Chapter 186
The moment those words slipped from her lips, Alexander was instantly thrown back to that unforgettable night on the yacht, when Isabella had boldly declared, “I’ll take control.”
In that heated moment, with her straddling him, he had felt something primal ignite within him, surrendering completely as she led him into a euphoria so intense it bordered on surreal. The memory of it was etched into his mind like an indelible mark.
Alexander swallowed hard, forcing himself to push her away with surprising restraint.
“I don’t want anything,” he replied, his voice carefully measured, though his pulse betrayed him.
He took a deliberate step back, wrestling with the storm of emotions raging inside him.
“I was only joking.”
“As long as you don’t mind, Ms. Sinclair,” he added, his tone light, though his knuckles whitened where they gripped the armrest of his wheelchair.
Isabella slowly released her hold on him, her lips curving into a knowing smirk.
“Don’t worry, Mr. Kingsley,” she said smoothly. “I understand discretion. Your secret is safe with me.”
She tilted her head, studying him. “Honestly, it’s not even a scandal. Just personal preference and mutual consent. Nothing worth gossiping about.”
She knew the weight Alexander carried—the pressures of his family, the expectations, the constant scheming around him. Without an outlet, it was no wonder he harbored such desires.
Compared to the lecherous old men in power who flaunted their vices, Alexander was a man of remarkable restraint.
“So, Mr. Kingsley,” she murmured, stepping closer again, “why not just embrace it? Life’s too short to deny yourself.”
Alexander stiffened. No one had ever spoken to him like this—so bluntly, so acceptingly. Most either flattered him, judged him in whispers, or sought to manipulate him.
But Isabella? She simply told him to let go.
The realization sent an unfamiliar warmth through him.
Still, he couldn’t afford distractions.
“Ms. Sinclair,” he said, his voice low and steady, “I doubt you came here just to discuss my personal inclinations. You agreed to stay at the Kingsley estate, even joined the company. What are you really after?”
No games. No pretense.
Isabella smirked. Sharp as ever.
“You don’t seem surprised, Mr. Kingsley,” she observed. “You already suspected, didn’t you? So why let me in?”
“Because I trust you,” he answered without hesitation. “I don’t believe you’d harm me.”
His gaze held hers, unwavering. “Besides, we’re friends, aren’t we?”
That word again—friends.
Isabella exhaled, deciding honesty was the only way forward.
“I came to Ontdale to find my mother,” she admitted. “Her trail leads here—to the Kingsleys. I know she knew your mother. And Cassandra.”
She gestured toward the hallway. “That woman in the photo? The one in white? That’s her.”
