Chapter 241
The sharp crack of the slap reverberated through the grand hall, leaving Sophia Kensington staggering, her vision blurred by tears of pain and shame.
For a moment, she stood frozen, then pressed a trembling hand to her stinging cheek, her sobs breaking the heavy silence.
When have I ever been the troublemaker? Eleanor, you can’t pin every disaster on me! Bitterness coiled like a serpent in her chest.
She had come today hoping to gain the upper hand, but instead, she had earned nothing but Eleanor’s icy contempt. Even William Blackwood’s gaze had turned glacial, his piercing eyes assessing her with a detachment that made her blood run cold.
Years ago, during her first romance with Ethan, William had harbored doubts about her—but he had never voiced them so openly.
Everything changed after she left for Europe, and Isabella Sinclair slipped into Ethan’s life in her absence.
From that moment, William’s favor had shifted, tilting irrevocably toward Isabella.
When Sophia finally married Ethan, William hadn’t even bothered to attend the wedding.
And now? He was stripping Ethan of his influence within the Blackwood dynasty.
Regret settled like lead in her stomach.
Desperate, she turned pleading eyes to Ethan.
“Ethan, please—you have to believe me! I never meant for any of this!”
But such desperate pleas only worked on fools like Ethan.
William struck his cane against the marble floor twice—sharp, decisive. “So, you came here to ruin my birthday, and now you dare lie to my face?” His voice shook with barely restrained fury, the years seeming to melt away in his rage. “I have never been so disappointed.”
His furious gaze swept over the gathered Blackwoods, his knuckles white around the cane.
“Isabella warned you—repeatedly—to stop stirring chaos. She tried to protect this family’s honor. And how do you repay her? With betrayal.” He scoffed, his voice brittle. “Ethan doesn’t deserve her. None of us do.”
His anger made him sway slightly, and if Isabella hadn’t rushed to steady him, he might have collapsed.
“I’m fine,” William muttered, straightening—but when he looked up again, his eyes were steel.
Ethan, sensing the finality in his grandfather’s tone, stammered, “Grandfather, I never meant to cause a scene. I just wanted to expose who Isabella really is. How was I supposed to know she would—”
“Enough!” William cut him off, voice like a whip. “Do you truly believe this disgrace hasn’t gone far enough?” He shut his eyes briefly, as if the weight of his disappointment was too much to bear.
When he opened them again, his expression softened—but only for Isabella.
Gently patting her hand, he turned to Alexander Kingsley.
“I may be old, but I still know how to judge character. Mr. Kingsley, you strike me as a good man. Take care of Isabella.” His voice trembled. “And don’t think you can mistreat her just because she has no family left!”
The bitterness in his words was palpable.
If Ethan had been wiser, Isabella would still be a Blackwood.
But Ethan, blinded by his own idiocy, had thrown it all away.
Isabella had once saved William’s life. For years, she had cared for him as if he were her own blood.
To him, she was family.
“As long as I draw breath—even if it’s just one more day—I will stand by her.” William leaned heavily on his cane, exhaustion weighing on his frail frame. “Mr. Kingsley, I expect you to treat her as she deserves.”
He was certain Isabella and Alexander were well-matched. And the Blackwoods owed her more than they could ever repay.
“William, you’ve misunderstood—” Isabella began, startled by his assumption.
But Alexander stepped forward smoothly, cutting her off.
“Don’t worry, Mr. Blackwood.” His voice was calm, yet carried the weight of an unspoken vow. “I’ll ensure Isabella is taken care of. To me, she’s invaluable… to the company.”
For a fleeting second, Isabella wasn’t sure if the intensity in Alexander’s gaze was for show—or something far deeper.
William nodded, visibly relieved. “Good.” He signaled to the butler. “Bring it.”
The butler returned with an ornate brocade box, opening it to reveal a radiant ruby jade nestled inside—a priceless Blackwood heirloom, symbolizing the family’s legacy.
“I’ve safeguarded this for decades,” William murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “It belongs to you, Isabella. Keep it close. If you ever need help, my name will open doors.”
From across the room, Jonathan Blackwood shot to his feet, face twisted in outrage.
“Father! Have you lost your mind? That jade is our family’s birthright! It belongs to the true heir, not some—”
