Chapter 232
The grand hall hummed with life, crystal glasses clinking and laughter bouncing off the gilded walls. It was a celebration fit for royalty—William Blackwood’s eightieth birthday, an occasion that had drawn the elite of Ontdale’s high society.
Among the glittering crowd, familiar faces mingled, their voices rising in toast after toast.
“To Mr. Blackwood! May his legacy continue to shine as brightly as his wisdom!” one guest declared.
Another chimed in, admiration dripping from every word. “And let’s not forget his granddaughter—what a remarkable woman she is! That porcelain piece from Benjamin Hawthorne? Exquisite. Not just anyone could acquire such a treasure.”
All eyes turned to Isabella Sinclair, standing gracefully beside William. The delicate porcelain vase in her hands seemed to glow under the chandelier’s light, a reflection of the admiration she commanded.
William’s eyes crinkled with pride as he gave her shoulder a fond squeeze. “Isabella is the jewel of our family. Far more brilliant than any grandson I could’ve wished for. Talented, sharp, and with a nose for perfumes that could rival the masters!” He shot a pointed look around the room. “If any of you have eligible young men, consider this your warning—she won’t stay unattached for long.”
Isabella rolled her eyes playfully. “William, must you?”
But William was already scheming. Tonight wasn’t just a celebration—it was an opportunity. Business connections, potential partnerships, and, if he had his way, a carefully orchestrated introduction to the right suitor.
A well-dressed gentleman stepped forward eagerly. “What a fortunate coincidence! My nephew is around Ms. Sinclair’s age—”
Before he could finish, a voice colder than winter sliced through the warmth of the room.
“Spare yourself the trouble. A woman like her isn’t worth the chase.”
The crowd stilled.
Ethan Blackwood stood at the edge of the gathering, his dark gaze locked onto Isabella. Three years ago, she would’ve greeted him with warmth. Now, she barely spared him a glance, as if he were nothing more than a stranger.
The man who had spoken faltered, his smile slipping. “Mr. Blackwood, I—what exactly do you mean by that?”
No one had expected Ethan’s sudden appearance, much less his blatant disrespect.
Jonathan Blackwood, Ethan’s father, slammed his glass onto the table with a sharp crack. “Ethan! Have you lost your mind?” His voice was a whip of fury.
A nearby secretary quickly intervened, murmuring, “Youthful arrogance, sir. He’ll learn.”
Eleanor Blackwood, ever the poised socialite, glided forward with a practiced smile. “Darling, let’s not make a scene. The young will sort themselves out.” Her graceful demeanor was a stark contrast to the tension thickening the air.
William, however, was far from placated. His finger jabbed toward Ethan. “Who invited you? I certainly didn’t.”
Ethan’s jaw clenched, his hands curling into fists. “I came to warn you. That woman you’re praising? She’s not the saint you think she is.” His voice was venomous as he pulled a document from his coat. “She’s a fraud.”
Silence fell like a guillotine.
