Chapter 187

Nathaniel reserved the penthouse suite at The Regal Palace and ordered his assistant to fetch a modest cocktail dress for Isabella immediately.

As Isabella disappeared into the dressing room, Nathaniel lounged on the leather sofa, one leg crossed over the other. His left arm draped casually over the backrest while his right fingers drummed an absent rhythm against his knee.

If he had been wearing a tuxedo, he might have looked like a groom impatiently waiting for his bride.

The door clicked open.

His assistant emerged, beaming, guiding Isabella forward.

"Mr. Kingsley, Isabella is ready."

Nathaniel turned his head, his gaze landing on Isabella in a deep burgundy dress. Her wide, sparkling eyes made her look both innocent and endearingly clueless.

His breath hitched.

Nathaniel had lived a life of extravagance and indulgence. He'd encountered countless women, but never one with eyes so clear they seemed untouched by the world. Staring too long felt like tainting something pure.

"Why such a dated color?" Nathaniel scoffed, eyes still fixed on Isabella's delicate features. "She's young. Couldn't you find something more vibrant? Your taste is appalling for someone who's worked with me this long."

The assistant flushed, knowing Nathaniel's notorious attention to detail. She opened her mouth to apologize—

But Isabella spoke first.

"Nathaniel, I love this color." She tilted her head. "But red really doesn’t suit you. It makes you look... kind of dull."

The assistant choked back a laugh.

Nathaniel's expression darkened.

No woman besides Arabella had ever dared to criticize him so bluntly.

Honestly, he considered himself one of the most handsome men in the country. Only Alexander Kingsley had ever claimed Nathaniel was second-best.

"Only because you're Alexander's sister am I letting this slide," Nathaniel muttered, voice tight.

"Nathaniel... are you mad?" Isabella asked nervously. "Would you get angry if I said you look like a lump of charcoal in red? Would you hit me?"

The assistant bit her lip hard.

Nathaniel—the fantasy of countless women—reduced to a lump of coal in this girl's eyes.

Damn, Isabella. You've got nerve.

Nathaniel glared at her, chest heaving with barely contained irritation. He stood abruptly, his towering frame casting a shadow over her petite form.

Slowly, he leaned down.

Slowly, he raised his hand.

Isabella flinched, squeezing her teddy bear tightly.

Then—

A smirk curled Nathaniel's lips as he flicked her forehead lightly.

"That's right. I'm hitting you. Does it hurt?"

Isabella rubbed her forehead and shook her head.

"Next time you insult me, I won’t be so gentle," Nathaniel warned, though his eyes glinted with amusement.

His assistant stared, stunned.

Meanwhile, the chaos Arabella had caused still required Alexander's intervention.

He left the gala in Gordon's hands and slipped away.

With Arabella gone and Alexander absent, Edith felt her plans crumbling. Frustrated, she downed two glasses of wine before storming onto the stage in her dramatic gown and slamming her hands onto the piano keys.

The abrupt, discordant crash silenced the room.

Guests turned, some scowling.

"What’s wrong with her? That was downright rude."

"Honestly, Ms. Edith has no manners."

Edith, spoiled and used to getting her way overseas, didn’t care. The more she dwelled on Alexander's words, the angrier she became.

But this was Elmsworth. These were high society’s elite. As a Fairhaven heiress, she couldn’t afford to embarrass herself.

Gritting her teeth, she composed herself and launched into Beethoven’s Symphony No. 5, her skilled fingers gliding effortlessly.

The music, rich and emotional, soon captivated the crowd, making them forget her earlier outburst.

Genevieve stormed back into the ballroom, eyes red-rimmed. She grabbed her mother’s arm.

"Mom! Isabella’s here!"

Eleanor startled. "What? Where?"

"I just saw her with Nathaniel Kingsley! He even draped his jacket over her shoulders and touched her hair!" Genevieve hissed, trembling with rage. "Mom, do you really think Isabella’s as simple as she acts? She’s scheming! She’s been eyeing Nathaniel this whole time—she wants to steal him from me!"

"Have you forgotten every ounce of grace I’ve taught you?" Eleanor pinched her daughter’s arm sharply. "Isabella is your sister. She isn’t some villain. Don’t speak like that again."

Genevieve bit her lip hard.

She knew Eleanor wasn’t defending Isabella—she just refused to admit she’d birthed a fool.

"Mom, what do I do?" Genevieve whispered desperately. "Just when we thought Arabella was out of the picture, Isabella shows up! Nathaniel already despises me. How can I marry into the Fairhavens now?"

"Calm down. Isabella won’t ruin this for you." Eleanor’s gaze sharpened. "Find Gordon. Have him track her down and bring her back."

Eleanor didn’t see this as a catastrophe. She controlled her daughters tightly. Even if Isabella was... challenged, Eleanor would still secure her a decent match.

Perhaps even one that could be useful.

"Ms. Edith has quite the temper," Eleanor remarked idly, watching the woman onstage.

"Mom, she’s a nightmare," Genevieve muttered. "Compared to Victoria, she’s a walking time bomb."

"Perfect." Eleanor’s lips curled coldly.

"Perfect?"

"Hot-tempered people are easier to manipulate. All Edith wants is Alexander. She’s privileged, simple-minded, and possessive. That’s all."

Eleanor smirked. "Now, someone like Victoria, who smiles while plotting behind your back? That’s dangerous."

Before she could finish, the ballroom doors swung open.

Edith, lost in her music, didn’t notice the guests’ attention shift—

To Nathaniel Kingsley, guiding a shy Isabella inside.

Murmurs erupted.

"Who’s that girl with Nathaniel Kingsley?"

"Must be his latest fling. His relationships never last longer than a month anyway."

"She’s cute, but I thought he preferred bombshells. Did he suddenly develop a taste for innocence?"

"She’s prettier than Edith and Genevieve combined."

"Face it, none of us have Nathaniel’s wealth or his eye for beauty. That girl beside him? She’s the real deal."

Genevieve’s face burned crimson with humiliation.

Eleanor’s expression soured.