Chapter 161
The hum of the engine filled the car as Isabella navigated through the city streets. Her phone buzzed—Gabriel Sterling was calling.
“Ms. Sinclair,” his voice crackled through the speaker, thick with gratitude. “I just wanted to say thank you. Because of you, my comics are finally getting the attention they deserve. Publishing houses are reaching out. Editors are interested.”
She had kept her promise, and now he was calling to express his thanks in person.
“All I did was give you a push,” Isabella replied, her tone warm but firm. “You’re the one with the talent, Gabriel. The market’s flooded with generic work—no wonder you struggled. But your style? It’s unique. It stands out.”
Her words settled over him like a steadying hand.
“I have no doubt you’ll carve your own path. The comic world hasn’t seen the best of you yet.”
Silence stretched for a beat before Gabriel spoke again, his voice trembling.
“Ms. Sinclair… I can’t thank you enough. Having someone like you believe in me—it means everything. I won’t let you down. I’ll work harder than ever.”
For someone who had battled self-doubt for years, her faith in him was a lifeline. His fingers tightened around the sketch she’d given him—a few simple lines, but enough to make his heart race.
“Actually…” He hesitated. “There’s something I’ve always wondered. Back in Leswington, there was a master of feel-good comics. His style… it’s eerily similar to yours. But his works are rare, and he vanished years ago…”
Isabella didn’t need him to finish.
“You’re asking if I’m him.”
Gabriel rushed to clarify, “No! I mean—I didn’t mean to pry or disrespect you. It’s just… your work reminds me of his. He’s the reason I started drawing feel-good comics in the first place. And when I saw your lines—it felt like that same spark again.”
The truth was, even that discarded sketch she’d handed him bore the unmistakable mark of a master. If that was what she considered a throwaway, her real skill must be staggering.
Isabella exhaled, unbothered. “I used to go by the pen name Hedwig. Published a couple of comics back then, but most of it was just doodling. Those ‘lost works’? Xavier Delmar picked them up and slapped his name on them.”
Gabriel went utterly still.
“Hedwig? You’re Hedwig?” His hands shook as he stared at the sketch, as if it were made of gold. If Isabella was Hedwig, everything made sense. Of course she’d dismiss those sketches as nothing. When she first appeared, she’d taken the industry by storm. Even her rare surviving works were considered masterpieces.
Isabella chuckled softly. “It’s been years since I drew anything. I’m probably rusty.”
“Not at all!” Gabriel blurted, nearly tripping over his words. “Your work is still leagues above anyone else’s!”
He could hardly believe it—the artist who had inspired him to pick up a pen was not only speaking to him but had mentored him. His pulse hammered as he gripped the phone.
“Then… if I ever hit a creative block… could I ask for your advice?”
“Of course,” Isabella said. “You’re talented, Gabriel. You’ll only get better.”
After a few more words, she ended the call.
The Lloyd estate loomed ahead as she pulled into the garage. Keys in hand, she stepped out.
It was Sunday. She’d already spent the morning teaching little Amelia pottery, but something had felt off. The girl had been quieter than usual, so Isabella had promised to visit again that evening.
When she entered the reception hall, her gaze landed on Alexander, lounging on the sofa with a newspaper. He barely glanced up as she walked in, his voice low and smooth.
“Quite the stir you caused at that book signing. The whole city’s talking.”
He folded the paper, his expression unreadable.
“I assume you had a hand in that, Ms. Sinclair?”
It didn’t take a genius to figure out that orchestrating such a media storm to target Ethan and his entourage wasn’t an accident. Alexander, more than anyone, could see she’d gone for the kill—using every resource to strike back.
“Olivia did most of the heavy lifting,” Isabella replied without hesitation. “The Montgomery Group’s name carries weight, but I was surprised by the sheer number of reporters. Some were even from outlets tied to the Kingsleys.”
She wasn’t going to dance around the truth. It was clear Alexander had known from the start and sent his own people to watch.
Leaning back, Alexander smirked. “Dominic couldn’t resist getting involved. He heard Miss Montgomery helped you, so he decided to bring a few extra hands. I just… nudged things along. Hope I didn’t cause you any trouble, Ms. Sinclair.”
“Not at all,” she said smoothly. “If anything, I should thank you, Mr. Kingsley.”
“Enough with the formalities,” Alexander said, raising a brow. “But I do have one question.”
He turned his phone around, revealing a screenshot of an adorably chubby cat. His gaze locked onto hers.
“Was this little guy drawn by you, by any chance?”
