Chapter 299
What the hell happened? Isabella Sinclair’s mind raced, sifting through every possible scenario, but she couldn’t fathom what—or who—could have shaken Alexander Kingsley to this extent.
“He’s not acting like himself tonight,” Sebastian Harrington muttered under his breath.
As Alexander’s right-hand man, Sebastian knew his employer’s habits better than anyone.
“The gala’s about to begin, but Mr. Kingsley locked himself in his suite right after speaking privately with Mr. Sterling,” Sebastian continued, his voice tense. “He started drinking immediately after. Then he ordered me to escort you home.”
The elevator doors slid open, and Sebastian stepped inside, his expression grim. “He doesn’t have to attend the gala, but the midnight auction is critical. Our investors are expecting him to lead the negotiations.” His fingers clenched around his tablet. “No one saw this coming.”
The worst part wasn’t his absence—it was the drinking.
Alexander Kingsley was a man of discipline, of control. For him to drown himself in alcohol meant something catastrophic had occurred. And Sebastian knew that if anyone could reach him, it was Isabella.
He turned to her, desperation flickering in his eyes. “Ms. Sinclair, I had no other choice but to call you. Please—just talk to him. At least get him to stop before he destroys his health.”
Isabella frowned. “His stomach condition—”
“I know,” Sebastian cut in, exhaling sharply. “He never drinks. Tonight is… different. I’m genuinely worried.”
Every attempt to enter Alexander’s suite had failed—even Dominic Sterling had been turned away at the door.
When the elevator reached the penthouse, Isabella still couldn’t process what she was hearing. The idea of Alexander Kingsley—composed, unshakable, always in command—falling apart was unthinkable.
“I’ll see what I can do,” she said quietly.
“Thank you.” Sebastian’s voice was strained, gratitude and guilt warring beneath his words. “The investors are waiting downstairs. I can’t leave them unattended.”
Isabella nodded. His duty was to the business, and he had already risked enough by bringing her here.
“Go,” she said. “I’ll handle this.”
With a sharp nod, Sebastian handed her the keycard and strode back toward the elevators.
Isabella watched him leave before turning to the suite’s door. She swiped the card, and the lock disengaged with a soft click.
“Mr. Kingsley?” she called as she stepped inside.
The room was eerily silent, bathed in the dim glow of a single lamp.
And there he was.
Alexander sat slumped against the edge of the bed, a half-empty bottle of brandy in one hand, a crystal glass in the other. The sight of him sent a jolt through her.
This wasn’t the Alexander she knew.
His usually immaculate dark hair was disheveled, strands falling haphazardly over his forehead. His dress shirt, always perfectly buttoned, hung open at the collar, revealing the sharp lines of his collarbones. His tie was loose, as if he’d torn it off in frustration.
He looked wrecked.
Yet even in disarray, he exuded a dangerous, intoxicating magnetism.
As he lifted the glass to his lips, the amber liquid catching the light, his gaze locked onto hers—raw, unfiltered, burning with something she couldn’t name.
“You came,” he murmured, his voice rough, almost broken.
And in that moment, Isabella knew—whatever had shattered him, it was far worse than she’d imagined.
