Chapter 181
As CEO of Kingsley Group, Alexander had mountains of paperwork waiting after just a few days away.
Once he confirmed Isabella was recovering well, he dove back into his relentless schedule.
Isabella, meanwhile, had spent days confined to bed, slowly regaining her strength.
The moment she felt steady enough, her mind turned to her mission—snooping around the Kingsley estate for answers.
Just as she began plotting, the door creaked open, revealing a tiny figure peeking through.
For a split second, Isabella froze—then a warm smile curved her lips.
“Amelia, sweetheart,” she called softly.
James had taken Amelia for her afternoon nap earlier, but now the little girl stood barefoot, wide awake and full of energy.
Isabella scooped her up effortlessly, and Amelia melted into the embrace as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
Isabella’s gaze flickered toward the rose garden, her expression thoughtful.
“Would you like to visit the garden, Amelia?” she murmured.
Amelia didn’t speak, but her small nod was answer enough.
“Perfect,” Isabella said with a quiet smile. “Let’s go.”
The rose garden lay in the estate’s southeast corner—a place Isabella had yet to explore.
She’d been waiting for the right opportunity.
Today was that chance.
The garden was a riot of colors, bursting with roses from every corner of the world.
At its heart stood a pristine greenhouse, gleaming like a hidden jewel, complete with a delicate swing that added a whimsical touch.
The air was thick with the intoxicating scent of roses, sweet enough to lull the senses into blissful calm.
Behind the greenhouse, Isabella spotted something unusual—a hidden chamber, nearly swallowed by the lush foliage.
It was subtle. Easy to miss if one wasn’t looking closely.
“Amelia, look at that,” Isabella murmured as they wandered deeper, her fingers brushing velvety petals.
She plucked a rose and tucked it gently behind Amelia’s ear.
The two shared a quiet smile—until James appeared abruptly, blocking their path.
“Ms. Sinclair,” he said with a respectful bow. “Forgive me, but this area is strictly off-limits.”
James knew of the bond between Isabella and Alexander.
But this place was different.
It held remnants of Alexander’s mother—a sanctuary too sacred to disturb.
No one had ever dared trespass.
“Mr. Kingsley forbids entry,” James explained.
Isabella feigned innocence, arching a brow. “Oh? I had no idea.”
She flashed an apologetic smile. “I must’ve wandered too far.”
James, unsuspecting, remained polite.
“Mr. Kingsley has never brought a woman here before, so outsiders wouldn’t know.”
Isabella blinked, realization flickering.
Alexander truly seemed indifferent to women—yet in private, his passion was relentless, as if fueled by an endless fire.
Without protest, Isabella retreated.
“Amelia, how about we grab a snack?”
Amelia nodded eagerly.
As night draped the estate in darkness, the maids retired, leaving only moonlight to cast faint shadows.
Isabella slipped through the rose bushes, silent as a ghost.
“It should be right here,” she whispered, pinpointing the forbidden chamber.
Her instincts screamed that answers lay within.
With practiced ease, she slid a hairpin into the lock.
A soft click—and the heavy door swung open.
Inside was a simple lounge, unremarkable at first glance.
Books, clearly chosen for a woman’s taste, were scattered about.
A plush sofa, a delicate teapot, and paintings adorned the space.
Then—a framed photo caught her eye.
Isabella approached, studying the image.
The woman radiated elegance, her gaze so warm it felt like spring sunshine.
Isabella’s pulse quickened.
This had to be Alexander’s mother.
Her sanctuary.
She scrutinized the photo, confirming—this woman bore no resemblance to her own mother.
“So, they’re not the same,” she murmured.
Her gaze shifted to a bookshelf, where one title stood out.
Frowning, she pulled it free—and a thin photograph fluttered out.
A group picture.
Alexander’s mother stood with Cassandra and another woman—her features delicate, her eyes cold as winter.
The three seemed close.
Isabella’s breath hitched.
“Mom…?” she whispered, trembling.
There—in the photo—was her birth mother.
She never imagined her mother had known Giselle Kingsley.
But the timing gnawed at her.
The year Giselle died, Cassandra fell ill—and her mother vanished.
What secrets were buried in that year?
Isabella steadied herself, determined to uncover more.
Then—footsteps.
She shoved the photo back and pressed against the wall, pulse racing.
The room was too small. She’d be seen instantly.
Her fingers brushed a small protrusion—and she pressed it.
A soft click.
The bookshelf split, revealing a hidden passage.
There was more to this room.
As footsteps neared, Isabella slipped inside—vanishing into the shadows.
