Chapter 10

Across town at Windsor Estates.

Alexander Kingsley stood frozen for a full minute after his ex-wife abruptly ended their call.

Her steeliness bore no resemblance to the fragile woman who'd once wept and pleaded when he demanded a divorce.

So for three years, she'd felt nothing for him? Had merely tolerated him for some hidden agenda?

The realization sent fury coursing through his veins.

"Mr. Kingsley, your coffee."

Gordon entered, took one look at his thunderous expression, and hesitated. "Did you reach Mrs. Sinclair? Get her new number?"

Alexander massaged his temples. In his rage, he'd forgotten the original purpose of the call.

He'd assumed life would simplify after Isabella left. Yet here he was, unsettled because she was with Sebastian.

Damn it all. Why did she still affect him?

"Another time. I don't want to discuss that woman right now."

He lifted the coffee cup, took a sip, then frowned deeply.

"What's wrong with this? It tastes different."

"I followed Mrs. Sinclair's recipe exactly. How could—"

"Recipe?"

Gordon nodded. "Before leaving, Mrs. Sinclair gave me a notebook detailing all your preferences. Food aversions, coffee preparation, even what you ate on specific dates and how many bites you took. Everything was meticulously recorded."

He produced a leather-bound journal from his pocket.

Alexander accepted it with uncharacteristic hesitation, slowly opening the cover.

Neat, familiar handwriting greeted him—Isabella's precise script.

"A pinch of salt enhances the coffee's flavor. Alexander prefers it this way."

"He had two bowls of scallop vegetable soup this morning. Note to make it more often."

"Alexander dislikes overly sweet desserts. Try avocado salad—lighter flavors suit him better."

"The ties with red accents I bought last season—he never wore them. Seems he dislikes red..."

Every entry concerned him.

Alexander turned page after page, his breathing shallow as if afraid to disturb the words.

His grip tightened until the paper nearly crumpled.

"If she's so adept at reading people, what ulterior motive could she possibly have?"

Despite the turmoil the notebook stirred, anger won out. He tossed it toward the wastebasket.

"Sir! That's three years of Mrs. Sinclair's observations!" Gordon scrambled to retrieve it. "If she didn't care, why document everything? You clearly mattered to her!"

"Stop calling her Mrs. Sinclair. She forfeited that title."

A commotion erupted outside the study—from the direction of Isabella's former bedroom.

"Investigate that noise," Alexander ordered, rubbing his temples.

Gordon returned moments later, discomfort written across his face. "Mr. Kingsley, it's Ms. Sterling. She's... removing all traces of your ex-wife from the bedroom."

Currently, Victoria Sterling was tearing through Isabella's former sanctuary like a hurricane.

"Isabella Sinclair! You're nothing but a social climber riding some rich man's coattails! What makes you think you can look down on me?"

With the divorce signed and Isabella gone, Victoria vented unchecked—hurling skincare bottles, smashing bedside decorations.

By the time Alexander arrived, the room resembled a warzone.

"Victoria! What is this?"

"I can't stand her presence lingering here! Her scent!" Victoria's tear-streaked face twisted. "If not for her, we wouldn't have wasted three years! She stole my place, then plays the victim? Making me look like the other woman!"

"You're not the other woman. Stop this melodrama."

Alexander's gaze darkened as he knelt, retrieving the shattered remnants of a crystal frog figurine.

Oddly charming, its tiny paw formed a victory sign.

His lips quirked momentarily.

Victoria yanked open the wardrobe, hurling garments wildly.

"What's this?" She ripped open a large box containing an impeccably tailored men's suit. "Ha! Preparing gifts for her next sugar daddy already?"

Alexander's obsidian eyes turned stormy. He seized the box.

"Alex, she played you! I thought she married for love, but she was just using you as her golden ticket!"

Tears streaming, Victoria grabbed a fruit knife from the nightstand and lunged at the suit.

Alexander shielded the box with his body.

The blade sliced his forearm, crimson blooming across his white shirt.

"Oh God! Alex, I—I didn't mean—" The knife clattered as Victoria pressed shaking hands to her mouth.

"Good heavens! What happened?" Elspeth rushed in, aghast at the blood staining the carpet. "Alexander! Explain this!"

"Gordon, arrange a car for Ms. Sterling," Alexander ground out through the pain.

"Alex, let me stay! I need to tend your wound!" Victoria clung desperately.

"Mr. Kingsley, she should remain," Elspeth insisted. "Victoria will be your wife soon—"

"No. She returns home tonight." His tone brooked no argument.

"But once married—"

"We'll have eternity together. Until then, propriety matters. My divorce isn't finalized—her staying would fuel gossip."

Elspeth pursed her lips.

After dispatching a sobbing Victoria, Alexander surveyed the wreckage with weary disappointment, instructing staff to restore order.

"Sir, look at this!" Gordon stood transfixed before the wardrobe, holding up a breathtaking performance costume.

Alexander approached. The gown shimmered—pink silk embroidered with intricate patterns, rhinestones catching the light.

His long lashes flickered, emotions warring.

"Does... Mrs. Sinclair still perform? Remarkable!" Gordon marveled. Today had revealed unexpected facets of his former mistress.

Such a multifaceted woman—why couldn't Mr. Kingsley appreciate her?

"You find her remarkable?"

"Pardon?"

"I find her increasingly inscrutable."

Alexander's jaw tightened, an inexplicable irritation tightening his chest.