Chapter 252
A collective gasp rippled through the stadium as all eyes locked onto the advertising boards. Murmurs of disbelief spread like wildfire.
“How could the organizers miss such a glaring safety hazard?” The crowd’s agitation grew with each passing second, tension thickening the air.
Mid-slide, Isabella Sinclair caught sight of the two fallen skaters. The advertising board, meant to be securely fastened, dangled precariously—its failure causing their disastrous tumble.
Given the height and speed of the event, the impact could have been fatal.
Had it not been for Alexander Kingsley’s swift intervention, Isabella knew she might not have walked away unscathed—or at all.
But one question burned in her mind: Why would a stranger risk his life for her?
He wasn’t just anyone.
He knew her.
As chaos unfolded, Isabella approached him, her gaze piercing through his goggles.
“Who are you?” she demanded, the familiarity gnawing at her instincts.
She studied the towering figure before her—six feet of imposing presence, his identity shrouded beneath layers of gear.
In a low, controlled voice, Alexander responded, “Ms. Sinclair, it seems fate keeps bringing us together.”
There was no point hiding now. Isabella’s sharp intuition would have unraveled the truth soon enough.
“I’d appreciate your discretion,” he added.
The pieces clicked.
Travis Rivera was Alexander Kingsley.
Even with the voice modulation, that unwavering authority was unmistakable. His casual request for secrecy only confirmed her suspicions.
“I understand,” she replied, nodding slowly. “Thank you. Without you, this could’ve ended very differently.”
It wasn’t just Alexander’s actions—it was their seamless coordination that had averted catastrophe.
As officials cleared the debris, the judges announced the competition would resume. Most athletes were visibly shaken—but not Isabella and Alexander. They raced with laser focus, as if the near-disaster had never happened.
The crowd erupted when Isabella crossed the finish line first, leaving spectators stunned.
“She nearly got taken out, then accelerated like it was nothing! And Alexander took second! Unbelievable!”
“Isn’t that Isabella Sinclair? The one who divorced Ethan Blackwood, joined Kingsley Group, and now this? A master perfumer and a speed demon?”
Meanwhile, Ethan hadn’t even cracked the top ten.
Whispers spread like wildfire—Ethan had bet Isabella that the loser would kneel in public. This was about to get very interesting.
Overhearing the chatter, Ethan stormed off the track, his face dark with humiliation. No one had expected his pitiful performance, least of all him.
But what festered most was Isabella’s victory—again. Not only had she beaten Alexander, the three-time champion, but she’d claimed the top spot for herself.
Fury boiling, he marched toward her, desperate to salvage his pride.
“If those two hadn’t fallen, I wouldn’t have lost my rhythm,” he snapped. “This race doesn’t count. We need a rematch.”
Isabella barely registered his words. Her mind was elsewhere—on the two fallen skaters. Their movements hadn’t been natural. Too calculated.
Assassins?
But if they were, why had they failed so easily?
Ethan’s voice grated on her nerves, yanking her back to the present.
“Mr. Blackwood, are you done?” she said coolly. “Step aside. I have a medal to collect.”
Her dismissal struck like a slap. Ethan opened his mouth to retaliate—but the ice in her stare froze him mid-breath.
That same unshakable indifference she’d shown since their divorce.
While others tiptoed around him, Isabella never hesitated to put him in his place—over and over again.
