Chapter 473

The humiliating encounter with Byron's inappropriate behavior left Isabella Sinclair too ashamed to confide in her father or brother. With flushed cheeks and unshed tears, she fled the crowded banquet hall.

As she pushed through the throng, a waiter bumped into her.

A sharp sting pierced her arm—like a bee's prick—but the pain vanished as quickly as it came.

"My apologies, Miss," the waiter murmured.

Isabella barely acknowledged him before hurrying away.

Behind her, the waiter smirked.

The night breeze tousled Isabella's hair as she stood alone on a secluded balcony, staring at the cold moonlight while wiping silent tears.

If only Alexander Kingsley were here. He would never let her suffer such indignity.

But she had resolved to let him go. From now on, he would no longer be part of her life.

Should she make one last call? Say everything she needed to say?

After a long hesitation, Isabella turned on her phone with trembling hands.

The moment it connected, notifications flooded in—missed calls, messages—all from Alexander. Every word dripped with desperation.

Her chest tightened, heart shattering. She bit her lip until it bled, tears falling uncontrollably.

"Alexander... I don't want to leave you."

Suddenly, her vision darkened. Her body swayed, legs buckling.

"Isabella? What's wrong?"

A voice called out, but her mind was foggy, ears ringing.

Then—rough hands yanked her into a suffocating embrace. Fingers groped her shoulder.

"Who are you? Let go!"

She tried to fight, but her limbs were weak. Panic surged as tears welled.

"Relax, sweetheart," the man sneered, lips brushing her cheek. "I'll take good care of you."

Meanwhile, Dominic Ashbourne played the role of President K, mingling with elites.

A bodyguard rushed over, sweating profusely, and pulled him aside.

"Mr. Ashbourne—Miss Isabella is missing!"

Dominic's heart lurched. His face darkened. "How? With security this tight and you watching her?"

"She was talking to Byron earlier, but then—"

"Byron?"

A cold dread settled in Dominic's gut.

The bodyguard stammered, "A crowd passed by, and suddenly—both were gone!"

"Idiot!" Dominic's fury erupted, veins bulging. "Find her. Now. If she isn't found before this ends, you're finished."

The Ashbourne guards scattered, combing the estate.

Dominic abandoned diplomacy and joined the search.

Isabella wasn't his blood sister, but as the eldest, he felt responsible. He couldn't fail her.

And he couldn't tell Evangeline—her temper would burn the entire party to the ground.

Isabella, stay safe!

His footsteps echoed urgently as he dialed her number.

No answer.

Then—a faint ringtone.

Heart pounding, he followed the sound to the balcony.

There lay Isabella's phone, screen flashing: Big Brother.

"Isabella! Where are you?"

Silence.

"Dominic, how could she just vanish?"

Evangeline and Thaddeus arrived, followed by a wounded Alexander. "This place is locked down. She couldn't have left!"

Alexander was on the verge of collapse, blood mixing with tears.

Dominic punched the railing. "My fault. I was careless."

Thaddeus gripped Evangeline's shaking shoulders. "No one would dare harm Chairman Emeric's daughter. Check the surveillance."

Dominic's eyes burned. "I'll have it pulled immediately."

"Too slow!" Evangeline snapped. "Every second risks her safety. Get me a laptop. I'll hack the system myself."

Dominic and Alexander had forgotten—

Evangeline was a world-class hacker, trained by the legendary agent Elijah.

Thaddeus watched her, admiration flaring.

His woman was extraordinary.

Dominic procured the fastest laptop available.

Evangeline's fingers flew across the keyboard, code blurring across the screen.

The three men stared, mesmerized.

Ten minutes later, footage loaded—

Isabella, entangled with a man.

Byron.

"That bastard!" Thaddeus snarled.

But the eerie part? Isabella seemed willing, arms wrapped around him.

Evangeline's breath hitched. "Isabella and Byron?"

Alexander's heart plummeted. "No. She'd never."

"Something's wrong," Dominic growled.

The footage showed them heading upstairs—then vanishing.

Dominic, usually composed, lost it. "We stop him now!"

Alexander's world crumbled.

If Byron touched her, he'd make him suffer.

Even if she was no longer untouched, he'd marry her. To him, she'd always be pure.

Evangeline cursed. "I should've let that bastard die on the operating table!"

Thaddeus acted fast. "Byron couldn't have done this alone. Secure his men."

A blade flashed—Dominic's dagger, cold as his voice. "It's been too long since this tasted blood."

Meanwhile, drugged and unaware, Isabella was carried into a guest room.

Byron tossed her onto the bed.

Her body burned, lips parted, breathing shallow.

He stripped hastily—then froze.

He couldn't get hard.

Panic set in. He tried everything. Nothing worked.

If she woke now, he'd be accused of assault.

Cursing Evangeline—her botched surgery must've caused this—he tore Isabella's clothes off instead.

Her bare skin gleamed, but his body refused to respond.

"Damn it!"

A crash shattered the silence.

Byron scrambled under the covers.

"Who's there?"

"Your reckoning."

Thaddeus stormed in, yanked Byron out by his hair, and flung him to the floor—exposing his bare backside and prosthetic leg.

"Evangeline, don't look."

She spat at Byron, then rushed to the bed. "You're dead!"

"Isabella!"

Alexander stumbled forward, wrapping her gently in the sheets.

Even now, he wouldn't look at her exposed skin.

He cradled her like fragile glass, whispering, "I'm here. No one will hurt you again."

Isabella's eyelids fluttered open.