Chapter 17

Nathaniel's jaw nearly hit the floor. So this stunning woman was Alexander Kingsley's secret ex-wife?

Honestly, she outshone his sister by miles.

If it weren't for their childhood sweetheart history, his sister wouldn’t stand a chance next to her.

"Mr. Kingsley, just because she’s your ex doesn’t mean I owe her an apology!" Nathaniel clenched his fists, pride flaring. "If she apologizes first, maybe I’ll consider letting this go!"

"If I’d been any later, your men might’ve crossed a line." Alexander’s voice was ice. "Just because they didn’t doesn’t absolve you. Apologize. Now."

Nathaniel’s stomach twisted, but he kept his composure. Isabella’s cheeks were flushed from the alcohol, her mind fuzzy. All she caught were words like "ex-wife" and "apologize"—and the audacity of this guy demanding she bow her head? She’d be generous not to kick his teeth in.

"Apologies are tedious," Lucas drawled, stepping forward with a smirk that screamed danger. "How about we handle this the old-fashioned way? Either we call the cops or teach him a lesson."

"Why would you beat me up? Is this a joke?!" Nathaniel’s voice cracked when he recognized Mr. Grant.

Lucas snapped his fingers, and the terrified girl who’d been nearly drugged cowered behind him.

"First rule: Our girls serve drinks and dance. Nothing more. Getting them drunk? Violation. Second rule: No drugs. Break it, and I break you." His grin turned lethal. "You should be thanking Ms. Sinclair. If she hadn’t stopped you, you’d be crawling out of here."

Alexander stiffened. So that’s what happened.

"Bravo!" Isabella hiccuped, giving Lucas a wobbly thumbs-up.

"Flattered." Lucas winked.

Watching them, Alexander’s chest burned with something ugly.

"Alexander, my solution acceptable?" Lucas arched a brow.

"Fine." The word was clipped.

"I—I’m sorry! Mr. Kingsley, I didn’t know she was your ex! I’m blind, stupid—Ms. Sinclair, please forgive me!" Nathaniel forced the words through gritted teeth, seething inside.

Alexander wasn’t satisfied, but then—Isabella was gone.

"Looking for her?" Lucas whistled, pointing to the stage.

Alexander’s pulse spiked. Under the spotlight, Isabella moved with wild, intoxicating grace, laughing like a carefree spirit. She glowed brighter than the lights themselves.

Drunk and euphoric, she swayed, lost in the music—until she tipped backward.

Gasps erupted as strong arms caught her. Blinking up at Alexander’s stormy expression, she giggled, "Gonna puke."

He hauled her into the men’s restroom, where she retched violently. Even beauty looked wretched in moments like this.

At first, Alexander just watched coldly. But seeing her tremble, he stepped closer, rubbing her back in slow circles.

Finished, Isabella staggered to the sink, splashing water on her face. "Ugh... worst ever."

"Serves you right for drinking," he muttered.

"Because... I’m sad." Her voice cracked.

Still drunk, she mistook him for her brother and burst into tears. "Why doesn’t Alexander want me? Why?"

His heartbeat stuttered.

"I tried so hard... but the harder I try, the more he hates me!"

Suddenly, she flung herself against him, sobbing into his shirt. He stood frozen, every tear scalding his skin. Finally, he whispered, "Do you... really love him that much?"

She lifted her tear-streaked face, lips parted. Alexander swallowed hard, regret gnawing at him. What did it matter?

They were divorced. His heart belonged to Victoria.

The door slammed open.

"Alexander! You disgust me!" Arnold roared, eyes blazing. He yanked Isabella away, shielding her.

Alexander’s jaw tightened. Seeing the usually composed Mr. Sinclair so protective of his ex-wife—proof of how much he cared. His chest ached.

"Sebastian, she can’t hold her liquor. If you cared, you wouldn’t have brought her here."

Arnold bristled but played along at the name. "My woman does what she wants. If she parties, I party with her. Since you’re divorced, back off. Go tend to your precious Victoria!"

He moved to leave, but Alexander blocked them. "What do you want?"

"Do you love her?"

"Obviously."

"Can you marry her?"

Arnold choked. She’s my sister, you idiot!

"None of your business!" he snapped.

"Isabella doesn’t have connections. She can’t handle messy entanglements. If you won’t marry her, don’t drag her down. Let her go." Alexander’s eyes flashed.

Arnold laughed bitterly. "You hypocrite. Did you consider her feelings when you divorced her for Victoria? You made her a divorcée at twenty-three! If you knew you’d leave, why marry her? Just to use her as a stepping stone? You’re vile."

Alexander flinched, pain lancing through him.

Arnold shoved him aside. "Get lost, bastard!"

Alexander didn’t remember returning to his booth. Lucas leaned against the railing, swirling his drink. "Your ex left?"

"Yeah." Alexander downed his whiskey, the burn nothing compared to the ache in his chest.

"Without you, I’d have broken Nathaniel’s legs. Drugging her? Touching what’s mine? He’s lucky to walk out alive."

"Do what you want. Victoria and her brother are separate." Alexander frowned. "Yours?"

"Good things should be kept. Since you don’t want her, I will." Lucas smirked. "Though her title changes from wife to sister. Can you handle that?"

Alexander’s smile was deadly. "Our divorce isn’t finalized. Eager to show your true colors?"

"The papers are signed. How long until it’s official?"

"I don’t know about much." Alexander clenched his fists. "But your funeral? That’s imminent."

The next morning, Isabella woke up—and promptly vomited again.