Chapter 244
The Kingsley estate was unusually tranquil that weekend.
“Sir, are you certain it’s wise to bring Amelia to the short-track speed skating competition? Those events can be quite hazardous,” Sebastian hesitated, choosing his words with care.
Such sports were notorious for their heart-stopping intensity—blinding speed, chaotic collisions, and the ever-present threat of disaster looming just inches away.
As Alexander’s right-hand man, Sebastian had grown increasingly bewildered by his employer’s recent decisions.
The Alexander he’d served for years—the guarded, calculating tycoon—would never have permitted Amelia to step foot outside the estate, let alone venture into the unpredictable frenzy of a high-speed skating arena.
“Her father adored short-track speed skating,” Alexander murmured, his voice laced with the ghosts of memories long suppressed. “Won countless trophies in his day.”
He exhaled sharply before continuing, “Perhaps… seeing something familiar will trigger her memories.”
Alexander had always thrived on adrenaline.
Before the accident that stole his mobility—and worse, before the mafia claimed his brother’s life—he and Amelia’s father had chased danger together, competing in one death-defying event after another.
But loss had hardened him.
Had it not been for Isabella’s influence, he might have kept Amelia sheltered behind the estate’s wrought-iron gates indefinitely.
Yet that was no life for her.
Regardless of risk, Amelia needed to reclaim her resilience, to relearn how to feel—and how to survive.
“She must grow strong. Even in the face of danger,” Alexander said, more to himself than to Sebastian. “I won’t always be here to shield her.”
His enemies were legion.
As heir to the Kingsley empire, he’d made ruthless choices—choices that bred vendettas. If tragedy struck him tomorrow, Amelia would need every ounce of strength to navigate the vipers’ nest he’d leave behind.
So step one? Reintroducing her to her father’s passions—starting with the ice.
“You believe immersing her in these past experiences could aid her recovery?” Sebastian ventured, connecting the dots.
“Precisely. Just ensure security is airtight,” Alexander commanded.
“Understood. I’ll arrange everything immediately.”
Sebastian nodded, finally grasping the shift in his employer’s mindset—a change undoubtedly spurred by Isabella’s arrival.
But he knew better than to pry. Alexander’s temper was as volatile as a winter storm, his patience reserved solely for her.
The arena pulsed with energy as the prestigious short-track competition—held only once every five years—kicked off.
Security cordoned off three surrounding blocks as journalists swarmed like sharks scenting blood.
Olivia jabbed Isabella excitedly in the ribs. “Oh my god, look at that guy near the southeast entrance! Those shoulders could solve world hunger.”
Isabella barely glanced. “He’s… fine.”
“Fine? Are you blind?” Olivia gaped. “Tell me you’ve seen someone more sculpted than that.”
“It’s not about physique,” Isabella muttered, though her traitorous mind conjured an image of Alexander’s bare torso—the defined ridges of his abdomen, the scars that mapped his battles, the way his breath hitched when she’d traced them that night on the cruise.
Later, in the mansion’s restricted wing, she’d glimpsed him again—vulnerable, wounded, yet radiating an untamed magnetism even in stillness.
A man who commanded empires… yet yielded so devastatingly beneath her touch.
Outside, the crowd’s chatter crescendoed.
“—prize money’s nearly a million this year!”
“—heard Travis Rivera’s competing again? Three-time defending champion—”
“—who’s this ‘Lemonade’ entrant? Random amateur or some alias?”
Isabella’s spine straightened.
Travis Rivera?
Her fingers curled into fists.
