There is music playing from inside the woman's apartment. Isabella glances at Fryer before he knocks, giving him a look that asks, are you sure you know what you are doing? He looks back at her and his smile isn't really reassuring, but it warms her to know that they are in this together. It is more of a, "Oh well, here goes nothing kind of look." Isabella returns his smile with a tentative grimace and Fryer lifts his fist to the condo door, and knocks.

During the drive to Mariana's apartment, Isabella had a chance to get to know Fryer a bit better. While he didn't reveal much about himself—in fact she still doesn't even know his first name—Mr. Fryer did hint that he has a personal interest in seeing their plot through to its eventual outcome. He certainly is an intelligent and caring man, with an enthusiastic sense of justice. That was Isabella's first impression of him as she listened to Fryer explain how the act would likely play out. Cunning, indeed, she thought, but, when she allowed herself to be honest, there was more to him than smarts. His eyes, for one. There is a sensitivity, an honesty that radiates in those blue eyes. Truthfulness, perhaps, yet he is the one directing the deception that is about to occur.

But the eyes are just the start. It hit her, as she was next to him in his brand new Tesla, that she is in the presence of the most beautiful man she has ever seen. Charming, certainly; handsome, oh, definitely; sexy, undeniably; gentle, respectful, caring, absolutely; a Human Resources Officer, unlikely. There is something more to the mysterious Mr. Fryer, and that is part of the attraction. Yes, she admitted to herself thirty minutes ago as they pulled off the Interstate, there is definitely something attractive about the man.

And now as they stand together, knocking on the door of Mariana Frederick, unified by a secret, co-conspirators in a nefarious plot, Isabella feels more than an attraction to this man, she feels a deep connection. And she likes that feeling.

The song is still blaring on the other side of the door, the dance beat pounding against the hinges. Take those lips away, the female vocalist belts, but my kisses bring again, seals of love, seals in vain." There is no way that the woman inside will hear them knocking, so Fryer tries the door knob. It opens as the rush of music spills onto them.

The foyer of the condo unit opens onto a large room: white, sleek, chairs and walls that are splashed with the colour of abstract art. To the right, under a tent of hanging lights is a large kitchen island, and in the middle is a woman, her head bopping to the music, long dark hair flipping over her face, then back again. She dances with a chef's knife in her hands. This must be Mariana.

She sees the couple standing before in her apartment, and, not appearing alarmed at all, points a remote at the wall and the music ceases.

"Sorry guys, I didn't hear you come in." The woman puts down the knife, circles the island and approaches Fryer and Isabella. She is slim, dressed casually in jeans and a pale yellow blouse, and walks to greet them with a strut that exudes confidence and sophistication. Together, Isabella decides is the word, she has got it together.

"Dinner is just about ready. It is great to see you again, William." She turns her cheek so he can give her a polite kiss. "And you must be Isabella. My, you are a pretty thing," which seems unusual to Isabella, as she is looking upon the an incredibly beautiful woman, the type of woman Isabella could only dream of becoming. Mariana's complexion appears to be somewhat Mediterranean, and with her long black- brown hair, she seems slightly darker than Isabella. In spite of the fact that she is older, likely in her mid-thirties, they are similar in size and stature. So, this plan might actually work, she thinks.

The plan, as was outlined to Isabella by Fryer, is incredibly far-fetched. When he explained it to her earlier in his office, and in more detail on the drive here tonight, Isabella couldn't help but think that it came out of some silly rom-com, or one of those Shakespeare plays where the heroine is disguised as a boy the whole play, to reveal herself in the end as the King's daughter or something. But there is something a little more sinister in this tale. Mariana, Isabella can tell, is a smart woman; she will determine if this plot has any hope of succeeding.

Mariana has laid out a wonderful meal with fresh salads, there are shrimp and mussels too, and freshly baked bread. When Isabella comments that she has fussed, Mariana replies with something about wanting to do it right for William on his first date with Isabella. Her heart pounds when she hears that and, looking over to Fryer, he seems a little embarrassed, and puts his head down, sheepishly. Isabella is surprised that she feels so excited by the idea that this beautiful man might be taking an interest in her. In her mind, this was all business, but, seeing William Fryer here, sharing a meal with her, Isabella begins to think otherwise. And she likes that feeling too.

As they sit at Mariana's table in her swank apartment, lounge-dub beats in the background, eating a fabulous meal, sipping crisp white wine, Isabella feels part of a different world. Fryer is obviously comfortable in this scene and Mariana seems to embody elegance and intelligence; it is like she first thought, here is a woman who has got it together. And that is what is troubling Isabella: if she is so dialled-in, why would she want to go through with this scheme? So she asks her.

"I don't get it Mariana. You seem to me to be the perfect woman. You are smart, a successful entrepreneur, gorgeous—like, I mean, you have the perfect life here. Why do you want to open that chapter of your life again?"

Fryer is silent, and Mariana exhales a long sigh. "It isn't that simple Isabella. The world isn't a simple story, nor are its characters. We like to think that a person will respond a certain way, that things are cut and dry. We want our heroes to be heroic, our leads to be romantic, our endings to be happy—but that isn't the way things are. I would love to be able to say that all this is over and done with, that I have walked away from Angelo and that I despise him for what he did to me. But it isn't that simple, Isabella. Why does a woman return to the partner who abuses her? Why does the man who has everything risk it all for a one night stand? Or an investor gamble on the long-shot? Why does the phrase 'should have known better' exist at all? Real people do really stupid things sometimes, or really smart things with really scary consequences. It is easy to judge someone else's choices after you see the outcome, but hard to put yourself in their head before the act is done."

Mariana takes a sip of wine, then continues. "I know you won't understand what I feel, but it might help if you understand Angelo the way that I do, if you knew about our past. Let me ask you this Isabella. Why do you think Angelo Lord—CEO, soon to be a billionaire, if not already, powerful, all that—would be interested in sleeping with you? Nothing against you, Isabella, you are a stunning young woman, but in real life, billionaire CEO's don't fall for the intern. This man can have anyone in the world that he wants. He has supermodels as his personal assistants. Guys like Angelo have so much money, they don't just sleep with the models, they buy the whole modelling agency."

"I guess so. I know this isn't some silly Romance story, and I know that Angelo isn't exactly a Prince Charming. Mr. Fryer and I talked about this already, how this is a clear case of sexual harassment. Grounds for a lawsuit, for sure, if not for criminal charges."

"So, Isabella, you get it then. For these guys, it is about owning things, owning people, it is about control. Angelo wants to sleep with you so he can own you, control you. So he can use his power to master you."

Isabella thinks about this and gets the feeling that she is so young, compared to these two, compared to Angelo. She knows nothing. Fryer, it seems, understands what she is feeling, and gently places his hand on top of hers. She feels a jolt of excitement run up her arm from his touch. She looks into his eyes and listens while Mariana tells her story.

She tells of how, seven or eight years ago now, Angelo Lord was the chief negotiator for Alpha for the buy-out of her company. She had built a sizeable firm based on packaging optical transfer switches for use with market news feeds. It was odd, especially then, to have a woman as the founder and principal of a tech start-up, and this seemed to particularly intrigue Angelo. Her company did have value, especially just prior to the crash of 2008, but Angelo's interest was not just with the company. As the deal progressed, Angelo became increasingly attracted to Mariana. "He didn't care about controlling my company, as much as he wanted to control me," she explains, "and his desires in the bedroom reflected that need for control too."

And now she drops this one: Angelo hurts women. Isabella hears Mariana tell of how he hits, how he chokes, how he would throw her around, pin her to the bed, take her from behind. Always from behind. That was his thing, his game. The more she would resist, the more forceful he became. If Mariana ever initiated romance, he had no interest. It was like his sexual desire was tied to his violence. Rarely would she receive a kiss that wasn't accompanied with a choke-hold or a slap.

"Why did you stay with him, why would you let yourself be hurt?" Isabella asks the obvious question.

"Remember what I said about things not being simple? The first time he hit me, an open handed slap, I was shocked. We were in his car—he was dropping me off after our first date— and had started some pretty hot kissing, then, all of a sudden, wham, he slaps me. I was out of there so fast. He later called and apologized and said that he thought I liked it rough, like him, and would be more gentle in the future, if I would see him again. So, I gave him another chance. Then another. I know, it doesn't make sense, but, honestly, there was something about him that kept drawing me back to him. Maybe part of it is a woman's desire to forgive, you know, that feeling we get from being able to make things right again, to know that we have given someone a new life. Maybe it's tied to our primal, maternal instincts. I don't know. Maybe it is his strength, his drive, his confidence, his passion—all pretty attractive stuff for a woman who loves a man who is not afraid to take what he wants. Don't forget, I am just as much of a capitalist tycoon as he is, but I didn't mind pretending to be his bitch now and then."

"We weren't into kink like BDSM or anything, just really rough sex. It became consensual, I guess. The rules were simple: he was in control, I had to submit to the power he held over me, and let him do me doggy-style. Sorry Isabella, I know that sounds crude."

Fryer squeezes Isabella's hand and she is eased by his concern, but she isn't offended, just thankful that Fryer came up with this scheme.

"I accepted his rules. But there is a side of Angelo that is sweet. It isn't like he is a monster or anything. His need for power and control are part of his personality; it comes from a deep-rooted need for acceptance, for love. Maybe something to do with lacking a father figure as a kid, I don't know. But when he allows you to see the vulnerable side of him, the frail little boy within, you see a different Angelo. You see the puppy."

"Tell Isabella about the puppy, Mariana," Fryer says.

"Yes, the puppy, Mr Wrinkles. I think this was something that a therapist once told Angelo to use as a way to deal with his issues of aggression. He told me that as a kid he had a stuffed animal, a toy puppy. He found a similar one, and keeps it with him now. I don't really think he talks to it or anything—I can't see him doing that. But, as I have since learned, Mr. Wrinkles sees a lot. You see, Angelo not only gets off on controlling things in the bedroom, he wants to own you forever. He wants to be able to, anytime he wants, replay the video that shows him wielding his power. Mr. Wrinkles hides the video camera, and there is another one hidden in the corner."

"Oh my God, Mariana. This man is sick."

Fryer replies, in a calming voice. "Perhaps, Isabella, but we will try to use his sickness to do some good, to save your brother's job, to stop this man from abusing anyone else, and to let Mariana seek her revenge upon the man who broke off their wedding."

And this final part is new to Isabella: Fryer explains that when Mariana dyes her hair the same shade of blond as Isabella, and puts on Isabella's schoolgirl kilt and blouse, and when Mariana lets herself into Angelo's home, with the security code that Angelo provided to Isabella, and enters the dim light of Angelo's bedroom tomorrow night, as instructed by Angelo, and waits, as she was told, on her hands and knees for the master to enter and demand her submission, and when Angelo Lord mounts her from behind and calls her Isabella, Mariana will be holding the stuffed toy in front of her, looking straight into the puppy dog eyes of Mr. Wiggles, the eyes that will be watching the entire scene unfold and will be saving the video feed from Angelo's bedroom cameras onto the cloud, the cloud drive that is owned by Alpha Incorporated, the cloud whose server is secured by Mariana Fredrick's latest company, and the cloud to which Mr. Fryer now has access.