Page 18 of Silence and Surrender

But Isabella…was different. She’d slipped past my defenses before I realized the danger, challenging my control, making me question everything I thought I knew about myself. The way she looked at me now, with that mix of strength and vulnerability, made me want things I’d sworn never to want again. Made me feel things I’d thought Catherine had killed forever.

We stood frozen in that moment, tension crackling between us. My pulse thundered in my ears.

She moved first, stepping back carefully. “I still want to go to Rotterdam,” she said, but the edge had left her voice.

“Not alone.”

“No.” A ghost of a smile touched her lips. “Not alone. But not your way either.”

“Then we find a middle ground.”

She gathered her files, movements graceful despite her obvious exhaustion. But when she reached the door, she paused.

“Why do you care?” she asked softly. “About what happens to me?”

I considered lying. Considered some bullshit answer about protecting bank assets or limiting liability.

“Because you’re brilliant,” I said instead. “And infuriating. And probably the only person who can help me expose this.”

She studied me for a long moment, that burning intelligence I’d first noticed now turned fully on me. I felt like an ant burning underneath a magnifying glass. “And if I break your precious rules and processes along the way?”

“Then I’ll be there to pick up the pieces.”

Something shifted in her expression, surprise maybe, or recognition. “Careful, Mr. Moreau. That almost sounds like you’re choosing a side.”

“I chose my side the moment I saw those manifests.” I moved closer, drawn to her orbit despite my better judgment. “The question is, can you trust someone who likes rules as much as I do?”

“Trust?” She laughed quietly. “I don’t trust anyone. But maybe...” She looked up at me, and that electricity surged again. “Maybe I can work with someone who’s willing to bend those rules for the right reasons.”

She left before I could respond, the click of her heels fading down the corridor. But her perfume lingered, mixing with the smell of warm toner.

I stayed at my desk until dawn, analyzing manifests and trying not to think about the warmth of her skin under my hands. About the way she’d felt pressed against me for that brief moment. About how her accent got stronger when she was tired or angry or afraid.

This wasn’t part of the plan. None of this was part of the plan.

But then, Isabella Delacroix had been wrecking my plans since the day she walked into my office and made me question everything.

Chapter Ten

Isabella

I sat behind my desk and rolled my shoulders, staring at paper trails that wavered like a mirage before me. My skin still tingled where Moreau’s hands had steadied me, the memory making it hard to focus on documentation and evidence.

“You look terrible,” Julia announced from my doorway, wielding a cup of coffee like a sacrificial offering. “Did you sleep at all?”

“Define sleep.” I accepted the cup, breathing in the dark roast and trying to shake off memories of Colton’s warmth, his concern, and the way his voice had roughened when he’d promised to be there if things went wrong.

“Were you here all night with Mr. Chief Counsel? The cleaners said both your offices had lights on past three.”

I shot her a warning look. “Working on the Durand acquisitions.”

“Right. Just working.” She sat on the edge of my desk. “Nothing to do with how he fills out those suits lately.”

“Julia—”

“Or how he watches you in meetings when he thinks no one’s looking.”

I set my coffee mug down harder than necessary. “He watches because he doesn’t trust my methods.”

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