The Surrogate He Discarded

Marco had almost laughed at how easily Charlotte had laid everything out.

She was clever. But her hatred made her reckless.

That was the difference between the two of them.

Charlotte wanted revenge. Marco wanted victory.

Charlotte wanted to see Kristoff suffer.

Marco wanted to see his competitors fall, trampled under his feet.

Their goals happened to point in the same direction.

It was an arrangement he could appreciate.

He took another sip of wine.

The more he thought about it, the more amusing the situation became.

Who would have imagined that Charlotte—the woman once considered Kristoff Dalton’s perfect match—would eventually walk into his office offering him the opportunity to ruin the very man she had once intended to marry?

They had been the golden couple of high society.

Beautiful. Powerful. Untouchable.

Everyone had expected them to marry.

Now Charlotte was quietly plotting against him.

Kristoff’s loss.

Marco’s smile deepened.

And my gain.

He glanced toward the center of the ballroom where Isobel was dancing with Kristoff.

Perhaps Charlotte had been right about one thing.

Isobel was the perfect pressure point.

Kristoff cared about her.

Aioryx valued her.

And Isobel herself was stubborn enough to refuse money simply because she believed loyalty was worth more.

That made her difficult to buy off.

But Marco didn’t need to buy her. He only needed to find the right leverage.

His eyes narrowed thoughtfully.

Tonight, he had tried money.

It had failed.

That didn’t mean the game was over. It only meant he needed a different approach.

The thought brought a faint smile to his lips.

He had always enjoyed difficult acquisitions.

And Isobel Lancey had just become the most interesting one yet.

As for Charlotte...

He had no intention of underestimating her.

A woman who could smile sweetly while plotting the downfall of the man she had once loved was dangerous.

But dangerous people could be useful. Especially when they hated the same enemies.

Marco lifted his glass and took another leisurely drink.

The gala had turned out to be far more worthwhile than he had expected.

He hadn’t come here looking for an opportunity.

Charlotte had handed him one.

Now, he only had to decide how much damage he wanted to inflict.

A waiter passed by with another tray of drinks.

Marco reached for a glass.

He ignored the wine this time.

His fingers closed around a glass of whiskey instead.

He studied the amber liquor for a moment, then raised it to his lips and drained it in one smooth swallow. The burn slid down his throat, sharp and deliberate, leaving a lingering heat in its wake.

His decision was made.

No more watching from the sidelines.

No more testing the waters.

If Charlotte wanted her revenge, then he would be a willing blade.

Marco set the empty glass back onto the waiter’s tray.

Then he turned and walked away without a backward glance.

...

Kristoff had been watching from across the ballroom when he noticed the change in Isobel’s expression.

She was smiling politely throughout the dance, but there was tension in her eyes. Her movements had become stiff, as though she was enduring the song rather than enjoying it.

Then the masked man lifted her hand and pressed a kiss to the back of it.

Kristoff’s jaw tightened. ℯℯ𝑙.

His fingers curled into fists at his sides.

Before he could think better of it, he crossed the ballroom in several long strides.

But just as he was about to reach them, the music ended.

The masked man released Isobel’s hand and turned away.

For one brief moment, his eyes met Kristoff’s.

Kristoff stopped. Something about those eyes caught his attention.

They were cold and calculating.

The sharpness in them felt strangely familiar. He had seen those eyes before.

Kristoff stood a few centimeters taller than him. When he looked down, the man didn’t flinch under his scrutiny. If anything, there was something almost amused in the way he held Kristoff’s gaze before finally turning away.

Kristoff’s instincts immediately sharpened.

Who the hell is he?

He barely had time to pursue the thought when a soft, relieved voice reached him.

”Thank goodness, it’s you, Kristoff.”

He turned toward Isobel.

The tension in her face had eased the moment she saw him, and something inside Kristoff loosened.

Then he noticed the men nearby.

Several had been watching Isobel throughout the evening. Now that her dance had ended, a few were already starting to move in her direction, clearly preparing to introduce themselves or ask for the next dance.

Kristoff stepped closer to her. The message was unmistakable.

She wasn’t alone.

The men hesitated, then gradually backed away.

Kristoff reached for Isobel’s hands.

”Come on.”

Before she could protest, he pulled her closer and got ready for the next dance.

This time, there was no stranger between them.

The music shifted into a rumba, and Kristoff moved with effortless precision, guiding Isobel through the steps. His movements were smooth and controlled, but his attention was elsewhere.

Over Isobel’s shoulder, his eyes searched the crowd.

The masked man had stopped near the edge of the ballroom.

Kristoff studied him again.

The height. The build. The posture.

The way he carried himself.

Even the slight tilt of his head when he listened.

There was something about him that Kristoff couldn’t quite place.

He had seen that arrogance before.

Not at a social function but across conference tables.

Inside negotiation rooms.

In heated meetings where neither side was willing to give an inch.

His gaze narrowed.

Where have I seen him?

The answer came slowly. First, a face surfaced in his memory.

Then a name.

Marco Pollus.

Kristoff’s expression hardened.

Of course.

The CEO of Pollus Corporation.

His fiercest rival in the Hugo Castle Restoration project in Old Town.

The man who had repeatedly challenged his bids, undercut his proposals, and fought him for control of one of the most valuable restoration projects in the city.

And now that same man had been dancing with Isobel.

Kristoff’s eyes remained fixed on Marco.

The realization left a bitter taste in his mouth.

What the hell is he doing here?

And more importantly—

Why was he dancing with Isobel?