Meanwhile, in one of the cruise ship’s exclusive lounges, Sophia Kensington basked in the admiration of Ethan Blackwood’s friends.
“Let’s raise a glass to Miss Kensington, back from abroad!” one of them cheered.
“Mr. Blackwood, you’re one lucky man to have such a breathtaking woman by your side,” another added with a grin.
“I heard Miss Kensington won first place in the international perfume competition five years ago. A true prodigy,” a third voice chimed in.
Sophia’s expression remained unreadable at the mention of her past victory. With practiced humility, she cast a gentle glance at Ethan and murmured, “It was just luck, really. I’m no expert—I only pursued perfumery because of someone special to me.”
Victoria Chamberlain, ever the opportunist, leaned in with a smirk. “You might not know this, Miss Kensington, but Mr. Blackwood still keeps the perfume you gifted him by his bedside. He can’t sleep without it.”
A chorus of “awws” filled the room as a delicate blush tinted Sophia’s cheeks. Everyone knew Ethan’s empire was built on the fragrance industry, and the air buzzed with unspoken anticipation—would he finally make a grand romantic gesture?
All eyes were on him, waiting.
But Ethan remained silent, his jaw tight. Ever since finalizing his divorce from Isabella Sinclair, an inexplicable unease had coiled in his chest, though he couldn’t pinpoint why.
Then, Victoria’s sharp gasp cut through the murmurs. “Wait—isn’t that Isabella?”
The name struck Ethan like a physical blow. He surged to his feet and strode to the railing, his gaze locking onto the deck below.
There she was.
Isabella stood in a sleek, crimson dress that hugged every curve, her stiletto heels adding to her commanding presence. A glass of wine dangled carelessly from her fingers as she faced a group of hostile men. The shortest of them, a thick gold chain glinting around his neck, brandished a bottle like a weapon.
“You think you can walk away from this?” he snarled. “You’re finished, you hear me?”
Ethan’s friends crowded behind him, murmuring in disbelief.
“Damn, she looks just like Ethan’s ex-wife, but… different.”
“That is her!”
“Whoa, Blackwood, your ex is stunning. Who knew?”
“Wait—isn’t that Nathan Prescott down there? That guy’s unhinged. Cross him, and you’re dead. He’s got a reputation for hunting women like prey.”
“Look at her, divorced and dressed like that? How’d she even get on this cruise? Bet she blew her savings to rub elbows with the elite. Probably husband-hunting.”
Sophia sighed softly, her voice barely audible. “Let’s not judge too harshly. Mrs. Sinclair has no connections left—she must be desperate for any lifeline…”
Victoria, catching the implication, smirked. “Exactly. Mr. Blackwood, she walked away with nothing, and now she’s here, dolled up? She’s clearly trying to—”
“Enough.” Ethan’s voice was glacial, slicing through the chatter like a blade. “You don’t belong here.”
Victoria paled, dropping to her knees instantly. “I—I’m sorry, Mr. Blackwood. I overstepped.”
The room plunged into stunned silence.
Even Sophia, usually unshakable, sensed the shift in the air. “Ethan, don’t be angry,” she murmured, placing a hand on his arm. “Victoria didn’t mean harm. She’s been working tirelessly for me—preparing my suite, the gifts. Let her stay, please?”
Ethan exhaled sharply, guilt flickering in his eyes. “As for Isabella… this is my fault. If I hadn’t returned, she wouldn’t feel the need to put on this act just to get my attention…”
Sophia’s explanation made far more sense than the idea of Isabella deliberately provoking a scene. Her sudden appearance on the cruise, freshly divorced, and now this confrontation with a known predator? It reeked of manipulation.
Ethan’s grip tightened on the railing. His mind raced, suspicion hardening into certainty.
Let’s see how she plans to talk her way out of this.
