Chapter 193

Even from a distance, Isabella knew every movement in the bar as if she were there herself.

"Ms. Sinclair, Mr. Kingsley and Mr. Vanderbilt are here. They insist on seeing you."

Daniel pressed the Bluetooth earpiece, his voice hushed as he turned away from the two men.

Both men stiffened, tension coiling in their postures.

"See me? What for? Expecting a discount?" Isabella's voice was icy, devoid of warmth.

"Ms. Sinclair, they refuse to leave unless they speak with you. I can't have security remove them." Daniel shot an uncomfortable glance at Alexander and Dominic.

"Ask them what they want."

Daniel relayed the question with visible irritation.

"I'd like to invite Ms. Sinclair to dinner as a token of gratitude," Dominic said smoothly, adjusting his glasses. "I sent my mother the signed record, and she was delighted. She insisted I extend the invitation personally—she wouldn’t rest otherwise."

A smirk played on his lips as he glanced at Alexander, confident in his approach.

He knew Isabella's kindness, her soft heart. She wouldn’t refuse him.

Not when the alternative was the man who had shattered her.

Daniel turned to Alexander, who simply stated, "Business."

Dominic’s smile faltered.

After a pause, Isabella’s voice crackled through the earpiece. "Bring Mr. Kingsley to me."

Dominic froze.

A slow, triumphant smile curved Alexander’s lips—like a neglected pet finally earning its owner’s favor.

"Mr. Carter, lead the way."

Daniel scowled but turned sharply. "Follow me."

As Alexander walked away, Dominic’s expression darkened behind his glasses. Rage simmered beneath his skin, his fingers curling into fists.

She had chosen him.

The humiliation burned like a brand.

The underground parking lot was silent.

Seeing Dominic return alone, his secretary swallowed hard, opening the car door without a word.

Dominic slid into the back seat, eyes closed, jaw clenched. The air around him was thick with fury.

Isabella had chosen Alexander.

The rejection stung more than he’d ever admit.

"Where to, Mr. Vanderbilt?" the secretary ventured cautiously.

"Did I ask you to speak?"

The secretary stiffened, sweat beading on her brow.

After a long moment, Dominic’s eyes flicked open, cold and calculating.

"Find out everything about the relationship between Alexander and Evelyn Kingsley."

"Evelyn... Kingsley?"

Dominic’s glasses glinted. "Now."

The secretary nodded frantically. "Right away!"

Dominic leaned back, exhaling slowly. "Take me to The Velvet Haven."

The private club had been his foothold in New York for years.

And the woman who ran it?

She had other uses now.

A slow, dark smile curved his lips.

Alexander followed Daniel to the hotel’s kitchen entrance.

He adjusted his tie, stealing a glance at his reflection in the polished steel door.

He had commanded armies, presided over boardrooms—yet nothing had ever made him this nervous.

"Ms. Sinclair will see you now." Daniel stepped aside, disdain clear in his expression.

"Thank you."

Daniel scoffed. "Don’t. If it were up to me, you’d be on the ground."

Then he turned and left.

Alexander inhaled deeply and pushed through the door.

The kitchen was immaculate—sterile, gleaming stainless steel under bright lights.

Silence.

Only his footsteps echoed as he rounded the corner.

And there she was.

Isabella stood at the workstation, petite in her crisp white chef’s coat, hair tucked beneath a cap. A transparent mask covered her face as she meticulously sculpted dough with a pair of scissors.

She was absorbed, unaware of his presence.

Alexander’s chest tightened.

Memories surfaced—Evelyn’s words: "Sir, those pastries you loved? She made every one. Stayed in the kitchen for hours, perfecting them. You never even thanked her."

His throat constricted.

This was the first time he’d seen her like this—focused, skilled.

How much had he taken for granted?

Isabella exhaled, examining the delicate rose-shaped pastry in her hands.

"Finally done."

A soft crunch broke the silence.

Her head snapped up.

Her eyes widened.

"Alexander!" she shrieked. "What the hell are you doing?!"

He chewed slowly, meeting her glare.

Four roses had been on the tray.

Now there were three.

"Spit it out!" Her face flushed with fury.

He took another deliberate bite.

"You bastard! You don’t deserve—"

She lunged for him, but the floor was slick.

Her feet slipped.

She crashed into him.

Alexander’s back hit the counter, pain flaring, but his arms locked around her waist instinctively.

They froze.

Breath mingled through the thin masks.

Her lips hovered dangerously close to his.

His pulse roared.

Control slipped.

And for the first time in years—

He didn’t want to stop.