Chapter 300

Isabella and Nathan finished packing, preparing to return to Windsor Estates with the medicine Seraphina had provided.

"Darling, must you leave so soon? Stay for dinner—it's nearly ready." Margaret, tying her apron strings, hurried toward them.

"Another time, Margaret. I really must get back."

Isabella stepped closer, cupping Margaret's flour-dusted face between her hands, studying her intently. "Your birthday is just around the corner. Take a few days off, forget about work. You should be indulging yourself, darling. You deserve to be the most radiant birthday queen this weekend."

"Oh, birthdays." Margaret sighed, shoulders slumping. "The thought of hosting all those people exhausts me before it even begins. I'm only doing this to humor your father."

"It's not about humoring him. It's about you—about all of us celebrating you."

Isabella's striking eyes flashed with playful reproach. "Listen to me: no more overworking. I have eyes everywhere in this house. If I hear you’ve been pushing yourself too hard, I’ll show up at your party empty-handed and just raid the buffet. Understood?" Nathan chuckled beside her, amused by Isabella’s faux-stern expression—the way her nose scrunched and her lips pursed was utterly endearing.

Margaret’s delicate features softened into a smile as she pinched Isabella’s cheek affectionately. "What gift could ever compare to having this family?"

An orphan raised in a group home, Margaret had stumbled into the entertainment industry after a talent scout spotted her in a local theater troupe. Unlike Arabella’s noble lineage or Victoria’s influential father, she had always felt unworthy—of Reginald, of this life.

Isabella’s throat tightened.

For a fleeting moment, she envied her father’s ability to surround himself with loyal men.

Good women were plentiful. Good men? Rare as diamonds. The thought of filling the family with unworthy suitors was too grim to entertain.

"Isabella."

A deep, melodic voice cut through her thoughts.

She turned to see Sebastian descending the grand staircase, clad in his priestly robes, a leather-bound Bible in hand.

"Sebastian."

"Don’t rush off. There’s something I need to discuss with you."

In the sunlit parlor, Sebastian prepared tea with practiced grace, the fragrant steam curling between them. Isabella rested her chin on her palm, watching him—every movement precise, every gesture regal.

What woman could ever deserve him? The question haunted her.

"Isabella," he began, sliding a delicate cup toward her, "are you truly interested in Adrian?"

She nearly dropped her tea. "What?"

"I’m serious."

"No. Absolutely. Not." Each word was punctuated with a firm shake of her head.

"Then you should distance yourself from him." Sebastian took a measured sip.

"He’s the one seeking me out. I’m not encouraging him."

"Yet you neither reject nor discourage him. Are you toying with him?" His tone was gentle but probing.

Isabella’s fair skin flushed. "Sebastian! Since when do you accuse your own sister of such things?"

"If you don’t care for him, make it clear. You’re giving him hope—and Adrian is far more calculating than he appears. Like an iceberg, only a fraction is visible." His voice lowered. "He vanished for fifteen years, only to return from Geneva and suddenly attach himself to you. You’re the Sinclair heiress. The entire K Group will be yours. You could have any man in the country. I don’t believe his intentions are pure."

A pause. Then, bluntly: "In my eyes, Adrian is worse than Alexander."

Her grip on the cup tightened.

"At least Alexander loves without deception. He wears his flaws openly."

"Oh, yes. He loved Valentina so deeply he enlisted to die after she left him." Bitterness laced her words as she slammed the cup down, eyes glistening.

"And yet," Sebastian countered softly, "he nearly died for you. His injuries still haven’t fully healed. Who knows what lasting damage remains?"

Her chest constricted. "That’s different."

"Loving Alexander wasn’t a mistake. He never lied to you. His flaws were always visible. That’s cruelty, yes—but also honesty." He leaned forward, clasping her chilled hands. "The one who loves you may be flawed, but they should never deceive you."

Her lashes fluttered down, shadowing her troubled gaze.

After farewells, Isabella and Nathan set off for Windsor Estates.

Just before the highway exit, she murmured, "Take me to Kingsley Manor."

Nathan’s brow furrowed, but he complied without question.

At the estate gates, Isabella bypassed Alexander entirely, dialing Evelyn instead.

"Mrs. Kingsley, forgive the intrusion, but Alexander hasn’t been home in days." Evelyn’s voice trembled. "He barely answers my calls, and when he does, he sounds—broken. He insists he’s fine, but—"

Isabella’s heart clenched as if gripped by an invisible fist.

"I’ve raised that boy since he was in diapers. He bottles everything up. Even as a child, he’d suffer in silence. Please, Mrs. Kingsley, find him. I fear the worst."

"Evelyn, breathe. I’ll bring him home."

Alexander might hide from the world.

But he would never hide from her.

Ending the call, she hesitated, then dialed Lawrence.

"Mr. Grant."

"Ms. Sinclair?" His usual warmth was strained.

She didn’t believe his cheerful facade for a second.

"Where is Alexander? If he’s not home, where is he hiding?" Her tone sharpened.

"He’s—away on business."

"Lawrence," she warned, voice like steel, "lie to me, and the consequences will be severe."

A ragged breath. Then, hoarse: "Mrs. Kingsley, I’d rather lose my job than lie. Please—he’s in no state to be alone. I’m terrified he’ll—" His voice cracked. "Hurry."