Chapter 379

The glass frame slipped from Isabella's trembling fingers, shattering against the hardwood floor.

Sharp fragments bit into her delicate skin, drawing tiny beads of crimson.

"Why are you here?"

Alexander's voice cut through the silence, deep and rough with sleep.

She didn’t turn. "I was just leaving."

He watched her from the doorway, his shirt hanging loose on her slender frame. Moonlight painted her in silver, making her look both ethereal and heartbreakingly fragile. His fingers twitched with the urge to pull her back into his arms.

His throat burned.

He’d woken in a cold sweat, reaching for her—only to find the bed empty.

Her dress still lay discarded on the floor. Her heels by the door. She hadn’t left. Relief had flooded him—until he heard the crash.

Now, the memory of last night burned behind his eyelids. The way she’d gasped his name. The way she’d clung to him.

Had he been too rough?

Had he hurt her?

Guilt twisted in his gut. He stepped forward.

Isabella turned sharply, trying to brush past him.

Alexander moved faster, catching her wrist. "Stay."

"You don’t get to tell me what to do."

"We slept together."

His grip tightened as he pulled her close. His gaze locked onto hers, unrelenting. "Isabella. We slept together. Don’t you have anything to say about that?"

"No." Her voice was ice. "Let go."

"I don’t take this lightly. Divorced or not, I won’t just walk away."

She laughed, cold and sharp. "It was one night. We’re adults. Move on."

With a sharp twist, she wrenched free. "Next time, Mr. Kingsley, watch who you let into your bed."

"Isabella!"

His hands clamped down on her shoulders.

"Don’t touch me!"

Her fists pounded against his chest, her voice cracking. The sound tore through him.

Was she crying?

Because of him?

He pulled her against him, ignoring her struggles. "I’m not letting you go."

"I don’t want your responsibility!"

Her tears seared his skin. "I hate you. I hate you so much."

"Then who else am I supposed to want?" His voice broke.

"If you cared about responsibility," she choked out, "why did you divorce me? Why didn’t you say this when it mattered?"

Alexander froze.

Her words struck like a blade.

She took advantage of his shock, biting down hard on his arm. He hissed, grip loosening—and she was gone.

The door slammed behind her.

Alexander stood there, her words echoing.

Then his gaze dropped to the shattered frame on the floor.

The photo of him and Natalia from years ago.

His stomach turned.

Isabella drove blindly through the city, tears blurring her vision.

The collision was inevitable.

Metal crunched. Glass shattered.

The other driver staggered out, pale-faced—until he saw her car. A limited-edition Aston Martin. His relief was palpable.

She didn’t move.

Her hands shook as she dialed the only person she trusted.

"Sebastian," she whispered when he answered. "I need you."

Twenty minutes later, his Rolls-Royce screeched to a halt.

Sebastian vaulted out, heart in his throat at the wreckage. His usually composed demeanor shattered.

Beside him, Nathaniel tensed, already scanning for injuries.

"Isabella!" Sebastian yanked open her door, hands skimming over her arms, her legs. "Are you hurt?"

"I’m fine," she whispered.

But her face was ghostly pale. Her eyes swam with tears.

Sebastian knew.

Something had broken her.

"Minor injuries," Nathaniel said quietly. "But we should check for a concussion."

Without a word, Sebastian lifted her into his arms and carried her to the car.

Nathaniel followed, something twisting in his chest as he watched Sebastian cradle her.

The Ashbournes were nothing like his own family.

They loved fiercely.

They fought for each other.

And right now, Isabella was breaking.

In the car, Sebastian held her close, murmuring reassurances.

"It hurts," she finally whispered, pressing a trembling hand to her chest. "Here."

Sebastian’s jaw clenched.

Only one man could destroy her like this.

Alexander Kingsley.