Isabella hadn’t expected Alexander’s sharp eye for detail.
The sketches he recognized were from years ago. Even Gabriel had struggled to be certain, yet Alexander seemed utterly confident as he identified them without hesitation.
Still, Isabella saw no reason to hide something so trivial.
“Yes, those are mine,” she replied casually. “Just some old drawings from my time in Leswington.”
Alexander paused, momentarily stunned, before responding, “So, Ms. Sinclair, you’re actually Hedwig.”
Isabella arched a brow. “Mr. Kingsley, I didn’t expect you to know about that, let alone have read my work.”
“It was a coincidence,” Alexander said, his voice softening. “During the Perfumery Competition in Leswington, I came across your sketches. They were… comforting. Warm. I even considered tracking you down.”
His expression remained unreadable, but the emotion in his words was unmistakable.
“I searched for the artist for years, never realizing it was you, standing right in front of me all this time.”
His voice, deep and resonant like the low hum of a cello, lingered in the air. As he spoke, he seemed lost in thought, recalling the tangled history that had first brought them together—a one-night stand that had spiraled into something far more complex.
The more he learned about Isabella, the more he realized how many secrets she kept. What intrigued him most, though, was how similar their souls seemed.
Pottery.
Comics.
Everything about her drew him in.
“Quite the coincidence,” Isabella mused with a small smile.
She hadn’t expected to be connected to him before they’d even met. Perhaps, years ago, on the streets of Velonia, Alexander had stumbled across one of her sketches without realizing they were hers. Their paths had already crossed through her art.
There had been other near-misses, like the Perfumery Competition, where they’d passed each other, masked and unaware. All these small moments had led them here, like fate weaving their lives together.
But then Isabella caught herself, scoffing at her own thoughts.
Fate?
She had once believed in destiny with Ethan, too. Yet after three years of entanglement, it had all ended in bitter disappointment.
Shaking off the thought, she stood. “Is Amelia here? I need to finish the pottery we started.”
At the mention of his niece, Alexander’s expression darkened.
“The rain hasn’t stopped, and the thunderstorms earlier triggered another episode. When you were here, she improved, but now… she’s locked herself in the closet again. Refusing to eat. Refusing to let anyone near her.”
Alexander’s fingers tightened around the newspaper in his lap. Despite consulting countless specialists over the years, nothing had worked. He felt powerless.
“She’s on medication,” Alexander continued, his voice low. “But the trauma from her past… it runs deep. Recovery will take time.”
Isabella’s chest tightened at the mention of Amelia. Though she didn’t fully understand the connection between the rain and the girl’s trauma, she had grown fond of the talented child.
After a moment, she suggested, “Why not take her to the MDH Research Institute abroad? They have the best mental health specialists and cutting-edge equipment.”
Her suggestion wasn’t purely out of concern for Amelia—if she could earn Alexander’s trust by helping his niece, it might also pave the way to assist his grandmother. In doing so, she might uncover more clues about her mother’s whereabouts.
Alexander drummed his fingers absently on his knee. “I’ve already contacted them. Originally, it was for my migraines, but they’re fully booked for the year. They’re not accepting non-members.”
He looked at her, his gaze steady. “If you have a way, Ms. Sinclair, I’ll owe you. Name your price.”
Isabella waved him off with a faint smile. “No need for that, Mr. Kingsley. It’s just a small favor.” She paused. “We were just talking about the absurdity of fate. As it happens, I have a membership with MDH. Consider it a gift for Amelia.”
Alexander’s eyes darkened with thought. “Whether or not Amelia recovers, the Kingsley family owes you. If you ever need anything, don’t hesitate to ask.”
He knew exactly how exclusive access to MDH was—only the top elite in Vrining held memberships. But he sensed Isabella wasn’t ready to reveal more about herself. He wouldn’t push. Trust, after all, took time.
The next day, after arranging Amelia’s trip to Vrining, Isabella gathered her things and headed to the Kingsley residence.
“Amelia?” she called softly toward the closet where the girl had hidden herself.
In her hand, Isabella held a small ceramic doll, crafted in Amelia’s likeness—delicate, intricate, and beautifully made.
The closet door creaked open slowly, and Amelia’s eyes peeked out, cautious but fixed on the doll. A flicker of softness broke through her guarded expression.
“Amelia, why don’t we play with the ceramic dolls?” Isabella suggested gently. “I remember you wrote in your journal that you wanted to sculpt the person you miss the most.”
Something flickered in Amelia’s eyes—an old memory, perhaps. She hesitated, then gave a small nod, mouthing words that didn’t quite reach the air.
Though Amelia hadn’t spoken, Isabella understood immediately.
What she wanted to say was, Daddy.
