Ethan Blackwood, who had been coddled his entire life, had never known such humiliation.
Alexander Kingsley, having made a remarkable recovery since leaving the hospital, wielded his cane with surgical precision, striking the spots where the pain would linger the longest.
Ethan’s face paled, while Isabella Sinclair stood motionless, her expression detached, as if the entire scene were unfolding in another world, far removed from her reality.
“Get out!” Alexander’s voice thundered through the room as he shoved them toward the door. “From this moment on, neither of you steps foot in this mansion without my permission.”
The door slammed shut behind them, and Alexander collapsed onto the couch, his chest heaving with labored breaths.
Isabella, unfazed by the storm that had just erupted, calmly poured him a glass of water and handed it to him.
“Alexander,” she said, her voice steady, “take care of your health. That cane has been with you for years. It would be a shame if it broke.”
Outside, Ethan staggered to his feet, pulling Sophia Kensington along with him. Before he could even catch his breath, Isabella’s icy words, carried by the wind, nearly sent him reeling in fury.
Did she really think she was worth less than a damn cane?
Alexander, now sinking under the weight of exhaustion, spoke in a quieter, regretful tone.
“I feel sorry for you.”
After decades navigating the ruthless tides of business, never once shedding a tear for anything or anyone, Alexander found himself consumed by genuine remorse. He had raised an ungrateful wretch—a disappointment who had not only betrayed his benefactor but tarnished the Blackwood name.
“Are you really never coming back?” Alexander asked, his voice strained with the weight of the question.
Isabella turned to him, her expression a mix of sorrow and resolve. In her mind, there was no debt left between her and the Blackwoods. This was simply the end of a chapter.
“You know me,” she said carefully, choosing her words to avoid hurting him further. “I’ve always hated loose ends. Ethan and I? That’s over. But you… I’ll always think of you as family. If you ever need anything, call me. I’ll come.”
Her words were both a promise and a farewell.
Alexander exhaled deeply, understanding that her mind was made up. After a few more quiet exchanges, he reluctantly walked her to the door. He watched as she disappeared into the garden, her grace unwavering. Her silhouette blended into the greenery, and he was struck by how effortlessly strong she was.
All he could do was sigh.
“What a mess we’ve made.”
Outside the mansion, Sophia clung to Ethan’s arm, her eyes brimming with guilt.
“I’m so sorry, Ethan. This is all my fault. If it weren’t for me, your grandfather wouldn’t be so angry.”
“It’s not your fault,” Ethan reassured her, stroking her hair gently. “He’s stubborn. The more time we spend with him, the more he’ll see the real you.”
Even as he spoke, his thoughts drifted.
Sophia was the woman he loved, the one he had fought for—yet his mind kept circling back to Isabella. Her distant, unshaken demeanor unsettled him. She had always maintained a polite distance from his mother, too. The woman who had once shared his life now felt like a ghost, slipping further away with each passing day.
He couldn’t shake the feeling that something vital was slipping through his fingers—like sand in an hourglass.
But no. Sophia was the one he had chosen. The one he had fought for.
He pulled her closer, then took her hand.
“We’ll go back once he cools down. He’s stubborn, but he’ll come around. For now, let’s go to the villa. I’ve had your old room prepared.”
Ethan had no idea what awaited him.
As they approached the villa’s entrance, he froze.
A group of men in black suits were hauling out furniture, artwork, even the wallpaper.
“One more load and we’re done!” one of them called out.
Ethan’s blood ran cold.
They were taking everything—every last trace of Isabella.
