Chapter 501

The bedroom was bathed in silvery moonlight, the air thick with the intoxicating scent of jasmine.

Alexander's defined muscles tensed beneath her as he watched the woman astride him with a gaze so intense it could shatter glass.

If only he could fuse her into his very bones, let her dissolve into his burning bloodstream.

"Mm. I'm new at this. Don't judge me if I'm terrible," Isabella murmured, her delicate palms pressed against Alexander's heaving chest, her lips curved in shy anticipation.

His hands gripped her slender thighs, his fingertips turning her fair skin pink with restrained desire.

He never expected her "reward" would be taking control.

Sure, they'd made love countless times before—always with him leading, pouring every ounce of passion into pleasuring her.

But now, the roles had reversed. How could he not be electrified?

"Like this?" she whispered, cheeks flushed.

Alexander's breathing was steady, but the tremble in his muscles and the fire in his eyes betrayed his hunger.

"Isabella, don't push yourself," his voice was rough with need.

She shook her head, eyes closed. "Isn't trying new things part of the fun?"

"Of course. I just don't want you uncomfortable." His voice wavered slightly.

"Silly."

She leaned down, tracing his lips with her fingertip. "We all have strengths and weaknesses. Just guide me if I need it."

By the time their passion burned out, Isabella felt half-dead.

Exhausting.

Lying back was so much easier.

She could barely keep her eyes open, but Alexander seemed inexhaustible—even cleaning her up afterward.

Was he some kind of immortal?

The next morning, sunlight streamed through the curtains before she stirred, her body aching too much to move.

"Keep monitoring the situation," Alexander's deep voice reached her from across the room.

She turned over, blinking sleepily at his broad back.

Then her heart skipped.

She buried her burning face in the sheets.

His back was covered in fresh red scratches—evidence of last night's fervor.

"Awake?"

He turned, stroking her cheek tenderly. "I asked Olivia to prepare something delicious for you. Rest more. You must be exhausted."

"Yeah."

Isabella yawned, her voice soft and drowsy. "Who were you talking to? Daniel?"

Alexander settled beside her, pulling her into his arms. "I instructed Daniel to keep the pressure on Vanderbilt Industries online. Let them 'enjoy' the spotlight."

"Good move." She kissed his cheek, brightening.

He smiled. "Also, the Vanderbilts are making their move."

"Oh? What now?" Her interest sharpened.

"They're holding a press conference to 'clarify' the club incident."

"Clarify? More like disown." She chuckled, drawing lazy circles on his chest.

"With Adrian down, their plans are ruined. Now they're scrambling to contain the fallout."

Alexander's gaze turned icy. "To show 'sincerity,' they'll hold the conference soon—likely within days."

"Hmph. Adrian may be beyond redemption, but the Vanderbilts refusing to take responsibility is despicable."

"Don't worry, Isabella. I promised justice for Seraphina, and I won't stop until it's done. Anyone who hurts you or those you love will pay a thousandfold." His jaw clenched.

Listening to his steady heartbeat, Isabella felt warmth spread through her.

She loved Alexander for his unwavering sense of justice, his fearless integrity. They shared the same values—hearts full of light and love.

He took her hand, noticing the numbness in her pinky, and frowned. "Isabella, what happened to your finger?"

"Just an old climbing accident. It doesn't bother me," she said lightly, smiling. "I'm a grown woman. Don't worry so much. We have our whole lives ahead—you'll give yourself a heart attack at this rate."

"Because it's you," he murmured, kissing her forehead.

Because when it comes to you, even the smallest detail echoes endlessly in my heart.

"Alexander, I know you carry guilt over the past—struggling to face me sometimes. But I hate seeing you like this."

Her voice softened as she traced his jaw. "I know what it's like to feel unworthy before someone you love. I don't want that for you—the self-doubt, the torment. We fought hard to be together. I want us to be healthy, bright—simple and pure, like any other couple."

She had endured so much for his love, waking from nightmares in tears.

She loved him too much to let him walk that painful path.

Alexander understood. His heart ached as he propped himself up, veins standing out on his arms, and captured her lips again.

Another wave of passion—sometimes fierce, sometimes tender—left her dizzy, floating on clouds.

"Isabella, once the Vanderbilt matter is settled, let's go abroad," he whispered against her ear. "A real adventure. Didn't you say you wanted to see the snow-capped mountains? I'll take you."

Her lashes fluttered. "Okay."

As a doctor, she knew of a renowned specialist there.

Alexander was always thoughtful, but he wasn't one for idle romance. This sudden trip had purpose.

He wanted her to see a specialist. Even if hope was slim, he had to try.

She understood. If it gave him peace, she'd go.

Sebastian had gathered irrefutable evidence. From the moment Adrian entered the courtroom, his fate was sealed.

Margaret, usually domineering, now found herself abandoned—treated like a plague carrier.

Forced to follow her family's orders, she would publicly apologize at the press conference. Humiliation burned through her.

Why should she bear this disgrace?

The Vanderbilt men—her own flesh and blood—had shoved her into the fire while they hid like cowards. Was this honor?

The conference was set for two days later.

Margaret had spent days in a living nightmare—no appetite, no sleep, only rage.

That afternoon, drowning in wine at the bar, she sobbed over her ruined years of effort.

"Instead of crying, why not consider how this happened?"

Her tears stopped abruptly at the smooth voice.

Adrian Lockwood smirked as he sat across from her, pouring himself a glass of red.

"What do you mean?"

"Exactly that." He sipped leisurely. "You've covered Mr. Vanderbilt's misdeeds for years. Everything was fine. So why now?"

Margaret's alcohol-fogged mind struggled.

"Don't you remember what you recently did?"

Realization struck. "The Sinclairs? They're targeting me?"

"Not entirely hopeless." Adrian swirled his wine. "Mr. Vanderbilt's crimes aside, the Sinclairs had no reason to come after him. Which means—their real target was always you."

"Me?" Panic flashed across her face as she stood, knocking over her chair.

"Now, dear sister, you're surrounded. Even if you grovel at that conference, what will it change? The Sinclairs won't stop. Targeting your man was just the beginning."

Margaret clutched her head, screaming hysterically.

Adrian watched, amused.

"No! It wasn't me! It was my brother! They can't do this!"

Babbling, she stormed out.

Moments later, Harrison entered, pouring Adrian another drink.

"Mr. Lockwood, what's that lunatic up to now?"

"If I had to guess? Charging straight to the Sinclairs."

"What?" Harrison gaped. "After the fallout with Vanderbilt Industries, she's provoking them? That'll only make things worse!"

"Let her. Whatever mess she makes is hers alone." Adrian smirked. "Hatred consumes her. When it peaks—she'll be a bomb waiting to explode. And some people are in for a rude awakening."