Isabella ended the call and leaned back in her chair, finally tying up the last loose ends of the project.
As she massaged her temples, preparing for a brief respite, her phone screen lit up with a new message.
She unlocked it to find a text from Benjamin Hawthorne.
“Isabella, how am I supposed to survive without you? When are you coming back to Athton to see me?” A crying cat emoji punctuated his dramatic plea.
A smile tugged at Isabella’s lips.
William was always composed and reserved, while Benjamin had the energy of someone decades younger.
He was perpetually in tune with the latest trends—whatever captivated the youth, Benjamin embraced without hesitation.
Before she could even draft a reply, her phone buzzed violently as Benjamin called her directly.
“Isabella! You’ve abandoned this poor old man to wither away in this dull, lifeless town? Three years, and every time I invite you, it’s always ‘too busy, too busy, too busy.’ I’m wasting away here! You wouldn’t believe how people take advantage of me now that you’re not around to keep them in check.”
Isabella instinctively pulled the phone away from her ear, letting Benjamin’s theatrics reach their peak before responding.
Take advantage of him? Benjamin, who had built a reputation for being sharper than a serpent’s tooth, was hardly the victim. If anything, he was the one who played others.
But beneath all his antics, Benjamin was like a mischievous child—thriving on jokes and attention.
“Come on, Benjamin, who would dare cross you? Don’t they know you have an army of students and apprentices scattered across the globe? They’d be terrified at the thought of you chasing them down with a chisel.”
Benjamin scoffed, more exasperated than genuinely upset.
“You don’t understand. I’m getting old. Back in my prime, I could work for days without rest. Now my hands ache, and every pot, every sculpture… it all feels the same. No passion, no fire. Just repetition.”
Art wasn’t just about skill—it was about inspiration. And that spark could fade beneath the weight of routine.
Still, Isabella knew Benjamin well enough to sense this wasn’t the real issue.
He quickly changed the subject.
“And then there’s this man. He won’t leave me alone—shows up like a stray cat I can’t shoo away. I swear I’ve tried everything to get rid of him.”
Isabella arched a brow. If Benjamin hadn’t kicked him out yet, he probably enjoyed the company, even if he’d never admit it.
Now that she was free from Ethan’s household obligations and hadn’t seen Benjamin in ages, she glanced at her phone and made a quick decision.
“Alright, I’ll visit you on Saturday.”
Benjamin’s tone shifted instantly. “Really? Don’t toy with me, Isabella. You’ve stood me up before.”
“I’ll be there. No backing out.”
After reassuring him a few more times, she ended the call.
As she made her way home, her thoughts spiraled.
Though Olivia had been incredibly generous in offering her a place to stay, Isabella knew she couldn’t rely on her forever. Olivia already had her own struggles, and Isabella’s prolonged stay would only add to them.
The money Ethan had given her—the four million and the project—was barely a drop in the bucket compared to what she truly needed. It hardly covered the expenses of maintaining the hacker network she’d built.
Her real assets—the funds and properties distributed by Vrining—had been frozen the moment she walked away from that life.
She had been ready to leave it all behind when she married Ethan, embracing a simpler existence.
But life rarely went as planned.
Now, she needed to reclaim those frozen assets.
When Isabella finally arrived at Olivia’s home, she retreated to the private room reserved for her.
Closing the door behind her, she moved to the bookshelf and pressed a concealed button.
Four hidden screens slid from the walls, casting an eerie blue glow across the space.
With practiced precision, Isabella navigated to a secured site and initiated a series of commands to regain access to her locked accounts.
Her fingers flew across the keyboard, entering passcodes and executing lines of code.
Screens flooded with data streams, the code flowing seamlessly as she unlocked encrypted reserves.
Identities were altered, verifications bypassed, and secure pages accessed—all in the blink of an eye.
In the dimly lit room, bathed in the cold light of the screens, Isabella’s expression mirrored the same icy detachment.
