Chapter 219

"Sebastian, let the Lafite breathe for a while." Isabella sighed, handing over her phone.

Sebastian's heart sank. He knew what that meant—she wanted him to leave.

"I know what you're thinking." Isabella's lips curved into a reassuring smile as she patted his shoulder. "Yes, Alexander and I had a disastrous marriage, and yes, I found him insufferable. But that doesn't mean I can avoid him forever."

Her gaze was steady, unreadable. "If I want to establish myself in Elmsworth, I can't cut him out completely. We'll just have to play it by ear."

"But, Miss Isabella—"

"What are you so afraid of?" She arched a brow. "That he'll devour me whole? If he dares lay a finger on me, Lucas wouldn't even need to lift a hand—Oliver could make Alexander vanish from Elmsworth without a trace."

That wasn't his concern.

Sebastian admired her fiercely. He'd risk his life for her without hesitation. What terrified him was the possibility of old flames reigniting. The thought of her willingly stepping back into that inferno made his chest tighten.

With a resigned sigh, he took the wine and left.

Isabella's phone buzzed insistently in her palm. Persistent. Predictable.

"Mr. Kingsley," she answered, her voice icy. "To what do I owe this unexpected call?"

"Thank you for the cake. It was... unexpectedly good."

Her breath hitched.

In the quiet of the night, Alexander's voice was smooth, magnetic, laced with that subtle lilt that had once made her heart race.

She used to call him just to hear him speak. Even when he was distant, his voice alone sent her spiraling into giddy excitement. Now? Nothing.

She had always been disciplined. Love was no exception.

"You're welcome," she replied coolly. "Consider it a lesson. Next time you feel the urge to meddle, remember the bulldog cake."

"I wasn't meddling." His tone sharpened. "Your situation isn't trivial."

She scoffed. "Oh, it's far from trivial. Slaughtering a pig requires a butcher's knife, doesn't it? I'm happy to help cut Glynnis down to size. If she becomes general manager of The Regal Palace, your stepmother will be busier than ever. And we both know you can't afford more instability at Kingsley Group."

Silence.

Tana had been kind to him. Genuine.

But Isabella? She was cunning. Unpredictable.

Yet he couldn't let her go.

How many steps did it take to go from arrogance to pathetic desperation?

"Isabella," he said finally, "do you honestly think I care about Elspeth and her daughter? They're nothing under my watch. If they could make waves, I'd have failed as CEO long ago."

Another pause. He wanted to say more but held back.

Her knuckles cracked as she clenched her fists. "Alexander, here's some advice from your ex-wife—stay out of my business. When I'm serious, even mosquitoes know to steer clear. If you get in my way, don't blame me for what happens next."

"Do whatever you want."

His voice was low, intimate, like the brush of night air against her skin. "I can't control everything. But as long as I'm at Kingsley Group, no one can touch you."

Her frown deepened. That... didn't sound right.

Silence stretched between them, thick and uneasy.

Then, abruptly, he cleared his throat. "I have nothing else to say. Goodnight."

"Wait—"

The line went dead.

Isabella stared at her phone. "What kind of nonsense was that? How much has he had to drink?"

On the other end, Alexander exhaled sharply. His palm was damp, his throat dry. His pulse hammered erratically.

He closed his eyes and forced himself to breathe.

Caroline was in a coma.

The doctors said she was vegetative. Unlikely to wake.

For Glynnis, it was a blessing in disguise.

If Caroline woke, her bribery scheme would be exposed.

But even with that problem "solved," Glynnis was drowning.

Ada had made her stance clear—without Alexander's interference, she wouldn't sign. Worse, Ada's team was already scouting other hotels.

Glynnis was desperate.

Edith, however, was calm. Sipping tea like she hadn't a care in the world.

"What are we going to do about Ada?" Glynnis demanded. "That woman demanded top-tier jewelry! Alexander's been chasing Alea for months, even flying overseas to beg her, but nothing!"

Edith's eyes gleamed.

"Exactly why Isabella won her over with just one brooch at the banquet."

Glynnis seethed. "If I had Alea's pieces, none of this would be happening!"

"But you do," Edith murmured.

Glynnis froze. "What?"

"Alea's a ghost. No one's seen her face. Few have seen her work. So..." Edith leaned in. "Why not give Ada a replica?"

"A fake?!" Glynnis gaped. "If we're caught—"

"Who would know? Even experts struggle to spot counterfeit paintings at auctions. Jewelry? Unless Alea herself shows up, no one can tell."

She smirked. "I studied in Aetheria with a jeweler—Alea's former apprentice. He can recreate one of her pieces for you. Give it to Ada privately. She'll be so thrilled, she'll sign anything."

Glynnis hesitated.

But time was running out.

Desperation won.

She'd roll the dice.