Chapter 226
Two weeks later, Alexander Kingsley called Isabella Sinclair.
“Ms. Sinclair, any chance you’re free to join us for dinner at my place?” Isabella, fingers flying across her keyboard, exhaled in mild exasperation.
“Shouldn’t I be the one inviting you?” After all, he had taken a blade for her.
“It’s Amelia,” Alexander’s deep voice rumbled through the phone. “She’s been asking for you.”
Truthfully, in the fortnight since the incident, Alexander had been quietly aching to see her again. The longing coiled inside him like a serpent, tightening with each passing day.
Isabella tapped a final key before answering. “Alright. Let me finish this, and I’ll head over.” She didn’t hesitate—didn’t even think twice.
Meanwhile, in the Kingsley mansion, little Amelia perched on Alexander’s lap, tiny fingers prodding at the bandages wrapped around his healing wound. Every poke sent a sharp jolt of pain through him.
Julian Whitmore, standing nearby with an amused smirk, chided lightly, “Amelia, darling, you shouldn’t poke at his injury.” Despite his words, he made no move to stop her. There was something oddly satisfying about watching Alexander suppress a wince.
“It’s fine,” Alexander murmured, ruffling her hair. “Doesn’t hurt.”
The lie was effortless. His affection for the girl ran deeper than any discomfort she could cause.
James Pembroke, the family butler, chuckled before scooping Amelia into his arms. “Mr. Kingsley, I’ll put her down for a nap.”
The little girl’s gaze darted around before settling on Alexander, her reluctance palpable. The change in her was striking—no longer the hollow-eyed doll she’d once been.
Isabella noticed it immediately. The transformation in just a few weeks was nothing short of astonishing.
James beamed when he spotted her. “Ms. Sinclair! You’re here.”
Isabella returned the smile. “Just dropping by for dinner and to check on Amelia.” She nodded toward the girl. “Seeing her like this… it’s a relief.”
Alexander gestured toward the dining room. “Now that you’re here, we can eat.”
At the table, Julian adjusted his glasses, his expression thoughtful. “Isabella, I’m sorry we had to pause Amelia’s pottery lessons this past month. She’s been so absorbed in her work that it might interfere with her progress. But perhaps today, you could ease her back into it—just a little.” His lips curved. “Once she starts engaging more with the world, she might surprise us all.”
Isabella arched a brow. “I don’t mind. Besides,” she added with a wry smile, “Mr. Kingsley here kept paying me, so…” She shrugged. “Hard to refuse.”
She caught the flicker of curiosity in Amelia’s eyes—like sunlight breaking through clouds. The girl remained silent, but the improvement was undeniable. The perfect, doll-like mask had cracked, revealing hints of mischief and wonder beneath.
Alexander’s voice, low and warm, cut through the moment. “I couldn’t possibly withhold your wages, Ms. Sinclair.”
Isabella caught the fleeting regret in his eyes as they lingered on Amelia. Subtle, but unmistakable.
Softly, she said, “We can’t promise she’ll speak, but healing her heart might just help her find her voice again.”
Julian leaned back, pensive. “I don’t know what trauma Amelia endured, but it was clearly severe. In a family like the Kingsleys…” He hesitated. “Sometimes, time is the only healer.”
His tone darkened. “There was a patient once with similar symptoms. He recovered after reliving the trauma under controlled stress—his survival instincts kicked in. But it’s dangerous. Could just as easily break her further.”
Alexander’s response was immediate. “I’d never risk that with her.”
The weight of his brother’s death still suffocated him. Some wounds never truly healed.
His gaze softened as he watched Amelia drift to sleep in James’ arms. “If time helps her recover, that’s ideal. But if she never speaks again… she’ll always have a home here. The Kingsleys will take care of her.”
Isabella studied him in silence. Behind the steel exterior, Alexander was far more complex than the world knew. For those he loved—James, Amelia—he carried a quiet, unshakable devotion.
After a beat, she spoke carefully. “Mr. Kingsley… have you ever considered that maybe she doesn’t want to be a marionette?”
