Ethan Blackwood’s bravado shattered the moment he met Alexander Kingsley’s glacial stare.
All his earlier arrogance evaporated in an instant.
A memory surfaced—one he’d tried to bury. Years ago, during a business dinner, he’d watched a man get dragged out of a high-end restaurant, drenched and trembling, dumped onto the icy pavement.
His supplier had shaken his head, muttering, “Of all people to cross… that man is ruthless.”
Ethan later learned Alexander had ordered the man to be submerged in freezing water repeatedly—a merciless punishment. The man’s company, once a fierce competitor, vanished from Ontdale soon after.
“Just because business is rough doesn’t excuse disrespect,” Ethan choked out, his breath uneven as the memory resurfaced. “We overstepped today.”
Desperate to salvage the situation, he added, “We won’t waste any more of your time, Mr. Kingsley.”
But Sophia Kensington wasn’t ready to retreat. She stepped forward, lips trembling in feigned remorse.
“Mr. Kingsley,” she murmured, voice dripping with false humility, “this is our fault. We never should have wronged Isabella. If you’ve heard any… misleading rumors, please let me apologize on Ethan’s behalf—”
Alexander’s low chuckle cut her off. His lips curved, but his eyes remained arctic.
“Who are you to apologize for someone else?” His voice was laced with disdain. “Even the Blackwoods don’t have the right to offer me apologies.”
The words struck like a slap. Sophia froze. Her usual doe-eyed innocence—so effective on others—meant nothing here.
“As for rumors,” Alexander continued, colder now, “considering Miss Sinclair is Benjamin Hawthorne’s esteemed mentor, I’d naturally believe her over you.”
Ethan’s mind reeled. Isabella? The teacher of world-renowned potter Benjamin Hawthorne? Impossible.
Yet Alexander spoke with absolute conviction.
Ethan shot Sophia a glance, her earlier whispers now poisoning his thoughts. He was certain—Isabella had orchestrated this, scheming to ruin him.
“Mr. Kingsley, you’re being deceived,” he insisted, voice hardening. “Isabella? Benjamin’s mentor? I know her better than anyone. This lie will unravel.”
Isabella met his gaze, unshaken. “What if it’s true?”
“Then I’ll apologize,” Ethan snapped.
“An apology isn’t enough,” she countered sharply. “In Athton, when reputations are damaged, the offender kneels and bows three times. Do you dare?”
Ethan smirked. “Why would I—?”
He was certain. He’d dug into every detail of Isabella’s past.
Abandoned as a child, left at an orphanage’s doorstep like discarded trash. She’d barely scraped through high school, surviving on barren land. If not for sheer luck—saving William Blackwood—she’d never have entered the Blackwood circle.
How could someone like her possibly be connected to Benjamin Hawthorne?
Benjamin was a legend—proud, untouchable, his art as solitary as his nature. Even in his later years, he’d never bow to a young woman as his teacher.
“But if you’re lying,” Ethan sneered, “then you’re the one who should kneel and—”
The kitchen door slammed open.
A gray-haired man stormed in, fury etched into every line of his face.
