Isabella Sinclair remained blissfully unaware that certain individuals were eagerly anticipating her downfall.
With practiced precision, she twisted Nathan Prescott’s wrist, snapping it as effortlessly as one might break a twig.
“You seem incapable of comprehending simple instructions,” she remarked icily.
Without hesitation, she smashed the glass bottle in her hand directly onto his skull.
Crash!
Shards of glass and spilled liquor rained down on him, mingling with the blood already trickling from his forehead.
Isabella’s expression remained unreadable—cold as marble.
“Wake up and get out.”
Nathan howled in agony, collapsing onto the floor, drenched and humiliated beyond measure. His face was a grotesque mask of blood, tears, and snot, his shattered wrists rendering him utterly helpless.
“Psycho!” he spat between ragged breaths, venom dripping from his words. “Do you even know who I am?” He turned to his entourage, snarling, “What the hell are you standing around for? Beat her to a pulp!”
A group of burly men advanced toward Isabella, their grins predatory, like wolves circling their prey.
“You’ve just signed your own death warrant,” one of them sneered. “You’re messing with the heir of the Prescott family. They own the Cloudcrest Hotel in Ontdale. Even if you drop dead right here, they’ve got enough money to make you disappear without a trace.”
Bottles were raised, the air thick with impending violence.
Before anyone could react, Isabella snatched a bottle from one of the men, shattered it against the table, and pressed the jagged edge against Nathan’s throat in one fluid motion.
“So the Prescotts have the funds to cover this, do they?” Her voice was eerily calm, but the smile curling her lips was glacial. “Tell me—how much is your life worth?”
Nathan felt the glass bite into his skin. A thin line of blood trickled down his neck. His bravado evaporated.
“Y-you can’t—God, no! Please! I’m sorry!”
Isabella’s grip didn’t waver.
Satisfied, she finally dropped the bottle and kicked him to the ground. Turning to the ship’s steward, who had rushed into the chaos, she commanded with quiet authority, “Clean this up. And ensure no member of the Prescott family ever steps foot on this ship again.”
Nathan, spotting the manager, thought salvation had arrived. He staggered to his feet, arrogance returning.
“Who the hell do you think you are, giving orders? My family has stakes in this cruise line!” he spat, jabbing a finger at her. “Well? What are you waiting for? Throw her off!”
By now, a sizable crowd had gathered. Among them, Ethan Blackwood frowned, while Sophia Kensington leaned in to whisper, “What if Miss Sinclair gets removed from the cruise…?”
Before she could finish, the situation took an unexpected turn.
The cruise director didn’t hesitate. He signaled security, who swiftly restrained Nathan and his thugs. Then, to everyone’s shock, he turned to Isabella and bowed deeply, his voice laced with deference.
“Yes, ma’am.”
Nathan, now bound and seething, shrieked, “Are you all out of your minds?!”
The manager’s response was calm. “Miss Sinclair is the majority shareholder of this cruise line. Anyone who disrespects her is no guest of ours.”
Gasps rippled through the crowd. No one had expected the woman before them to be the principal owner of the illustrious Royal Serenity cruise ship.
“This—this has to be a mistake!” Nathan’s face drained of color. Desperate, he began bowing frantically. “I-I’m sorry, ma’am! I didn’t know! My family—we’re partners—please!”
But the damage was done.
Isabella’s stiletto pressed down on his foot with deliberate force, the sickening crunch of bones audible. She then tossed a black card onto the floor.
“You’re right,” she said, her voice like winter frost. “Money solves many problems. But the Royal Serenity will no longer associate with the Prescotts.”
The weight of her words struck Nathan like a thunderbolt. The pain in his hands faded into insignificance—all he could think of was the catastrophe he’d brought upon himself. His grandfather had been explicit: secure ties with the Royal Serenity. Now, not only had he ruined the deal, but he’d face far worse upon returning home.
Even Ethan, leaning against the railing, stood frozen in disbelief. His wealthy companions erupted into murmurs.
“Wait—Ethan’s wife owns the Royal Serenity? Wasn’t she just some orphan? How did she afford a $200 million ship?”
“Look—that’s Olivia Montgomery, the Greens’ heiress. Is Isabella using her for connections?”
“Probably. The Greens’ empire is vast. Investing in a cruise line is pocket change for them.”
Sophia sighed softly. “I envy Miss Sinclair for having such a loyal friend. I’ve been abroad for years and have no one but you.”
Ethan scoffed. “Someone like her doesn’t have real friends. She’s likely deceiving the Greens, just like she fooled my grandfather.”
Frustration gnawed at him, contrasting sharply with his affection for Sophia. He couldn’t shake the feeling that Isabella had changed—or perhaps he was seeing her clearly for the first time.
Grasping Sophia’s hand, he reassured himself. “You’ll never be alone again. I’ll always be here, and you’ll make plenty of friends.”
Sophia smiled, interlacing their fingers. “That sounds perfect. By the way, your grandfather is being discharged soon. He specifically asked to see her. Maybe we should invite her.”
She blinked up at him innocently. “And I’d like to apologize to Miss Sinclair personally.”
