Chapter 334

Opposite the towering K Group headquarters.

Isabella Sinclair rested against the sleek hood of his sports car, hands tucked into his tailored trousers. The fading sunset painted him in golden hues as his somber gaze remained fixed on the building's entrance.

He had been waiting.

Waiting for Evelyn Prescott to reach out—even a single text would have sufficed.

But silence was his only answer, confirming what he already knew.

The woman he loved had no room for him in her heart.

Yet, he was certain she still held a flame for Alexander Kingsley. The scars of their divorce kept them apart, but denial couldn't erase the truth.

The thought darkened his expression. Adjusting his gold-rimmed glasses, he exhaled sharply, his entire presence radiating a chilling aura that even the warm light couldn't soften.

"Alex."

The sweet voice shattered his gloom. His lips curved into a smile as warm as a summer breeze.

"Evelyn. You finally came."

She approached with quick, confident steps, hands clasped behind her back, tilting her head playfully. "Finally? Did I keep you waiting? You just got here, didn't you?"

Her carefree demeanor mirrored the girl who had pulled him from darkness fifteen years ago.

Every time he saw her, his gaze lingered, captivated—not by mere beauty, but by the light she carried.

"I've been waiting much longer," he admitted, a trace of bitterness in his voice. "Ever since we met at Margaret's birthday party. I've been hoping to see you again."

Evelyn hesitated.

She remembered leaving abruptly that night, without a proper goodbye to him or Mrs. Vanderbilt.

Rude, indeed.

"Sorry about that. You know what happened. It was chaos. I had to get to my family."

"You owe me an apology, Evelyn." His tone turned serious.

She blinked. "Huh?"

"You were in trouble. Why didn't you ask for my help?"

He stepped closer, his voice low and rough with reproach. "Don't you trust me? Do you think I couldn't have handled it?"

"That's not it, Alex."

"I hate that I wasn't fast enough that day. If I had been, I could've been the one protecting you." His breath hitched, pain flickering in his dark eyes.

"No, no. That iron rod would've cracked your skull open."

She waved her hands frantically, uncomfortable under his intense stare. "Alexander took the hit because he could handle it. You didn't need to."

"Why him and not me?" His voice strained, eyes reddening. "Do you think only he can protect you?"

Evelyn leaned back slightly, startled by his intensity. "That's not what I meant. I don't want you hurt either. Why would you insist on getting hurt for me?"

A rare warmth bloomed in his chest. His gaze softened. "Evelyn... do you care about me?"

Her pulse stuttered.

The question echoed too familiarly—Alexander had asked the same thing, over and over, after their divorce. She'd always retaliated with sharp words, leaving him bruised.

Yet, deep down, it had always ached.

But when Alex asked, she felt nothing but calm. The contrast was telling.

"If it were you, I might not have been able to save you," she deflected quickly. "Alexander has a freakishly strong constitution. His survival rate was higher. If it were you, I might've failed. Wouldn't you resent me forever?"

His smile faded, a weight settling in his chest.

"Anyway, welcome to New York. Let me treat you to dinner tonight." She offered a bright smile, not wanting his trip to be wasted.

"Come back to Elmsworth with me," he countered, eyes alight. "Dinner there. And... there's a place I want to take you. I think you'll love it."

She hesitated, then nodded.

Not because she particularly wanted to go, but because she needed to return anyway—to meet Adrian and uncover who had framed Margaret.

Dinner was pleasant, though Evelyn's mind wandered, worry flickering in her eyes.

"Has Margaret's situation not been resolved yet?" Alex sipped his tea, watching her closely.

"That thug is still in custody. He confessed to everything." Her grip tightened around her cup.

"Any leads?"

The question made her tense. "Why? Do you know something?"

He smirked, tapping his phone screen swiftly.

Ding. Ding. Ding.

Evelyn checked her phone, eyes widening at the photos—detailed records of the attacker.

"This man was a stagehand twenty years ago, then a stunt double," Alex explained casually, refilling her tea. "An accident broke his leg, ending his career. He's lived in poverty ever since."

She recalled his limping gait when arrested.

"Back then, Margaret and Alexander's stepmother, Victoria, were rival actresses. Constant competition. On Margaret's birthday, Victoria moved her own celebration to the same day, hoping to steal the spotlight. Instead, all her guests went to Margaret's party. Even Mr. Hamilton publicly snubbed her."

He arched a brow, smile sharp. "Think she might hold a grudge?"

Evelyn exhaled slowly. "Honestly, Victoria was my first suspect. But I had no proof."

Alex sent more photos.

"What's this?"

"His apartment."

The images showed a grim, cluttered space—walls plastered with Victoria's old posters, like a shrine to obsession.

"That man worships her. Motive enough?"

Evelyn gaped. "You had someone break into his place?"

He dabbed his lips with a napkin, unfazed. "Simple task. No thanks needed."

"That's illegal."

His smile turned icy. "Does someone who nearly destroyed your family deserve rights? He's no better than an animal."

Fair point.

After dinner, Evelyn excused herself to the restroom.

Her phone buzzed on the table.

Alex glanced at it, then slid it toward himself with one finger.

He answered silently.

"Evelyn? Can you talk now? Evelyn?"

Alexander's voice, tender and hopeful.

Alex smirked and hung up.

The phone rang again instantly.

With a quiet chuckle, he blocked the number and returned the phone to its place.

"Ready?" Evelyn reappeared, lips freshly glossed, skin glowing.

Alex swallowed, offering a warm smile. "Let's go."

She settled into his passenger seat as they sped east.

"Where are we going?"

"You'll see."

Twenty minutes later, they arrived at a pristine equestrian center.

"A riding club?" Her eyes sparkled.

"Remember when we were kids in New York? You'd sneak me into your family's stables to feed the horses?" His smile turned nostalgic.

"You were terrified to touch them!" She laughed.

He chuckled ruefully.

He hadn't been scared—just fastidious about dirt.

"This is a Vanderbilt Group property. Just finished construction, not open yet."

After parking, they approached the entrance.

"Stop!" Two guards blocked them. "Private property. No visitors."

Evelyn blinked, glancing at Alex, whose expression remained blank.

Everyone knew Reginald and Oliver Vanderbilt. But him? Denied entry.

The injustice burned, even for her.

"Evelyn, I'm sorry." His smile was bitter. "Our first outing in so long, and this happens."