In the president's office on the top floor of the Empire Bank Building, electric lights illuminated the room.
Felix tossed his fountain pen onto the desk.
Frost stepped forward, collected the signed documents into his briefcase, and snapped the latch shut.
"The carriage is already prepared downstairs. Will you be returning to Long Island tonight, or…"
"Go to Central Park."
The carriage traveled smoothly along the cobblestone streets of Manhattan.
Felix closed his eyes, calculating Old Morgan's strategy in his mind.
Although he believed in despising the opponent strategically, he would never take them lightly tactically.
However, his tense nerves certainly needed a soft place to relax.
The carriage stopped in front of a secluded villa.
The butler pulled open the wrought-iron gate.
Felix walked into the warm foyer and handed his overcoat to the maid who came to greet him.
In the second-floor living room, electric lights bathed the room in a warmth like spring.
Isabella was not sitting on the sofa waiting for him; instead, she stood by the window, holding a glass of red wine.
Hearing footsteps, she turned around, and a completely natural smile immediately blossomed on her face.
"You look very tired, Felix."
She stepped forward and skillfully untied his bow tie.
"Are those old men on Wall Street giving you a headache again?"
Felix did not answer, simply taking the opportunity to wrap his arm around her waist and pull her into his embrace.
This unspoken tacit understanding had formed a certain routine over these past two months of being together.
Felix couldn't be bothered to talk about business at this moment. He lowered his head and kissed those red lips, with an undeniable domineering air, then picked her up and strode toward the bedroom.
The heavy oak door was kicked shut.
There were no superfluous words, nor any prelude.
In this room, Felix always maintained that wildness of absolute dominance.
And Isabella had long since shed the stiffness and feigned reserve she had when she first arrived, through the repeated tempests.
The night deepened…
The oak logs in the fireplace crackled softly.
Isabella lay on Felix's broad chest like a lazy cat.
Her long hair was scattered loosely across her fair back, and her fingers traced circles unconsciously on Felix's chest.
Felix leaned against the headboard, holding a lit cigar.
His breathing had stabilized, and he was enjoying this moment of tranquility.
Isabella's eyes, however, flickered in the darkness.
These two months had been the most contradictory, yet also the most stable, of her life.
She was far away from the cold, judgmental nobles in Vienna, and far away from her cousin Philippe, who talked about "Restoration" and "sacrifice" all day long.
In this villa, there was no need to calculate the cost of the next dinner, nor any need to curry favor with those fat, greedy European bankers.
Although Felix had an extremely strong desire for control, he also provided her with absolute protection.
Under this man's wing, she did not need to worry about assassins from the Thiers Government, nor the hardships of exile.
However, the telegrams that Gaston had been frequently sending in these past few days were like a guillotine hanging over her head.
In the telegrams, Philippe hysterically urged her to show her hand, demanding that she immediately put forward the concessions in France and have Felix support the Bourbon Family.
Isabella knew that if she delayed any longer, Vienna would certainly take action.
If Felix found out about her true identity and purpose through other channels, everything she possessed in this villa would instantly vanish into thin air.
She understood Felix.
This man could tolerate a woman who coveted money, but he absolutely could not tolerate a politician who plotted against his business empire from his bedside.
"Felix…"
Isabella's voice was very soft, carrying an imperceptible tremor.
"Hmm?"
Felix uttered a casual syllable in his throat.
Isabella took a deep breath and propped up her upper body. She looked at Felix's side profile, which appeared somewhat stern in the darkness, and her heart pounded violently.
"I… I have something I must confess to you."
Isabella bit her lower lip, and her eyes began to redden.
Felix turned his head, his deep gaze falling on her face.
"Speak." His tone remained calm.
"I lied to you."
Isabella's voice carried a hint of tears.
"Actually, I am not some ordinary singer from a Parisian theater troupe. My full name is Isabella de Bourbon. My father is Duke Antoine, a core member of the Orléans faction, and my cousin is Louis Philippe, the Count of Paris."
Isabella poured out her background in one breath. She looked into Felix's eyes, trying to catch any sign of anger or shock.
"I did not come to New York to find some safe haven at all; I came with a purpose."
Tears slid down Isabella's cheeks, dripping onto Felix's chest.
"Those people in Vienna, my family, they need money. They want to overthrow the current French Republic and restore the rule of the Bourbon Dynasty. They have their eyes on the dollars and weapons in your hands. So they sent me to approach you, to make you fall in love with me, and then willingly take out your checkbook to pay for their great cause of restoration."
After saying this, Isabella felt as if all the strength in her body had been drained away.
She closed her eyes in despair, waiting to be roughly driven off the bed and thrown out of this villa.
However, there was only silence in the room.
No roars or slaps.
After a long while.
"Continue."
Felix's voice sounded, with no discernible fluctuation of emotion.
Isabella opened her eyes, looking at him in disbelief.
"Aren't you angry? I was plotting against you, treating you like our family's ATM."
"Of course I am angry. But I am more interested in hearing why you would choose tonight to tell me this secret that should have rotted in your stomach."
Felix reached out, his rough thumb wiping away the tears on her cheek.
Isabella grabbed his hand and pressed it tightly against her face.
"Because I was afraid."
Her voice was filled with worry.
"Felix, these days I have been afraid every single day. Afraid of the telegrams from Vienna and Gaston's urging. But what I fear most is the look in your eyes after you discover the truth."
Isabella lowered her head, burying her face in the crook of his neck.
"My cousin forced me in the telegram to name a price to you, forced me to use the entire market of France and hereditary titles to exchange for your financial support. But I found that I simply couldn't bring myself to say it, because I don't want to become a politician's trade item in front of you."
"Felix, I have realized that I cannot live without you. I cannot live without this life here. So… I would rather be a canary that never sees the light of day here, than go back to Europe to be some godforsaken hero of restoration."
She hugged Felix's neck tightly, her voice turning into a desperate plea.
"Please, don't be angry and drive me away. I know my initial purpose was dirty. But now, as long as you don't abandon me, even if you let me work as a factory girl for you, I am willing."