Chapter 214

His movements appeared effortless, yet every step was calculated.

He longed to catch another glimpse of that fragile girl with the downcast eyes and sorrowful demeanor.

Good intentions had never been his forte.

But something about that pitiful child always managed to pierce through his hardened exterior.

"Mr. Kingsley? What are you doing here?" Alva's voice startled him as she approached, brows raised in surprise.

"Ah—" Alexander fumbled for words before lowering his voice. "Alva, where is Isabella staying?"

The older woman blinked, baffled.

No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't reconcile the man before her with the reckless playboy she knew.

"What do you want with her? Mr. Kingsley, she's still a child. She doesn’t interact with strangers often. Don’t frighten her."

Alexander smirked. "Alva, you’ve known me since I was in diapers. Do you really think I’d harm her?"

"You’ve always been loyal to our young master," Alva conceded, giving an approving nod.

"But when it comes to women?" She flipped her thumb downward with a pointed look.

Alexander groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose.

After much persuasion—and a desperate attempt to salvage his tarnished reputation—Alva reluctantly led him to Isabella’s room.

"Wait here. Say what you need to say quickly. It’s best if no one sees you." Alva crossed her arms, her tone stern.

Alexander chuckled. "Alva, you’re not playing matchmaker, and I’m not here to seduce anyone. Relax."

With that, he pushed the door open and stepped inside, shutting it firmly behind him.

Alva gaped, then huffed. "That brat! How dare he mock me?"

The moment Alexander entered, his breath caught.

Compared to his sister’s lavish chambers, Isabella’s room was startlingly bare—devoid of any personal touches, cold and unwelcoming.

A faint rustling sound drew his attention toward the bedroom. He moved silently, careful not to alert her.

The door was slightly ajar. He slipped inside.

There she was—hunched over a large desk, her delicate frame bent in concentration as she sketched.

His pulse quickened. He crept closer, peering over her shoulder.

Then his heart lurched violently.

She was drawing him.

Isabella set down her pencil, her doe-like eyes crinkling as she admired her work.

"When were you planning to give that to me?"

She shrieked, scrambling to cover the drawing—but he was faster.

With a swift tug, he snatched it from her grasp.

"Give it back!" Her cheeks flamed as she stretched on her toes, fingers brushing his wrist.

He towered over her, an immovable obstacle. Frustrated, she grabbed his tie with one hand and wrapped the other around his waist, trying to reclaim her artwork.

"Let go—I can’t breathe—"

Choking, Alexander had no choice but to bend, lifting her by the waist and depositing her onto the desk.

"That’s mine!" Her eyes blazed with defiance.

"It’s my likeness. By law, you’ve violated my portrait rights."

His gaze softened as he studied her. "As compensation, will you give this to me, Isabella?"

Her face burned. She yanked his tie hard.

Alexander stumbled forward, his body pressing flush against hers.

Their lips were a breath apart.

The memory of last night’s stolen kiss surged through him, igniting a fire in his veins.

"T-Ticklish—"

She turned her face away, his warm breath laced with tobacco making her skin prickle.

Her heart hammered wildly.

Alexander fought to steady himself. Her body was impossibly soft—softer than silk, more inviting than his most luxurious sheets.

Reluctantly, he forced himself upright, his breathing ragged.

Isabella curled into herself, small and vulnerable.

She buried her face in her knees, extending a hand. "Give it back."

"I saved your teddy bear last night. The least you could do is gift me this drawing."

He braced an arm on the desk, leaning closer. "I really like it. Will you let me keep it?"

"I—I already prepared something else for you." Her voice was barely a whisper, toes curling.

"Where is it?" His eyes gleamed.

Ten minutes later, Alexander returned to his car, triumphant.

In one hand, he held a cake box. In the other, the rolled-up portrait.

A satisfied smirk played on his lips.

He had coveted this ever since seeing the painting she gifted her grandfather at his birthday celebration—a masterpiece crafted just for him.

And now, it was his.

The joy was indescribable.

Carefully storing the drawing, he eagerly opened the cake box.

Inside sat a lopsided, slightly misshapen blueberry mousse cake.

He dipped a finger into the frosting, tasting it.

His nose wrinkled.

Too sweet.

Late that night, Evadne lounged in her study, a face mask clinging to her skin as she mindlessly clicked through a game.

Exhaustion weighed on her, but she refused to sleep—not until Jason returned with news of Kevin.

Her inbox overflowed with tournament invitations, all of which she ignored. Gaming was her escape, not a career.

A notification popped up.

Avery has logged in.

[Care for a match, Rose?]

[Sure, Cifero. Send the invite.]

Avery’s smooth voice filled the room through her headset.

"Good evening, Miss Cifero."

"Good evening, Mr. Rose."

"Resilient as ever, I see. Ada’s scandal doesn’t seem to faze you."

"Special training," she quipped.

"Oh?"

"Nothing outside my integrity can shake me."

Avery chuckled. After a pause, he asked, "Need help with Ada?"

"No. This is between me and Abernathy. I won’t drag Chambers into it."

"I’m offering as a friend, not as Chambers’ heir."

Evadne arched a brow. "Don’t trust me to handle it alone?"

"No." His sigh was fond. "I just want to free up your schedule. You’ve been offline for days."

Her fingers stilled.

Had he been waiting for her?

Pathetic.

A knock interrupted them.

"Miss Evadne! I’m back!"

Relief flooded her. "Mr. Avery, urgent matter. Goodnight!"

She disconnected before he could respond.

On his screen, Avery stared at the empty chat.

"Goodnight, Evadne," he murmured.

Then his expression darkened as he pulled up files—detailed dossiers on Jason and his brothers.