Chapter 92
Isabella had spent days contemplating her choice to stay close to Alexander.
If he truly intended to resurrect his underground network, this was the perfect place. Yet, with the shadows and dangers lurking in that world, the last thing he wanted was to drag Olivia into it.
The smart move was to rent a place nearby—preferably from someone trustworthy—to ensure her presence remained undetected.
Alexander arched a brow. “This property belongs to N?-velDrama.Org.”
Ontdale’s most vibrant district, Muisvedo was alive with laughter and music by day, but when night fell, it transformed into a playground for the city’s underbelly. The mix of people—especially those tied to the underworld—made it unpredictable, even dangerous.
“But,” Alexander added with a smirk, “I happen to own an apartment there. Top-tier security. You’d be safe.” He paused. “If you’re interested.”
Isabella grinned. “And the rent?” She had to know if she could afford it.
Alexander shrugged, almost theatrically. “Three hundred a month. Standard rate.”
She didn’t need details to know any property under Alexander’s name was worth far more. The favor was obvious, but she accepted it gracefully. “Thank you, Mr. Kingsley. Seems I can manage that.”
Alexander’s smile was layered. “You’re worth it, Miss Sinclair.”
Beneath her composed exterior, Isabella was a wolf in sheep’s clothing—her sharp instincts hidden behind an innocent facade. Both she and Alexander were playing an unspoken game, each masking their true intentions.
Meanwhile, Amelia remained blissfully unaware, lost in her own little world.
The butler, James, stared in shock. Alexander had just offered Isabella a staggering 30% stake in Charisma Company—an empire he’d built with blood and sweat—only for her to decline. Now, he was practically giving her a fortress in one of the city’s most dangerous neighborhoods for pennies.
James quickly pieced together Alexander’s motives. “Miss Sinclair,” he said with a knowing smile, “you may not realize it, but Mr. Kingsley is quite the catch. A gentleman since birth, and he could cook before he could spell. Any woman who marries him would never know hardship.”
Alexander cleared his throat sharply. “That’s enough, James.”
Isabella, amused, couldn’t resist teasing. “So, Mr. Kingsley, your culinary skills aren’t just a rare talent. You’ve been perfecting them since you were in diapers?” She imagined a tiny Alexander, barely tall enough to see over the counter, scowling as he cooked.
Alexander shook his head. “It’s not that impressive.”
But before he could say more, a bolt of agony split through his skull. His hands clenched into fists, knuckles whitening, veins bulging as if trying to escape his skin.
“All of you… go on without me… I just need—”
The pain intensified. His breathing turned ragged, sweat beading on his forehead as if his body was battling an unseen force.
James gasped, dropping his fork with a clatter. “Mr. Kingsley!”
Isabella shot to her feet, her playful mood vanishing. Just moments ago, he’d been fine—what had happened?
“Severe neurogenic migraines,” James explained, voice trembling. “He’s had them for years. No treatment has ever worked.”
Even the best doctors could only offer temporary relief with sedatives. Seeing Alexander in such pain shattered James, leaving him frozen in terror.
Amelia, though silent, sensed the gravity of the situation. Her eyes widened with worry, hands fluttering helplessly. Though she couldn’t speak, her tears said everything.
Isabella gently rubbed Amelia’s back before turning to James. “Take her upstairs and call the doctor. I’ll stay with him.”
