Chapter 22

Isabella Sinclair strode back into her office, where the young waitress was still visibly shaken, her knees knocking together like castanets.

"Oh my god! Mr. Alexander is just... too much. That commanding presence made my cheeks burn crimson the moment I laid eyes on him." The girl pressed trembling hands to her flushed face. "I didn't mess up, did I, Ms. Sinclair?"

"You performed admirably."

Isabella slid a thick envelope across the desk. The waitress' eyes widened at its weight.

Just then, Daniel Carter entered with a document - a confidentiality agreement.

"You've been very helpful," Isabella said with a polished smile that didn't reach her eyes. "But let's make this official. What transpired here today stays between us. If word of my discussion with Mr. Kingsley leaks from any other source..." Her manicured finger tapped the contract meaningfully.

The waitress signed hastily, bobbing her head like a dashboard ornament before scurrying out.

"That Alexander Kingsley," Daniel mused, shaking his head. "Rumor has it he's impossible to read. If this were medieval times, he'd be the kind of king who'd execute messengers for bad news. What do you think, Ms. Sinclair? Ms. Sinclair?"

Isabella snapped out of her reverie with a humorless chuckle. "How touching. It seems Mr. Kingsley is truly smitten with Ms. Sterling. Willing to debase himself for his precious fiancée."

"Word is he treated his ex-wife like dirt though. So this Ms. Sterling must have hit the romantic jackpot—"

The sharp crack of Isabella's palm meeting the desk cut him off mid-sentence. Daniel froze, uncertain what nerve he'd struck.

"If negotiations with Kingsley fail," he backtracked quickly, "what's our next move?"

"We wait."

"For?"

"For the Stirling Group to crack under pressure and send Ives scrambling to explain their shoddy products. When they're most desperate to save face..." A predatory gleam lit Isabella's amber eyes. "That's when we strike the killing blow."

"You think Kingsley might still intervene?"

"Not a chance." Isabella's gaze drifted to the framed advertisement design Alexander had once praised. "He helped them blindly before. Now that he sees their true colors? He'll protect his precious Abernathy Group interests and his darling fiancée. Nothing else matters to that man."

She remembered how Alexander had begged three times for his beloved, endured humiliation, climbed ten flights in a storm—yet couldn't be bothered to fetch a glass of water for his wife when she'd been doubled over in pain.

The memory drew a bitter laugh from her lips, eyes suspiciously bright.

"Alexander Kingsley, your devotion to Evelyn Sterling is truly a public service."

Outside, the weather mirrored Alexander's mood—gray skies had given way to a downpour. The car's atmosphere was funeral-thick as he massaged his throbbing temples.

"Sir, what exactly happened back there?" Gordon ventured cautiously. "In all my years with you, I've never seen any negotiator leave you this... unsettled."

Alexander's mind flashed to childhood photos of Isabella—that bright-eyed girl bore no resemblance to the razor-sharp woman he'd just faced. People change, of course, but this felt... different.

"Dig into the Stirling-Ashbourne conflict. Full background on the Stirling executives. I want answers yesterday."

Back at Kingsley Corp, mountains of paperwork and meetings did little to distract him. He'd assumed that after the divorce, his relationship with Evelyn would flourish, that his heart would finally find peace. Instead, he felt only a growing emptiness.

A sharp rap at the door interrupted his thoughts. Gordon rushed in with a file.

"Sir, I've uncovered something peculiar. K Hotel terminated their contract with Stirling nine days ago—before Ashbourne went public with the quality allegations."

Then Evelyn announced their engagement, smeared Isabella's reputation, and Ashbourne dropped their bombshell—a perfectly timed sequence.

Alexander's jaw clenched as he fumbled for painkillers. The pills barely dulled the ache.

"Apparently some deputy manager at K Hotel—Keith—was taking kickbacks from Stirling to swap quality materials for cheap knockoffs. Ms. Sinclair caught him red-handed and fired him on the spot. Man had worked there twenty years, handpicked by her father. She's got ice water in her veins, that one." Despite their earlier confrontation, Gordon sounded impressed.

"These events... they're connected. I can feel it."

As Alexander rubbed his temples, the phantom click of heels echoed in his memory. Isabella's footsteps.

"Alexander, please stop taking those pills. Let me massage your temples instead."

"Your pain is mine. Let me help carry it."

Her gentle words haunted him. For a dizzying moment, he could almost feel her fingers at his temples again. Damn it—he was hallucinating now? Since when did Alexander Kingsley, the man who prided himself on emotional control, start pining for a relationship he'd never valued?

Night had fallen when the Rolls-Royce glided through rain-slicked streets near K Hotel. Alexander had always admired this prime Ashbourne property—valued at nearly ten billion, it could have been Elmsworth's only six-star hotel if not for past mismanagement. Under Isabella's leadership, it was undergoing a remarkable renaissance.

At a red light, Alexander wiped condensation from the window. His breath caught—a woman stood roadside, umbrella in hand, hailing a cab. Something about her posture made his pulse spike. Before Gordon could react, Alexander was out the door, sprinting through the downpour.

"Sir! What the hell—?"

The woman had just grasped a cab door handle when a large hand clamped around her wrist. She turned, face draining of color.

"Mr. Kingsley?"

"Ms. Sinclair." Rain plastered his hair as his grip tightened. "Need a ride?"

With a startled yelp, she wrenched free and dove into the cab, which sped away.

Gordon arrived, panting, umbrella in hand. Alexander stood motionless in the rain, chest heaving.

"Isabella Sinclair," he growled through clenched teeth. "You damn fraud."