7 Testing the Waters

The air inside Lawrence Group’s headquarters felt so heavy it could’ve been sliced open. Alex stood before the floor-to-ceiling windows of his office, staring down at the restless New York streets, his jaw locked tight. An internal audit report lay on the desk behind him—thrown there with enough force to echo. “Another gap,” he muttered, his voice low, anger simmering just beneath the surface. “The trail of funds disappears right at the critical moment. Like it never existed. Blake Hunter couldn’t anticipate our every move this precisely unless he’s got some kind of supernatural power.” Charles Wright stood nearby, equally grim. “You’re saying… there’s a mole?” “More than one.” Alex turned, and for a moment those icy blue eyes looked almost lethal. “And they’re not low-level. They know how we operate, our security protocols… even my father’s habits.” His voice hitched just slightly at the mention of Arthur. Though the old man had finally woken up, he was still far from capable of resuming control. Responsibility weighed on Alex like a mountain. He glanced around his office—this place that symbolized absolute power—and for the first time, he felt completely isolated. Who could he trust? The board members who’d watched him grow up? The obedient employees who bowed when he walked by? In the face of greed, loyalty felt paper-thin. And then, uninvited, an image drifted into his mind—Isabella. Her sharp, precise gaze when she exposed the forged painting. Her calm instructions during the crisis. Her quiet gentleness in the living room late at night. The memories tangled together, forming a picture more vivid than he expected. “Prepare the car,” he told Charles abruptly. “I’m going back to the estate.” When Alex found Isabella in the library, she was sitting by the window in a high-backed chair, a thick art history tome resting across her lap. The afternoon sun spilled over her, gilding her in warm light—so serene she looked like she’d stepped out of a painting. He paused at the doorway, strangely thrown off. The scene was too peaceful, too elegant, too far from the request he was about to make—one stained with suspicion, betrayal, and corporate warfare. “Alex?” Bella looked up, surprised to see him at home in the middle of the workday. She closed the book, her movements graceful as always. He walked in, shut the door behind him, sealing the two of them away from the rest of the world. He didn’t bother easing into it—directness was his default, especially when he wasn’t entirely sure he was making the right decision. “I need your help, Isabella.” Her brows lifted slightly, but she didn’t interrupt. She simply waited. “Someone inside our company is feeding information to Blake Hunter.” He kept it concise, skipping most details but laying out the essence: he didn’t have anyone he trusted enough to investigate the deeper layers. “I see,” Bella said softly. “But why come to me?” “Because you’re not one of us,” Alex said plainly—almost brutally honest. “You exist outside this circle. They won’t guard themselves around you. And more importantly…” He hesitated, then met her eyes. “You see things. You catch details most people ignore. You can tell a painting’s authenticity from brushstrokes. You can read a person from their words and micro-expressions.” He stepped closer. “I want to propose an alliance.” “An alliance?” she echoed, as if turning the word over in her mind. “Yes. As ‘Mrs. Lawrence,’ you’d have every right to attend the events I must attend—or the ones I can’t fully dig into myself. Balls, charity galas, private clubs. Those old foxes shut their mouths around me, but with someone as beautiful, graceful, and… seemingly harmless as you, their guard drops.” Bella fell silent, her gaze drifting to the garden outside. “You want me to be your spy? To use my status and… charm to extract information?” “I’m asking you,” Alex corrected gently but firmly, “to use your intelligence to help protect the family you’re now tied to.” His tone held a kind of seriousness she had never heard from him. “This isn’t an order. It’s a request.” She turned back to him, her dark eyes searching his. After a long moment, she spoke, her voice low but steady. “The Villeneuve family values promises—and allies. If I agree, Alex, that means we stand on the same side. Will you offer equal trust?” Something tight in his chest loosened. He extended his hand toward her. “I trust your abilities, Isabella. From this moment on, we’re allies.” Bella looked at his outstretched hand, then slowly placed her cool, slender fingers into his warm palm. Their hands fit together almost too naturally. “Well then,” she said, a faint curve tugging at her lips, “since we’re allies… we’ll need a plan.”