Chapter 130

Lucas requested Nathaniel to meet him at an upscale new karaoke lounge in Windsor Heights.

Inside the VIP suite, Lucas ordered an extravagant selection of premium liquors and proceeded to belt out a string of overly sentimental love songs.

Nathaniel sat stiffly on a plush burgundy velvet couch, nursing a glass of whiskey. His aristocratic demeanor radiated cold detachment, as if he were seated upon a throne rather than in a dimly lit entertainment venue.

The crimson lighting cast shadows around him, yet his commanding presence remained undeniable.

Nathaniel's grip on his glass tightened, his knuckles turning white. How deep did their friendship truly run for him to endure this auditory assault?

As Lucas finished another off-key ballad, Nathaniel took a measured sip of his drink, his expression unreadable.

Lucas let out a loud belch before staggering toward him, attempting to throw an arm around his shoulders.

"How was that? Still got the pipes, don't I?"

Nathaniel sidestepped swiftly, causing Lucas to stumble onto the couch. "Spectacular. You sound like a dying seagull."

"Oh, you're such a killjoy."

The memory of Isabella's scathing words and the sting of her rejection hit Lucas like a tidal wave. His mood darkened instantly. "Everyone's talking about Isabella divorcing you. Honestly, living with you must be like enduring early menopause. I admit, she was the most extraordinary woman I've ever met, and I completely blew it. I couldn't keep her."

He took a long swig before slamming the bottle onto the table. "I just don't get it. What's so special about you that she would hide her true identity and play housewife for three years? You treated her like garbage, yet she tolerated all your bullshit. And in the end, you were the one who threw her away."

"Lucas, are you finished?" Nathaniel's voice was dangerously low, his fingers tightening around his glass.

"Of course not!" Lucas's eyes were bloodshot, his resentment boiling over with liquid courage. "I don't understand! Unless you two were lovers in a past life and this is some twisted reunion, I can't fathom why she would endure so much for you!"

Even Nathaniel didn’t have the answer.

That day at the Windsor Estates, he had tried to stop her, desperate for an explanation.

The question had festered in his mind like an incurable disease. Since the night of his grandfather’s birthday, when her true identity was revealed, sleep had become a rare luxury.

Nathaniel's throat felt dry. Before he could respond, Lucas let out a bitter laugh. "Nathaniel, I admit I was a playboy. I’ve done irresponsible things. But this time, I was serious about Isabella. I keep wondering—why couldn’t I have met her sooner?"

Nathaniel remained silent, his gaze fixed on the amber liquid in his glass.

"If I had, I would’ve warned her to stay far away from you. Being with you only brings misery."

Nathaniel’s expression darkened, his fingers twitching with the urge to throttle Lucas.

When Seraphina saw Isabella, her gloom instantly dissipated, and she insisted on treating her to dinner.

Unable to refuse, Isabella chose a modest Japanese restaurant, deliberately ordering the most affordable dishes.

Though the food was mediocre, the two women chatted animatedly, clinking glasses frequently. Preston kept refilling their drinks, and by the end, the plates were nearly empty.

Seeing their joy, Preston’s own suppressed mood lightened considerably.

After a few drinks, they decided to continue the night at a karaoke bar.

Preston was about to join them when his phone rang—his brother informed him their mother was experiencing heart palpitations and needed him home immediately.

"Preston, go. Don’t worry about us," Isabella urged, waving him off.

"Seriously, Preston. Go check on your mom," Seraphina added softly. "We’ll be fine."

"Sorry, ladies. Call me if anything happens," he said apologetically before rushing off.

Isabella gave him a playful shove. "Go already, you mother hen."

Seraphina watched their interaction, her heart aching—but she couldn’t bring herself to resent Isabella.

How could she? Isabella was perfection.

If Preston had fallen for her, it was only natural.

But why would any man willingly let Isabella go?

Maybe he was terminally ill and didn’t want to burden her.

Isabella booked a high-end karaoke room. As they approached, an ear-splitting wail echoed from the neighboring suite.

"That’s not singing—that’s a crime against music," Isabella muttered, dragging Seraphina inside.

They ordered chilled beers and a lavish spread of snacks.

Both were skilled singers, and soon they were belting out tunes between laughter and drinks.

Isabella, usually composed, was slightly tipsy from celebrating her recent project’s success.

"Seraphina, I’m hitting the restroom. Stay put," she slurred, waving her off.

"You’re drunk. Let me help you."

"I’m not drunk! I’m your big sis. If anyone’s passing out, it’ll be you first."

Seraphina could only sigh in amusement.

Isabella stumbled through the hallway, the dizzying lights and mirrored walls disorienting her.

The room numbers made no sense.

Blinking blearily, she pushed open a door—and collided with a broad chest.

"Oof!"

Her heels wobbled, and she tipped backward.

A strong hand caught her waist, fingers brushing against the delicate curve.

His breath hitched.

"Miss, you’ve had too much to drink."

"I haven’t," she protested, squinting up at him.

Then, with a mischievous grin, she reached up and yanked off his sunglasses.

The man’s expression turned glacial.

The last person who’d done that had disappeared without a trace.

"Hey, you’re—" His voice faltered. His gaze swept over her face before he demanded in a low voice, "Are you Isabella?"