Chapter 295
Even if she were dating half the city, it wouldn’t make a dent in how I felt.
Frankly, being the odd one out didn’t faze me in the slightest.
No one could’ve anticipated Julian Whitmore would take things this far.
If it had been a passing jest, maybe it could’ve been laughed off—but the intensity in his gaze left no room for doubt. He meant every word.
Isabella Sinclair pressed her fingers to her temples, suppressing the urge to groan.
She really should’ve seen this coming. Rebellious streaks were practically a rite of passage at his age.
At least this conversation was private. If the other guests at the charity gala overheard, it would spark a scandal hotter than the summer sun.
Enough nonsense.
“Shall we head inside?” Her smile was polished, but the edge beneath it was sharp as a blade. “Unless you’d prefer an accidental dip in the fountain.”
Julian straightened, all traces of mischief vanishing.
“Relax, it was just a joke.” He raised his hands in mock surrender. “No impromptu swims tonight. Promise.”
He fell into step beside her as they moved toward the banquet hall, though the thought of mingling with the elite held little appeal.
Alexander Kingsley studied Julian with narrowed eyes. There was more to this young man than met the eye.
He had the unsettling feeling Julian might be the key to unlocking several of Isabella’s well-guarded secrets.
Just as they reached the grand doors, a familiar figure strode toward them, his smile bright under the chandeliers.
“Isabella! I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”
Out of his usual lab coat and dressed in a tailored suit, Julian Whitmore (the other Julian—this was getting confusing) looked every inch the distinguished professional. His gold-rimmed glasses caught the light, casting a warm glow over his sharp features.
But when his gaze flicked to Alexander, then settled on the younger Julian, something shifted in his expression.
“What kept you?” His tone was smooth, his posture relaxed—yet he maintained a careful distance from Isabella.
Before she could answer, his smile widened, as if he’d just pieced together the puzzle.
“Ah, of course. You’ve never been one for crowds. Needed a breather?”
In truth, his mind was racing. Another one? How many more would appear at her side tonight?
Isabella chuckled. “You know me too well.”
It struck her then that the two men flanking her were strangers. Playing mediator, she gestured between them with practiced grace.
“This is an old friend of mine.”
She didn’t offer Julian’s name—in Cobweb, aliases were the norm, and she didn’t actually know his real identity.
But Julian (the younger one) didn’t miss a beat. He tilted his head, grinning like a cat with a secret.
“Julian Whitmore. Recently back from overseas.”
The words were casual, but the weight behind them wasn’t lost on Isabella. Recently back? Cobweb’s headquarters were in Ontdale. That was a bold-faced lie.
And yet—he’d just given his real name.
Floyd Pierce, having spent years buried in research at MDH, wasn’t familiar with the younger man’s background. But the air of privilege around him was unmistakable.
“Floyd Pierce. MDH Pharmaceutical Research Institute.”
Alexander’s introduction, meanwhile, was ice-cold and straight to the point.
“If I’m not mistaken, your family holds considerable influence. Your father’s the mayor, and your mother runs a corporate empire.”
The unspoken implication hung heavy in the air: Julian wasn’t just anyone. He was the sole heir to a dynasty—one with enough power to move mountains.
It was common knowledge Julian had been raised abroad. Not even the most relentless paparazzi had ever caught a glimpse of him.
His sudden reappearance in Ontdale? That would raise eyebrows.
“You know my family well, Mr. Kingsley,” Julian replied, his voice cooling several degrees. He had no interest in basking in his family’s shadow. The Herbert name was a gilded cage he’d spent years trying to escape.
“Now that we’re acquainted,” he continued, flashing a smile that didn’t reach his eyes, “I look forward to exchanging ideas.”
Alexander gave a noncommittal nod. “Sure.”
Floyd’s response was diplomatic. “Likewise.”
The words were civil, but the atmosphere had shifted. Beneath the polished veneer, tension crackled like a gathering storm.
