequence.

I stood frozen in our dim kitchen, the light flickering above the sink as if even the bulb couldn't decide whether to keep going. I reread it five times before daring to breathe.

I'd been chosen-for the final round, at least. Me, Issabella Cruz. The girl with secondhand shoes and rent two months behind. The one with a past too heavy to share and a future that terrified her.

And now, I was walking into the world of Cassian De Rossi.

The next morning, I tied my hair in a simple knot and wore my cleanest jeans and a black blouse. I didn't have heels or designer perfume. Just my honesty. And maybe a little desperation tucked beneath it.

The building loomed like a glass mountain. Sleek, silver, guarded. A man in a dark suit met me at the entrance, clipboard in hand. "Name?"

"Issabella Cruz."

His eyes flicked over the list. "ID?"

I handed it over. He nodded and stepped aside. "You're on time. Take the elevator to the 24th floor. Conference Room B."

As I stepped inside the elevator, I caught sight of another woman exiting a black car. Tall. Polished. A slinky red dress. She didn't even glance at me as she walked in.

I exhaled slowly. This was it.

---

The conference room smelled like money. No, power. Five women sat across a long marble table-each one more beautiful than the last. Elegant makeup. Manicured nails. Designer handbags perched at their sides like trophies.

I took a seat at the far end, feeling like an outsider crashing a private party. A man entered a few minutes later. Dark suit. Cold eyes. Confident stride.

Not Cassian.

But something about him commanded attention.

"I'm Jaxon. I manage Mr. De Rossi's personal affairs. You'll each be seen individually. The process is discreet, so no questions about others will be tolerated."

His voice was firm, rehearsed. "When your name is called, follow me."

They called three names before mine. Each woman disappeared through the door, and minutes stretched like hours.

Finally-

"Issabella Cruz."

My stomach turned. I stood, legs shaky, and followed Jaxon through a hallway that felt like a tunnel into another world.

He opened a black double door and stepped aside. "Inside."

I stepped in.

The air shifted instantly. The room was dim, warm, and intimidating. Cassian De Rossi stood at the far end, near floor-to-ceiling windows. His suit was black, crisp. His back was straight, posture like a blade.

He turned.

I felt the weight of his gaze hit me full in the chest.

Dark eyes. Cold, but not empty. A face too flawless to be real-sharpened jaw, neatly trimmed beard, and an expression carved from stone.

He looked me over, not in lust, but in evaluation. Like I was an object to be studied before being claimed.

"So," he said finally. "You're the one who recorded that video."

I nodded. "Yes."

"You're aware of what the role requires?"

"I am."

"And you still came?"

"I didn't have a choice."

He tilted his head slightly. "There's always a choice. Even when it doesn't feel like it."

I met his gaze. "Then I chose survival."

His lips curved slightly-whether in amusement or calculation, I couldn't tell. He stepped toward the table and lifted a file.

"This is the agreement," he said, placing it in front of me. "Read it carefully."

I sat down slowly, eyes scanning the cold, clinical terms.

Rules and Expectations

You will reside at my estate for the full duration of the contract.

You will not initiate contact with any outside party without prior approval.

You will dress appropriately, attend any event I require, and uphold discretion.

Physical intimacy will occur four times per week, unless otherwise specified.

Emotional entanglements are prohibited. This is not a relationship. This is an arrangement.

Any violation of confidentiality results in immediate termination and legal action.

You are to obey any instruction I give. No exceptions.

At the bottom was a blank line: Signature.

I looked up. "And if I have terms of my own?"

Cassian raised an eyebrow. "You don't."

But I leaned back slightly, daring to challenge him.

"I'm not furniture," I said. "If I'm going to live in your world, I need air. I need one hour a day to myself-alone. No interruptions. I won't be watched, followed, or silenced in that hour."

His jaw tightened.

"And," I added, "you say I obey everything-but I have one hard limit. I won't be touched in anger. No violence. Not ever."

A sharp silence followed.

He took a slow step toward me. I could feel the authority rolling off him in waves.

"No one gives me rules," he said quietly.

"I just did," I whispered.

He stared at me for what felt like a full minute. The tension in the air buzzed like static. Finally, he turned away, as if deciding not to crush something too fragile.

"Fine. One hour a day. But I choose the time and location. And you'll still answer if I call."

My throat tightened. "Deal."

He walked back to the table and tapped the paper.

"Sign it."

I picked up the pen.

And just like that, I gave away every piece of myself for a shot at survival.

---

Later that night, Cassian stood outside a bar that only a handful of people in the city had access to. The neon sign barely lit the alley, and the guard didn't ask for ID. Everyone knew his face.

Jaxon was already inside, leaning against the bar with a drink in hand. When Cassian entered, he straightened.

"You actually picked her," Jaxon said. "The girl from the video."

Cassian ordered a drink without replying.

"Out of all those women... models, influencers, heiresses... you picked the one with zero polish and a mouth full of resistance."

"She was honest," Cassian muttered.

Jaxon chuckled. "Honest? Or reckless?"

Cassian looked away. "Doesn't matter. It's a contract. Not a marriage."

"Still. You usually go for control. That girl? She's going to challenge everything."

"I don't want docile. I want silence when I need it and heat when I ask for it. That's all."

"Sure. But still..." Jaxon sipped his drink, then added casually, "Melissa will be in town in two weeks."

Cassian's fingers tightened around his glass. "Why?"

"Her grandfather has business in the city. He asked her to check on you."

"She's not my problem."

"She wants to be."

Cassian's jaw flexed. "She always has."

"You're going to have a girl living in your house and another one dropping in with family blessings. That's a storm waiting to happen."

"I didn't invite Melissa," he said coldly. "And she'll learn quickly that I don't bend to emotion."

Jaxon studied him for a moment, then said quietly, "But you picked Issabella."

Cassian didn't answer.

Because even he didn't understand why