The past month had seen Isabella Sinclair growing increasingly close to Amelia Kingsley. Their bond had deepened into something unspoken yet profoundly meaningful.
“Amelia, you’re improving wonderfully, but your strokes need more precision here,” Isabella murmured, gently taking the younger woman’s wrist in her hand. “Apply more pressure with your wrist—like this.”
Before, their lessons had always taken place in the cold, sterile sculpture studio. But now, Amelia often invited Isabella into her private quarters—a clear sign of trust. Isabella knew how rare it was for Amelia to let anyone in, so this small gesture felt like a victory.
“Perfect, just like that,” Isabella praised warmly.
Not far away, Alexander Kingsley sat in his wheelchair, observing them silently. A faint smile touched his lips as he watched their interaction. When Amelia completed her line flawlessly, she turned to Isabella with wide, hopeful eyes, silently seeking approval.
Isabella smiled and ruffled her hair affectionately. “Amelia, that was beautiful.”
Over the past month, the Kingsley family had treated Isabella with nothing but courtesy. Yet, despite her efforts, she had uncovered little of significance—only scattered, trivial details. Still, she knew even the smallest clues could prove crucial, especially when it came to unraveling the truth about her mother. Patience was her greatest ally.
As the lesson concluded, Alexander mused aloud, “I believe today is Ethan and Sophia’s wedding. Are you certain you don’t wish to attend, Miss Sinclair?”
Isabella barely glanced up, her voice light but edged with amusement. “Mr. Kingsley, we may not hold deep grudges, but must you really bring up such an unpleasant occasion just to provoke me?”
“Only teasing,” Alexander chuckled, relieved to see she wasn’t truly bothered by the mention of Ethan’s wedding.
They shared a laugh, the moment easy and unguarded. Over time, Alexander had learned much about Isabella’s past, and he still struggled to reconcile the image of her once playing the docile wife to a man like Ethan. Ethan must have meant something to her once. But now, seeing her so composed and indifferent, Alexander knew any lingering feelings were long gone.
Meanwhile, at Ethan and Sophia’s wedding, the atmosphere was anything but celebratory.
Guests mingled beneath the soft strains of wedding music, exchanging hushed whispers behind polite smiles.
“Since his divorce, Ethan’s career has plummeted,” one guest murmured mockingly. “The Montgomery family severed ties, and even Mr. Kingsley blacklisted him from his stores. Offending two powerful families at once—that takes audacity.”
Another smirked. “The Blackwoods are a mess. Just as Ethan remarries, his father shows up with a young secretary. Poor Eleanor must be livid.”
“Ethan’s lost his mind over that woman. What’s so special about Sophia? Her grandfather didn’t even bother to attend. And I heard she’s been married before. Now that the Blackwoods are regaining influence, she’s crawling back.”
Their gossip was cut short by a sharp, imperious voice.
“Do you know what kind of event this is? And how you were even invited to my daughter’s wedding? If I looked like you, I’d be too ashamed to leave the house!”
Genevieve Delacroix, already deep in her cups, berated a waitress with drunken indignation. Her insults drew disapproving glances, but she was too intoxicated to notice.
“Do you know who my son-in-law is? He’s the heir to the Blackwood Group, and you dare serve this garbage at his wedding?”
Across the room, Eleanor’s expression tightened with humiliation. Forcing a smile, she approached Genevieve and took her arm gently.
“Genevieve, there’s no need for a scene. If the service isn’t to your liking, speak to the manager. No need for anger.”
But Genevieve, staring at the young waitress, only grew more incensed, her mind flashing back to how Olivia and Isabella had humiliated her over the dress incident. Fueled by liquor and fury, her temper spiraled out of control.
“I’m fine! I’m strong as a horse. A little outburst won’t hurt me!”
Eleanor’s smile faltered. This fool clearly didn’t grasp her attempt at damage control.
Before she could respond, the secretary Jonathan Blackwood had brought along let out a mocking chuckle, entirely unbothered by Eleanor’s growing irritation.
“Mrs. Delacroix has… quite the innocent charm, doesn’t she?”
Eleanor’s glare could have frozen fire. This woman was deliberately provoking Genevieve, making light of the situation.
But before Eleanor could react, Genevieve burst into laughter, clearly pleased with the remark.
“Of course! I’ve always been kind and pure!”
Eleanor was speechless.
What an insufferable, nouveau riche fool.
