Chapter 345

Isabella Sinclair choked back her shock, biting down the "What are you doing here?" that threatened to spill from her lips.

Nathaniel Prescott stood before her, impeccably dressed in a tailored suit, leading a magnificent stallion that glowed like starlight against the night sky. He looked every inch the aristocratic prince from a gothic romance novel.

"Just wanted to check on you."

"How's your injury? The doctor said you needed eight weeks of recovery. And the cast on your arm?" Isabella couldn't help the concern creeping into her voice as she remembered the terrifying accident.

"With you worrying about me, no injury could possibly hurt." Nathaniel's gaze softened as it lingered on her face.

Isabella found herself speechless.

"I didn't just come to see you. I brought this." He gestured to the stallion. "You left in such a hurry last time, you couldn't take him with you."

"Nathaniel, he's stunning. But this is too much. I can't accept." Isabella shook her head firmly.

"Did I do something wrong? Are you still upset about what happened?" Nathaniel's voice dropped to a whisper.

"No, I'm past that. My relationship with Alexander Kingsley is effectively over, blocked or not." She forced a light laugh.

Nathaniel tightened his grip on the reins. "I chose this stallion specifically for you. Had him shipped from Argentina and stabled him secretly at Prescott Holdings' facilities. But after what happened with my brother taking over the stables..." He exhaled sharply. "I've got nowhere to keep him. Would you mind looking after him? Just temporarily."

Isabella hesitated, caught between principle and temptation.

"Fine, but only until you find proper accommodations." Her eyes sparkled as they traced the stallion's powerful lines. "And I mean it - the moment you have space, you're taking him back."

"Of course." Nathaniel's lips quirked upward as snowflakes began dusting his shoulders. "It's freezing out here at Silvermoon Estate. Any chance I could come in for some coffee?"

Flushing at her lack of hospitality, Isabella quickly ushered him inside.

Nathaniel followed with a satisfied smile, casting one last glance over his shoulder at the shadowed figure watching from across the street. "Pathetic," he muttered under his breath.

Meanwhile, Alexander Kingsley stood motionless by his penthouse window, cigarette dangling from his fingers.

The crystal ashtray overflowed with crushed butts, the room thick with smoke that mirrored the storm in his chest.

Regret clawed at Alexander's throat. Pride and anger had blinded him, and only after Isabella walked away did he realize the depth of his mistake.

His phone vibrated violently. Daniel Carter's name flashed on the screen.

"Mr. Kingsley, I've been watching Ms. Sinclair's residence as instructed. She's just appeared," Daniel reported, voice carefully neutral.

"And?" Alexander's knuckles whitened around the phone.

When the photos arrived, Alexander's stomach dropped. The angle made it look like Nathaniel was whispering intimately into Isabella's ear.

White-hot rage licked through Alexander's veins. His love for Isabella didn't erase his pride or self-respect.

The crimson in his hazel eyes deepened dangerously.

CRASH!

His fist shattered the windowpane, the explosion of glass nearly giving Daniel a heart attack through the phone.

"Sir, if you can't take this, go see her yourself! Nathaniel's at her house right now. Letting this slide is admitting defeat!"

"See her? Why the hell should I?" Alexander's entire body trembled with barely contained fury, his breath coming in ragged bursts. His eyes glistened with the wounded look of a stray dog left out in a thunderstorm.

"She made it clear she never wants to see me again. Fine. I'll grant her that wish."

There's only so much torment a man can take, Isabella.