ISABELLE

“Miss Reynolds, my office. Now.”

The sharpness in Jake’s voice cuts through the quiet hum of the office, silencing every click of a keyboard.

My breath hitches as I glance up, finding his piercing gaze locked on me.

There’s an intensity there, stern, commanding, and utterly disarming.

I really need to get a hold of myself.

I nod quickly, grabbing my notepad as I push back my chair. Around me, curious eyes follow my every move. Everyone knows being summoned by Jake Montero isn’t routine. It’s deliberate.

And it has been happening to me a lot.

As I step into his office, the heavy door clicks shut behind me, muffling the world outside.

Jake sits behind his sleek glass desk, leaning back in his chair like a king surveying his kingdom. His sleeves are rolled up, and the faint scruff on his jawline only adds to the quiet authority he exudes.

“You needed me, sir?” I ask, keeping my tone neutral, professional.

He lifts his gaze, pinning me with those unreadable eyes. “I need you to go down to the archives and pull a file for me. Section B, row four, under the name Apex.”

My brow furrows. “The archives?".

“Yes.” His tone is clipped, leaving no room for discussion.

“But, sir…” I hesitate, clutching my notepad tighter. “I’m just a secretary. That’s not really my...".

His chair scrapes against the floor as he stands, the sound sending a ripple of tension through the room. He walks around his desk with measured steps until he’s standing directly in front of me. My breath catches as his gaze dips, studying me with unnerving precision.

“Isabelle,” he says, his voice low and steady, like a storm brewing beneath the surface. “When I give you an assignment, I expect it done. I am the boss. If I tell you to do something, you do it. I am the only expertise you need.”

My cheeks flush at the way he says it, like it’s a challenge, a reminder, and something more all rolled into one.

My heart betrays me, thudding against my ribs in a rhythm I can’t control.

“Yes, sir,” I mumble, avoiding his gaze.

“Good,” he says, stepping back. “I’ll expect the file on my desk by the end of the day.”

I turn on my heel and walk out, my pulse racing. Behind me, I can feel his eyes lingering, but I don’t dare look back.

The archives are a stark contrast to the bustling office above. Dimly lit and eerily silent, it feels like stepping into another world. I rub my arms against the chill in the air as I navigate the rows of filing cabinets, searching for section B.

“This is ridiculous,” I mutter under my breath, yanking open a drawer labeled “Row Four.” “I’m a secretary, not a detective.”

But as I sift through the files, something catches my eye.

My father’s name....Samuel Reynolds stares back at me from the corner of a memo buried within the pile. My stomach drops.

“What the hell…”

I pull the memo out, my hands trembling. The words are vague but damning: “Pending resolution of disputes. Collateral damage may be unavoidable.

Collateral damage.

I read it again, my mind racing. My father’s name, linked to Victor Montero. A dispute. Collateral damage. The implications hit me like a freight train.

Did the Monteros really have something to do with my father’s downfall like I had thought?

His death?

The walls seem to close in around me as I frantically flip through the rest of the file. The connections are thin, but they’re there, a thread tying my family’s ruin to the Montero empire.

I don’t even hear the footsteps until they’re right behind me.

“Miss Reynolds.”

Jake’s voice is calm, but it slices through the stillness like a blade. I jump, clutching the memo to my chest as I turn to face him. He’s standing just a few feet away, his expression unreadable.

“You’re not supposed to be reading that,” he says, his tone measured.

“You told me to come here,” I snap, my voice shaking.

“Yes,” he says, stepping closer, “but I didn’t tell you to dig deeper than necessary.”

I hold my ground, even as his presence towers over me. “Why is my father’s name in here?”

Jake’s jaw tightens, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly. “That’s not your concern".

“It is my concern,” I shoot back, my voice rising. “You owe me an explanation....

“I don’t owe you anything,” he cuts in, his voice suddenly sharp.

For a moment, we’re locked in a silent standoff, the tension between us crackling like static electricity. His gaze flickers to the memo in my hand, and his expression darkens.

“Give me the file,” he says, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Reluctantly, I hand it over, my fingers brushing against his. The contact sends a jolt through me, but I quickly pull back, trying to steady my breathing.

“You need to go back to your desk,” Jake says, his voice softer now but no less commanding.

“You’re hiding something,” I say, my words barely above a whisper.

He doesn’t respond. Instead, he tucks the file under his arm and turns away, leaving me standing there with more questions than answers.

When I return to my desk, my mind is a whirlwind of confusion and anger. I’m so lost in thought that I almost miss the small envelope sitting on my keyboard.

My name is scrawled across it in neat, unfamiliar handwriting.

I glance around, but no one seems to be paying attention. With trembling hands, I tear it open and pull out a single sheet of paper.

“Stop digging, or you’ll regret it.”

The words blur as my vision swims with panic. My heart pounds in my chest as I scan the room, searching for anyone who might be watching.

Who sent this? And how do they know?

What do they know that I am digging into?

Andrew and Evelyn?

Or my parents' deaths?

I clutch the note, a mix of fear and determination bubbling to the surface. Whoever left this doesn’t know me as well as they think.

If they want me to stop, they’ve just given me more reason to dig deeper.