Chapter 410

The moment the restriction was imposed, Isabella Sinclair erupted in fury within the confines of Windermere Estate. Her curses echoed through the halls, venom dripping from every word.

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Sinclair, but these are Mr. Sinclair's orders. We must comply."

Nathaniel Whitmore, Alexander Kingsley's secretary, regarded her with icy detachment, his tone laced with thinly veiled disdain. "I suggest you return to your quarters and spare us all the unnecessary drama. The Sinclair Group is already in turmoil because of you. The least you can do is not add to Mr. Kingsley's burdens."

"How dare you!"

With a sharp crack, Isabella's palm connected with Nathaniel's cheek, her eyes blazing with fury. "I am Alexander Kingsley's wife! You're nothing but a glorified servant. Who gave you the right to speak to me like that?!"

Nathaniel chuckled, unfazed. "Indeed, Mr. Kingsley has always treated me well. But tell me, Mrs. Sinclair, aren't you the one exploiting his power, flouting rules, and abusing those beneath you?"

Isabella froze, the implication of his words sinking in. The audacity—comparing her to a servant?!

Just as she raised her hand to strike again, Alexander strode into the room, his expression unreadable.

"Alexander!" Instantly, her demeanor shifted. Tears welled in her eyes as she flung herself into his arms. "You're finally back. I can't bear being without you."

The transformation was instantaneous—the shrewish rage replaced by trembling vulnerability.

Nathaniel scoffed, his contempt undisguised.

"You seemed perfectly capable of handling yourself in my absence—even disciplining my secretary," Alexander remarked coolly, his lips curling into a humorless smile. His gaze was glacial, sending a shiver down her spine.

"Alexander, I saw the rumors about me from the funeral have been suppressed online. You did that for me, didn't you?" Isabella sniffled, pressing closer. "I knew you wouldn't abandon me in my time of need."

Alexander stepped back abruptly, leaving her grasping at air.

Her eyes widened in shock as she met his icy stare.

"Who said I did it for you?" His voice was laced with derision. "I did it for the Sinclair family. For the Sinclair Group."

"Alexander..." Her voice faltered, disbelief etching across her face.

"I may be your husband, but my primary duty is as the CEO of the Sinclair Group—not as your personal cleanup crew."

He turned away, unable to stomach the sight of her. "This is the last time. Next time, I'll let the world tear you apart. If you become a pariah, it won't be my concern. Clean up your own messes. No one owes you that."

He moved to leave, but Isabella seized his arm. "Alexander! How can you say that? I'm your wife! Your family! How could you throw me to the wolves?!"

"Wife?" He laughed bitterly, prying her fingers off one by one. "Don't insult the word. The Sinclair family has no room for someone as reckless and destructive as you. I can no longer recognize you as my wife."

"Alexander! Are you divorcing me?!" Her voice rose to a shriek.

"Do you think I don't want to?!"

His patience snapped, fury erupting like a volcano. "If it weren't for the Sinclair Group's current crisis, if it weren't for the two daughters you bore me, do you honestly think I'd keep you around?!"

Isabella paled, her blood running cold.

She had always believed her position was secure—that her daughters and the company's reputation would shield her. But hearing the word "divorce" from his lips nearly shattered her.

She had truly lost him.

No—without her status as Mrs. Kingsley, she was nothing. Who would protect her then?

It was only Alexander's name that had kept Sebastian Lockwood and Evadne at bay. Without it, they would destroy her.

"From this moment on, you are forbidden from leaving Windermere Estate without my permission. If you disobey, I'll send you abroad. You'll never set foot in Elmsworth again."

"You're being unreasonable, Alexander! I went to that funeral with good intentions—to help settle matters! It was that viper Evadne who provoked me, trying to ruin the Sinclair Group! She's the one to blame!"

"Do you take me for a fool?!"

Alexander's voice was steel. "I checked. Those reporters were yours. You knew exactly what you were doing, provoking Evadne deliberately. If you choose to play the fool, don't blame others for treating you like one. Stay out of my sight!"

"Alexander! You can't do this to me!"

In their struggle, a wooden box slipped from Alexander's grip, crashing to the floor. Its contents scattered—photographs, trinkets, a jade bracelet now split in two.

His breath hitched, rage boiling in his veins as he stared at the remnants of Seraphina Lockwood's belongings.

Isabella recoiled, her face draining of color.

She recognized them—Seraphina's things.

Why did he still keep them? Why cling to the mementos of a woman dead for over two decades?

"Get out. Now."

Alexander dropped to his knees, gathering each item with trembling hands, his grief palpable.

"Alexander, I didn't mean—"

"OUT!"

His roar shook the room, raw and unbridled.

Late that night, the study was silent, bathed in silver moonlight that cast shadows over Alexander's haggard face.

Nathaniel entered with a glass of water and his blood pressure medication.

"Mr. Kingsley, it's late. You should rest."

"You've had a long night," Alexander murmured, his gaze fixed on Seraphina's photographs.

Nathaniel paused, understanding the unspoken reference to Isabella. "I've been with you for years. This is nothing. But... if Seraphina were here, she wouldn't want you tormenting yourself like this."

"Yes. Seraphina was always kind." His voice cracked, eyes red-rimmed.

"Are you planning to file for divorce?" Nathaniel ventured cautiously.

Alexander exhaled, shoulders sagging. "Not yet. The Sinclair Group can't afford more instability. And with my youngest daughter's condition... if I divorce Isabella, I'd have to send her abroad. I fear the separation would worsen Mari's health."

Nathaniel nodded in understanding.

"Have you located Sebastian?" Alexander asked abruptly.

"Apologies, Mr. Kingsley. You know how elusive he is. If he doesn't want to be found, he won't be."

Alexander said nothing, pulling out his phone to call Sebastian directly.

After several attempts, the line finally connected.

"What is it? It's late."

"Sebastian."

"If this is about the project meeting, save your breath. I'm not attending." The icy detachment in his son's voice stung.

Alexander clenched his jaw. "Sebastian, do you have time tomorrow? To visit your mother with me."

Silence.

Then a bitter laugh. "Are you joking?"

"I'm serious."

Alexander's voice was thick with shame. "I know I've failed her. All these years, I haven't visited her grave. I haven't been the husband I should have been."

"Failed?" Sebastian's voice was venomous. "You think that word covers twenty-three years of neglect? The pain you caused her? You have no right to stand before her grave. She has me. She doesn't need your belated remorse."

"I was her husband! The man she loved most!" Alexander's pride flared, childish in its desperation.

"Even if she did love you once," Sebastian hissed, "the moment she jumped from Windermere's balcony, that love ended. Sometimes, I think her death was a mercy. At least she didn't have to endure your betrayals, watching you share a bed with other women while playing the dutiful wife. That agony was worse than death. Her love for you was her greatest suffering."

The image of Seraphina's broken body flashed before Alexander's eyes.

His breath seized, the phone nearly slipping from his grasp. Nathaniel watched, uneasy but silent.

"I don't know what prompted this sudden guilt, but hear this: you will never have the right to face her. Not now. Not ever."

The line went dead.

Alexander slumped, sweat beading on his brow, his strength sapped.

"Mr. Kingsley? Are you alright?"

"Water. Please."

As Nathaniel left, Alexander collapsed onto the couch, guilt and grief crashing over him like a tidal wave.

Memories and voices swirled in his mind—

"I don't know when it started, but I can't live without you."

"Every morning, she thought of ending her life—but she stayed for Sebastian."

"The moment she jumped, her love for you died."

Suddenly, his eyes snapped open, heart pounding.

Nathaniel returned with the water.

"Nathaniel... how much do you remember about Seraphina's death?"

Nathaniel hesitated. "I have an excellent memory. That's why you chose me, isn't it? Ask what you need."

"Back then, Seraphina was diagnosed with depression. You cared for her. How severe was it?"

"The doctors called it severe, but under Sebastian's care, she improved."

"Then why?" Alexander's voice broke. "A woman who loved me, adored her son, just wanted to leave quietly—why would she suddenly kill herself?"

Nathaniel exhaled slowly. "Mr. Kingsley... I've waited twenty years to ask this. Did you ever suspect—even for a moment—that Seraphina was murdered?"

The question hung in the air, ringing in Alexander's ears.

Meanwhile, in a luxury suite in Country T, Sebastian stood by the window, fists clenched, his rage a living thing.

He had nearly revealed the truth—that Isabella had killed his mother. But he held back.

Not yet.

He wanted Alexander to realize the monster he'd cherished for twenty years in the most brutal way possible. To shatter his pride. To watch the world laugh at his folly.

Lucas Grant offered him a cigarette.

"Take one. Calm down."

Sebastian snapped it in half.

"I quit."

"What? Since when?"

"Since Evadne asked me to."

At the mention of her name, the ice in his eyes thawed, a faint smile touching his lips.