Midnight found Isabella McCarthy at the hotel entrance. Delivery runs for adult products were never safe at this hour. Especially for someone who looked like her. Young. Beautiful. Vulnerable. But life demanded sacrifices. Alexander would return soon. Six years together, mostly apart. His business overseas kept him away. She never complained. Their relationship remained strong despite the distance. Her side business helped. His birthday approached. She had a surprise planned. A subtle smile touched her lips beneath the mask. Only her eyes were visible. Deep. Calm. Icy. She adjusted her black hat and entered the hotel with the delivery box. The Ritz Hotel symbolized luxury in Los Angeles. Only the city's elite frequented this place. Opulent decor filled the grand hall. Gold and silver ornaments adorned the elevators, glittering under bright lights. She felt out of place. Isabella kept her gaze fixed ahead, holding the box tightly. Her masked face revealed nothing but cool detachment. The elevator dinged on the twenty-second floor. She found Room 2202 and rang the bell. Passionate moans echoed from inside before the door opened. "Noah, ah... wait! I think our package is here." "Hold on. I'll get it." Isabella's lips curled in dark amusement outside. 'They started without the toys.' 'How impatient.' The door swung open. A man in a bathrobe stood there, freshly showered. She avoided looking at him and extended the box. "143 dollars. Cash?" He didn't move. A hesitant voice broke the silence. "Isabella?" Her head snapped up. Her expression froze. The man in the white bathrobe, water dripping from his hair, was Noah Miller. Her partner of six years. He stood tall, his damp hair gleaming under the warm light. Handsome face filled with shock and panic. Isabella's blood ran cold. "Noah, who is it?" "Just a delivery." Noah spoke quickly, cutting her off. He pulled bills from his wallet, shoved them into her hand, and grabbed the box. The door slammed shut. She stood motionless, fingertips trembling. Pale-faced. A cold laugh escaped her. The money in her hand felt like a cruel joke. She had been blind. Stupid. When the sounds resumed inside, she swallowed the lump in her throat. She turned, pulled out her phone, and headed for the elevator. "Los Angeles Police Department? I'd like to report drug use and solicitation at the Ritz Hotel. Room 2202." Twenty minutes later. Police cars and media vans surrounded the hotel entrance. As the occupants were escorted out, reporters swarmed. "Mr. Miller! Is it true you were using drugs and hiring prostitutes?" "As the Miller Prosperities heir, how do you justify this behavior?" "Who is the woman with you? Rumors say she's a famous actress. True?" "Noah Miller!" Reporters overwhelmed the police barricade. Noah finally snapped. "Get the hell away from me!" They flinched but retreated. His hate-filled eyes found Isabella in the crowd. "Happy now?" She gave a cold smile, mockery flashing in her eyes. "You'll never have me." She stepped forward and raised her hand. Slap! The sound echoed through the night. His head jerked to the side. Silence fell. An officer stepped forward. "Ma'am—" "Sorry. My hand slipped." She rubbed her wrist, voice clear and icy. Resentment burned in her gaze. "You think I want trash that fell in the toilet? Consider that slap interest. I'll collect the full debt within three days." Fear flashed in his eyes. "What debt?" "Need a reminder?" His face whitened. She smiled coolly, full of contempt. The police led them away. Journalists dispersed. The crowded entrance emptied. Isabella stood alone until her composure returned. She turned to leave. Her eyes met a pair of intense, searching ones. A man in a dark suit stood watching. Tall. Impeccable. Short neat hair. Eyes like deep ocean. Under the night lights, his sharp features radiated cool nobility. A stark contrast to the corruption around them. Her heart skipped. He looked familiar. But his secretary and the silver Porsche nearby reminded her—she didn't know such powerful people. She turned away without another thought. As her figure disappeared into the traffic, Alexander McCarthy glanced away. "Who was that?" Behind him, Christopher Simpson hesitated. "The one arrested? Noah Miller. Miller Prosperities heir. Just returned from abroad." Alexander frowned. "The girl." "Pardon? Which girl?" Noting his dark expression, Christopher understood. "My apologies, Mr. McCarthy. I'll find out—" "Don't." Alexander stopped him. A memory surfaced. Surprise flickered in his eyes. He looked toward where she'd vanished. A smile touched his lips. 'So it's her. Interesting.' He strode toward the elevator, anticipation building. Then he entered.