Chapter 75

The vintage gates of Silvercrest Manor swung open as a Rolls Royce glided through, its polished exterior reflecting the golden hues of the setting sun.

Instantly, the household staff buzzed with excitement.

"Miss Sinclair has returned!"

Before Isabella and Nathaniel could even step out of the car, the butler and servants had already lined up in perfect formation, bowing deeply.

"Welcome home, Miss!"

"May you always be blessed with health and joy!"

Isabella smiled warmly. "And the same to all of you."

Then, a familiar voice cut through the air.

"Isabella! You're finally back! We've missed you terribly!"

Turning, she saw Sophia and a striking woman with short, sleek hair rushing toward her. Dressed in a deep violet satin blouse and tailored wide-leg trousers, the woman was none other than Alexander Sinclair's youngest wife, Victoria Sinclair.

"Sophia, Victoria." Isabella embraced them both, her heart swelling with affection.

Nathaniel watched the scene unfold, his expression unreadable.

The Sinclair family was the most powerful dynasty in New York, its intricate web of relationships and feuds legendary. When Victoria had entered the picture, chaos had erupted, driving Isabella to leave home and become a doctor without borders, enduring hardship and solitude. But over time, these women had chipped away at her walls with their unwavering sincerity. Nathaniel had played no small part in that, sharing countless stories to help Isabella accept them.

The real challenge, however, was her father, Alexander.

"Isabella, you've gotten too thin," Victoria chided, shooting Nathaniel a pointed look. "If you're too busy to take proper care of her, just say so. We'll handle it. You promised she'd gain weight, and now she looks like she's been starved. Explain yourself."

Nathaniel chuckled. "My mistake. I'll make it up to her."

Isabella rolled her eyes playfully. "Victoria, you know I can eat a feast and still not gain a pound. Nathaniel even assigned his personal chef, Daniel, to look after me. You've tasted Daniel's cooking—I'm spoiled rotten every single day. Stop worrying."

Victoria snorted. "As if Daniel could compare to Eleanor. The moment she heard you were coming home, she locked herself in the kitchen like she's preparing for a royal banquet. Your father joked it's more elaborate than hosting foreign dignitaries."

Isabella laughed. "Eleanor takes things too seriously. A simple family dinner would've been enough—it's about being together, not the food."

"We all offered to help, but she refused," Sophia added with an amused sigh. "Said she doesn't trust anyone else's cooking skills. Who knew the gentlest among us could be so stubborn?"

"Eleanor doesn't distrust you, Sophia. It's Victoria she's wary of, right?" Isabella teased. "After you burned four pots, triggered the fire alarm three times, and nearly blew up the stove twice, she banned you from the kitchen for life."

"Isabella, must you always expose me?" Victoria huffed, reaching out to tickle her.

"Best friends tell the truth!" Isabella dodged, laughing.

Their playful banter filled the air, light and carefree.

But whenever Isabella thought of Eleanor Sinclair, memories of her past life as Adrian Kingsley's wife resurfaced.

For three years, she had walked on eggshells, desperate not to displease Adrian or the Kingsley family.

Three years had felt like a lifetime of suffering. Eleanor had endured twenty. How had she survived?

Women shouldn't have to diminish themselves for men. They should stand tall, unshaken, like roses blooming defiantly in winter—not withering away in gilded cages. What a waste.

A small crowd gathered around Isabella as they escorted her into the grand estate.

The evening breeze was cool, the crescent moon hanging like a delicate silver thread in the sky.

Meanwhile, a Maybach sat silently outside Silvercrest Manor, swallowed by the night's shadows.

Gordon opened the car door, and Adrian stepped out, his piercing gaze fixed on the illuminated gates across the street.

"I've heard Alexander Sinclair has a taste for European architecture and owns dozens of estates nationwide. Seeing it in person, the rumors don't do it justice."

Gordon admired the elegant, timeless design of Silvercrest Manor. "It's like something out of a fairy tale. Even Windermere Estate pales in comparison."

Realizing his slip, Gordon quickly pressed his lips together, chastising himself internally.

Adrian's eyes darkened, deeper than the night itself, as they reflected the vibrant glow of the Sinclair residence. Faint laughter and chatter reached his ears, and an icy chill seeped into his bones, spreading through his veins.

As Nathaniel's girlfriend, Isabella was clearly adored by the Sinclair family.

At first, Adrian had assumed the dynamics would be complicated. Alexander had three wives besides his late first wife—though none were legally married, each had borne him children.

He'd thought Isabella would struggle to fit in, that the three wives would be insurmountable obstacles. That she'd eventually retreat.

But instead, she thrived.

Their laughter carried for miles, effortless and genuine.

The Sinclairs loved her.

Adrian's face paled, his chest tightening with an unfamiliar, suffocating ache.

"Got a cigarette?" he asked hoarsely.

"Alexander! I'm home!" Isabella called out the moment she stepped into the grand foyer.

"Took you long enough. I was about to perish from hunger!"

Alexander grumbled as he strode forward, his butler Arnold trailing behind.

"Wow, looking sharp, Alexander. Dressing up just for me? Trying to outshine everyone?" Isabella teased, eyeing his crisp white shirt, tailored waistcoat, and the fine gold watch chain draped across his vest. Despite his age, his features remained striking—every inch the aristocratic patriarch from a period drama.

"Outshine you? Please. I could grace magazine covers in my sleep. Thirty years ago, women would've plastered my face on their walls," Alexander scoffed.

"Uh, Dad, that sounds more like a memorial than admiration," Arnold muttered.

"Must you ruin the moment?" Alexander shot him a glare.

Everyone knew—except Alexander himself.

"Where are the others? You didn't call Daniel and Aaron back, did you?" Isabella asked warily.

"Miss, would we dare disobey your orders?" Sophia replied with a knowing smile. "Don't worry, we kept it quiet."

"Hmph. So you deliberately excluded those jerks? No wonder they didn't show up—they didn't even know!"

Alexander sighed dramatically. "It's a family dinner. You should've called them home for a reunion!"

"Daniel married into the Helgen family—it's too far for a quick trip. Aaron's buried in cases at the precinct, and our youngest sister has exams. She can't just leave campus. Stop complaining! Isn't this crowd enough for you?" Isabella retorted.

"What about Oliver? That boy does nothing but laze around. He's in Elmsworth—a two-hour drive at most. Why isn't he here? Did he drop dead?" Alexander snapped, irritation flaring at the mention of his fourth son.

"Oliver, he—" Before Isabella could finish, a smooth, amused voice interrupted.

"I was waiting for you to scold me. If you hadn't said anything, how would I make my grand entrance?"

Everyone turned to see Oliver Sinclair strolling in, hands tucked into the pockets of his sleek black trench coat, a smirk playing on his lips.

"Alexander Sinclair, I'm still alive. Disappointed?"

The moment Oliver appeared, Sophia and Victoria discreetly stepped back, their smiles fading.

They knew how much Oliver despised this family—and them in particular. Best to stay out of his line of fire.

Isabella exhaled in relief.

Of course. Oliver, the phantom of the Sinclair family, appearing and vanishing at will, avoiding them like the plague.

"So, is dinner ready? Let's eat so I can get back to my thrilling life of doing absolutely nothing," Oliver drawled, his sharp gaze lingering on Isabella.

His expression was clear: I showed up. Don't be mad anymore.

Isabella's eyes flickered, and she deliberately looked away.

The tension in the room dissolved instantly.

Alexander rubbed his temples in exasperation before marching up to his son.

"Send me a recent photo of yourself."

"Why?"

Alexander's expression darkened.

"Because one day, you might actually vanish, and I won't even have a picture to remember you by! Send it. Now."