Chapter 341

The caller ID didn't display a name—just a string of numbers.

One.

Alexander Kingsley always had two numbers: one personal, one for business. Isabella Sinclair remembered them both.

He only ever used his personal phone to call her privately. This was unusual.

A knot twisted in Isabella's stomach as she answered, pressing the phone to her ear in silence.

"Isabella!" Alexander's voice was raw, barely recognizable.

She bit her lip, lashes fluttering.

"Isabella, you have to believe me. I was set up!"

Alexander knew how rare it was for her to even pick up his call. He didn’t waste time. "This is a trap—a complex one. Victoria Sterling couldn’t have orchestrated this alone. Someone else is behind her. And the bait wasn’t Victoria. It was you."

"Meet me in half an hour."

Isabella’s voice was hollow, her eyes shadowed. "The playground near The Regal Palace Hotel."

If she hadn’t gotten that call from Sebastian Lockwood earlier, Alexander wouldn’t have had this chance.

Now, she wanted to hear his explanation.

"Mr. Kingsley, Ms. Sinclair just left the hospital alone."

Harvey rushed back to report to Nathaniel Whitmore. "She was in the restroom for a while. When she came out, she looked furious—and paler."

Nathaniel leaned against the headboard, a smirk playing on his lips.

Good. Let her rage burn. The hotter, the better.

Only searing pain could cauterize Alexander from her heart completely.

"Send someone to follow her. And get a car ready. I’ll be right behind her."

Harvey hesitated but nodded. "I’ll arrange the car—and a fresh suit."

"No suit." Nathaniel winced as he shifted, sweat beading on his brow. "A patient should look the part."

Harvey sighed.

Nathaniel was invested in this game—obsessed, even.

But Harvey didn’t understand. Nathaniel, always so calculated, never let emotions rule him.

Yet here he was, unraveling over love.

But Nathaniel knew exactly what he was doing.

In love, dominance wasn’t always power. Sometimes, retreating was the deadliest strike.

Especially with a woman like Isabella.

She’d suffered enough under Alexander. Nathaniel would give her the pride she deserved.

His phone buzzed.

Harvey handed it to him. "Mr. Whitmore, it’s Ms. Moreau."

Nathaniel’s expression darkened as he answered. "Speak."

"Did my little performance work?"

Vanessa’s voice was honeyed, triumphant. "I sent those photos to Alexander, and he ran to that hotel like a desperate fool. So much for his genius reputation. Pathetic."

"You sent them via text?"

"Of course."

"Perfect." Nathaniel smirked. "You’ve done well. Thank you."

"Thank you?" Vanessa’s voice softened, dripping with devotion. "Nathaniel, my life is yours. I’d do anything for you."

His tone turned icy. "I’ll have a new ticket and funds wired to you. Enough for a year abroad. Contact Harvey if you need more."

A sharp inhale. "You’re sending me away?"

"Alexander isn’t stupid. He’ll investigate. Lay low. Harvey will handle The Velvet Haven temporarily."

"But—"

"Obey."

"...Yes, Mr. Whitmore."

Isabella arrived first.

The park was deserted, snow falling heavily, the cold biting through her coat.

She sat on a bench, staring at the empty playground.

She used to come here often, watching couples share ice cream, families laughing.

She’d wondered, back then—would she ever have that?

Would she and Alexander ever walk hand in hand, carefree, like normal lovers?

A sharp ache pierced her chest.

An ice cream truck passed. She flagged it down, buying vanilla.

Before she could take a bite, footsteps crunched through snow toward her.

"Isabella."

Her grip tightened on the cone. Slowly, she looked up.

Alexander stood before her, snow dusting his shoulders, his face flushed from cold—but his eyes were red-rimmed, raw.

For a heartbeat, the scene she’d imagined a thousand times unfolded before her.

"Isabella, don’t sit here. You’ll freeze."

His voice cracked as he reached for her.

Smack.

She slapped his hand away, colder than the storm around them. "Say what you came to say."

"It’s a setup, Isabella. Someone’s trying to destroy me—to tear us apart!"

"Us?" She laughed bitterly. "What us?"

The words gutted him.

"And even if there was an 'us,' we’re divorced. There’s nothing left to ruin."

"Is that really how you feel?" His voice was shredded steel.

She stood, meeting his gaze. "Alexander, even if it was a setup, you still met Victoria at that hotel. Seems the Fairhaven heiress means something to you."

"I didn’t go for her! I went for you!"

He stepped closer, breath ragged, eyes burning. He tried to pull her into his arms.

"Don’t touch me!"

She recoiled, flinging her ice cream at his chest.

"Isabella, I’m telling the truth!"

His hands hung in the air, desperate. "I called you all night—you never answered! I thought something happened to you!"

She froze.

Called her? When?

She checked her phone. No missed calls.

Then—

Her breath hitched.

She opened her blocked contacts list.

Alexander’s name sat there, silent.

Her blood ran cold.

The luxury car sped toward the hospital.

Isabella and Nathaniel sat in tense silence.

"Are you angry with me?"

Nathaniel studied her profile. "I was just worried."

"You didn’t do anything wrong." Her voice was flat.

He clenched his fists.

She pulled out her phone, checking her call log again.

Nothing.

But Alexander wouldn’t lie about this.

Unless—

Her fingers trembled as she opened her blocked list.

And there he was.

Her vision blurred.