Chapter 210

Isabella Sinclair stepped out of the shower, her damp hair cascading down her back as she wrapped herself in a cashmere coat.

She grabbed her keys and stormed out of the hotel, her heels clicking sharply against the marble floor.

Something compelled her to do the unexpected—she dialed her ex-husband, Alexander Kingsley.

Her Bugatti roared to life as she sped toward her destination.

Meanwhile, Alexander was miles away in WillowBrook City, overseeing the construction of a new luxury spa resort for the Sinclair Group.

Dressed in a hard hat alongside his assistant, Preston Walsh, he was reviewing blueprints under the harsh glow of a floodlight when his phone buzzed.

Annoyed, he pulled it out—only for his breath to catch.

Isabella's name flashed on the screen like a forbidden jewel.

His fingers trembled slightly as he fumbled to answer.

"Mr. Kingsley! It's Mrs. Sinclair!" Preston whispered excitedly.

"I can see that," Alexander muttered, his pulse racing.

But his cold-numbed fingers betrayed him—he accidentally ended the call.

"Sir! You just hung up on her!" Preston gasped.

Alexander cursed under his breath, panic rising.

Then, mercifully, she called back.

This time, he answered.

"Finally decided to pick up?" Isabella's voice was smooth but laced with venom.

"You called. Of course I answered." His tone was sincere, though strained.

"Spare me the act, Alexander. Three years of marriage taught me exactly who you are. This isn't the first time you've dismissed me."

His brow furrowed. "I've never hung up on you."

"Save it. I didn't call to rehash the past." Her voice turned icy. "I need you to clean up Nathaniel's mess."

"Nathaniel? What did he do?" Alexander's expression darkened.

"Upset me? He's practically haunting the cemetery now! This is about Seraphina!"

Isabella's voice crackled with fury. "He got her drunk, dragged her to my hotel, and Jason caught the whole thing!"

Alexander stiffened. "Nathaniel wouldn't—"

"Anyone who associates with you can't possibly have morals," she snapped.

"Isabella—"

"I'm heading there now. Pray that bastard still has a shred of decency left, or I'll make sure he never fathers another heir in Windhelm!"

Her rage was palpable. "I'm keeping this quiet for Seraphina's sake. Get here, take her home, and don't involve anyone else!"

Then she hung up, leaving him staring at the darkened screen.

A bitter memory surfaced—how she used to call him for no reason during their marriage.

He'd never minded. But he'd been distant.

Had he really hung up on her before?

"Something's wrong with Seraphina. I need to return to Elmsworth," Alexander said, already moving.

"Now?" Preston checked his watch. "It's a two-hour drive with the highway construction! We won't make it in time. Shouldn't we inform her mother?"

"Isabella's already handling it. But I need to be there."

Alexander's gaze sharpened. "There's a helicopter at the Sinclair Group's WillowBrook branch, isn't there?"

"Yes, but it's midnight. Where will we find a pilot?"

Alexander's lips thinned. "I'll fly it."

Back in Elmsworth, the clock neared midnight.

The screech of tires echoed as Isabella's Bugatti executed a perfect drift into the hotel parking lot.

Jason exhaled in relief.

Stepping out, Isabella radiated lethal energy, her damp hair still clinging to her neck.

"Which room?"

"Top floor. Presidential suite." Jason hesitated. "They just entered. No other guests are nearby."

"Good."

Minutes later, Isabella stormed down the hallway, her stilettos striking like gunshots.

Jason swiped the master key.

The door flew open with a crash.

"Nathaniel! Face me!" Her voice shook the walls.

Then he appeared—dripping wet, a towel barely clinging to his hips.

Jason's eyes widened in alarm.

"Isabella?" Nathaniel's smirk was infuriating. "If I'd known you were coming, I'd have dressed better."

His gaze raked over her. "Though I do look good like this, don't I?"

Isabella didn't answer.

She crossed the distance in three strides—

Slap!

Slap!

Slap!

Three brutal strikes echoed through the suite.

Nathaniel staggered, his face burning. "You—you actually hit me!"

"Do I need an appointment?" She flexed her stinging palm. "I warned you. Seraphina is my sister. There are countless women for you to toy with—why her? Because corrupting your best friend's sister excites you?"

"No! Let me explain—"

"You're vile."

The word cut deeper than any blow. Nathaniel's eyes reddened.

"What did you do to Seraphina?"

A cold voice sliced through the tension.

Alexander stood in the doorway, dust coating his clothes.

Isabella frowned. Had he been digging ditches?

"Alex! She hit me!" Nathaniel whined. "And called me vile!"

Alexander's gaze locked onto Isabella, still seething.

"I can't control her," he said quietly. "I never could."