Chapter 12

Isabella shot Nathan a sharp glance.

Nathan immediately understood and moved to open the door.

"President Sinclair! President Sinclair!"

Keith, the disgraced Vice President from yesterday, shoved past Nathan before he could stop him.

Isabella's brow furrowed as Keith lunged toward her desk.

"Mr. Keith, why are you still here? Your resignation was approved. Shouldn't you be job hunting?"

"President Sinclair! You can't do this to me!" Keith's face was flushed, sweat beading on his forehead. "I've dedicated nearly twenty years to this hotel! I've sacrificed my health for this place! Chairman Reginald would never dismiss me so carelessly—how can you just force me out?"

Isabella smirked, her voice icy. "I reviewed all senior staff files. You do have health issues—fatty liver and gallbladder polyps. Must've made quite the fortune off this hotel to develop those."

Keith paled, her sarcasm cutting deep. "I had no idea Vintage Elegance was selling us subpar bedding! They've been our supplier for three years—reputable, reasonably priced—I never thought—"

Before he could finish, Isabella flung a file at his feet.

"These are all transactions between the hotel and Vintage Elegance. As Finance Department supervisor, you didn't notice anything suspicious?"

Keith's hands trembled as he picked up the file. The pages burned like hot coals.

"And I received an anonymous tip."

She took a slow sip of coffee, her gaze sharp. "Someone suggested your close relationship with Vintage Elegance involved hefty kickbacks. That’s why you approved their shoddy products."

Keith's knees nearly buckled, his teeth chattering.

"I don’t fire people without proof. But when I have it?" She leaned forward. "No one walks away unscathed. If you disagree, we can settle this in court."

"President Sinclair, I admit my mistake! I acted recklessly! Please—have mercy! If this gets out, I’ll be ruined in Elmsworth!"

Keith was on the verge of collapsing, his face ashen. "Vintage Elegance approached me! Mr. Ives promised easy money! I thought all mattresses were the same—I didn’t realize I was being played!"

Isabella laughed coldly.

A twenty-year veteran playing dumb to save himself. Pathetic.

"Good. You know exactly what happened. Now go home and polish your résumé. That’s more productive than groveling here. Nathan, escort him out."

Nathan dragged Keith out like a kicked dog.

Outside, Keith’s fear twisted into rage. He spat on the ground.

Just wait. This isn’t over.

Isabella exhaled, frustration simmering. The hotel’s corruption was worse than she’d thought.

"Seems everyone knew Keith was dirty. The second you targeted him, someone ratted him out!" Nathan grinned, eager for justice.

"No one ratted him out."

"What? You—you bluffed him?"

"Obviously."

She opened a game on her phone, fingers flying across the screen. "Guilty consciences crack under pressure. They confess before I even finish threatening them."

Nathan marveled at her cunning. "Keith’s been embezzling for years. We should sue, claw back every cent!"

"Leave room for future negotiations. If I’m too harsh, the other executives might turn on me." Her eyes stayed glued to the game. "And Keith was my father’s appointee. No need to humiliate him further."

She paused, voice firm. "Watch him closely. If he contacts Arabella’s brother, alert me immediately."

"Yes, Miss!"

Her phone buzzed incessantly—messages flooding a group chat.

"Nathan, I’m busy. See who’s spamming."

He checked. "It’s the ‘Sinclair Confidential’ group. Someone just tagged you."

The group, created by her brother Oliver, included Isabella and her four siblings. The name implied their pact: her marriage to Alexander Kingsley was a secret. Never to be leaked.

Isabella nearly dropped her phone.

Nathan couldn’t know about her divorce. The fewer who knew, the better. If her father found out? Chaos.

Oliver: "Unbelievable! Is Alexander trying to disgrace himself? This is beyond shameless!"

Sebastian: "I’ll dig up Abernathy Group’s dirt. Bankrupt them in a month."

William: "Give me a week. I’ll make Alexander regret everything."

Reginald: "Amen."

Isabella: "What the hell are you all talking about?!"

Seconds later, Oliver sent a link.

Oliver: "Alexander just announced his wedding! And the internet’s calling you the homewrecker—claiming you sabotaged his relationship!"

William: "Split up? Should I make it permanent?"

Reginald: "Do not fret over the wicked. Like grass, they’ll wither. Stay calm, lest you sin."

Oliver: "Enough preaching. You’re not converting the devil today."

William: "Give me thirty minutes. I’ll erase every damaging headline—including Alexander’s remarriage."

Isabella typed coolly: "Don’t bother. Let it play out."

Oliver: "Why?!"

Isabella: "Because it’s irrelevant. Alexander’s ex-wife was Isabella. I’m Isabella Sinclair. That woman no longer exists."

Oliver: "Exactly! You’ve never been seen with Alexander. No one can connect you to this!"

Isabella’s lips curved. "But I bet someone’s panicking right now."

Alexander, if you want your precious Arabella? Fine. Be happy.

But if she dares drag me into her mess?

She’ll learn what regret tastes like.

The Abernathy Group was blindsided by the wedding announcement.

Media outlets bombarded PR and Gordon’s phones. The news had gone viral.

First: Mr. Kingsley is getting married.

Second: Mr. Kingsley is remarrying.

The world just learned he was married—and now he’s marrying again?

Since when is marriage this casual?

"The Elmsworth Daily broke the story," Gordon said, grim. "Arabella personally visited their editor. Now Twitter’s exploding—everyone’s speculating about his ex-wife. Arabella’s getting crucified—"

"Delete it all." Alexander’s voice was lethal.

The Elmsworth Daily was Abernathy-owned. Its sole purpose: spin favorable narratives.

"Which part? The articles or the public backlash?"

"Everything."

"Yes, sir! But the rumors are out of control. Ms. Isabella must be devastated—"

Alexander’s expression darkened. He grabbed his phone, thumb hovering over Reginald’s contact.

Damn it. He was calling Reginald again. People would talk.

Before he could decide, Arabella’s name flashed onscreen.

His jaw tightened.

This was going to be a long day.