Chapter 225

The grand hall buzzed with anticipation as guests streamed in for the upcoming auction.

Isabella Sinclair slipped away from the relentless media, retreating into the quiet sanctuary of the corridor.

"Miss Isabella!" Olivia Bennett hurried to her side, her expression tight with concern. "Are you alright?"

"Just a few persistent journalists." Isabella arched a brow, her voice cool. "What’s the worst they could do? Stir up a little drama?"

Her gaze remained steady, though a faint crease formed between her brows. "You shouldn’t be here with me. The event needs you."

"But I’m worried about you." Olivia’s voice dropped to a husky whisper. "Those reporters were clearly planted. Someone sent them to humiliate you—dragging up old mistakes like that!"

"Isn’t that expected?" Isabella crossed her arms, unbothered. "When you host a charity gala, you don’t get only applause. Besides, they weren’t wrong. My past oversights gave those gaudy peacocks the perfect opening to peck at me. I own that."

Gaudy peacocks.

The image of Arabella Sinclair and her daughter flashed in Olivia’s mind.

"One thing you said, though—I disagree." Isabella leaned against the wall, tracing idle patterns on her arm. "Those journalists weren’t sent to ruin me. They were sent to help me."

A slow, dangerous smile curved her lips. "Let Arabella have her moment. I specialize in letting my enemies think they’ve won—right before I watch them crash and burn. It’s delicious."

Olivia shivered at the dark glint in Isabella’s eyes. This woman was every bit as ruthless as Alexander Kingsley. A rose, breathtakingly beautiful—but laced with thorns and venom.

With the event demanding her attention, Olivia reluctantly returned to the hall.

Isabella had been running nonstop since dawn, surviving on nothing but a rushed breakfast. No lunch. No dinner. Not even water.

Exhausted, she collapsed onto a plush couch, kicking off her heels. Her bare feet curled against the cushions as hunger gnawed at her stomach.

So hungry.

Her eyelids fluttered shut.

Then—

The rich, decadent scent of chocolate teased her senses.

She must be hallucinating. Her nose twitched, following the aroma like a starved puppy.

"Are you just going to sniff it?"

A deep, icy voice cut through the haze.

Her heart lurched. Eyes flying open, she found herself staring into Nathaniel Kingsley’s piercing gaze.

Those eyes—always lethal, no matter the time or place.

Now, sprawled on the couch, she watched as Nathaniel knelt before her, holding out a chocolate cupcake.

Her hands, pressed against her hollow stomach, clenched.

In their three years of marriage, Nathaniel had never once bent his knee for her.

Back when she’d loved him recklessly, chasing him like a moth to flame, she had been the one crying. The one humiliated.

The memories stung. Her throat tightened, eyes burning.

Nathaniel frowned when she didn’t move. "Aren’t you hungry? It’s your favorite. Not poisoned."

"I’m not eating." Her voice cracked.

"Olivia said your stomach’s sensitive. Skipping meals hurts you."

"I said no!"

Tears spilled over as she slapped the cupcake from his hand. It hit the floor, shattered.

"Isabella!"

Nathaniel stared at the ruined dessert, then at her. Disappointment crashed over him like icy waves.

It wasn’t just the cupcake she’d destroyed.

It was his heart.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" His voice was raw. "Can’t you tell when someone’s trying to help?"

She sat up, hunger forgotten beneath the storm of emotions. "I hate when you’re nice to me for no reason. It feels like an insult."

His jaw tightened. "You’re being irrational."

"Stay away from me." She stood, wincing at the pain in her stomach but refusing to show weakness. "Is this because Vanessa left you? Don’t dump your leftover affection on me. I’m not your consolation prize."

Nathaniel’s fists clenched. Humiliation and fury darkened his eyes.

All he’d done was bring her food. And she’d twisted it into something ugly.

Isabella straightened her dress, her back rigid as she walked away.

Nathaniel picked up the crushed cupcake, watching her go. The ache in his chest was suffocating.

The Isabella who used to smile at him was gone.

Their failed marriage had scarred her too deeply. Now, even his smallest kindness made her recoil—like a soldier flinching from phantom gunfire.

His lips trembled as he crushed the dessert in his palm.

Some wounds never healed.

Some mistakes couldn’t be undone.

Back in the hall, the auction hadn’t yet begun.

As icons of fashion and entertainment, Seraphina Lockwood and Charlotte Dubois drew swarms of media. Arabella chatted with socialites, while Arabella’s daughter and Victoria Sterling schemed separately.

Arabella’s daughter aimed to snag a photo with Charlotte, then milk more interviews. After all, she had secured the collaboration—she wanted the world to know.

Victoria, meanwhile, hoped to pose with Seraphina, believing it would boost her fashion credibility.

"Miss Charlotte! You’re wearing the necklace I gifted you!" Arabella’s daughter gushed, seizing her chance. "You must love it!"

Cameras flashed as Charlotte forced a smile. "Of course. It’s a Maison de Valois piece."

She might despise the girl’s tacky demeanor, but with the Vanderbilt Group sponsoring her wedding, she couldn’t afford to snub her. So she draped an arm around her waist for the photo.

Arabella’s daughter nearly vibrated with glee.

"Miss Charlotte!" A reporter called. "Will you be bidding tonight or donating?"

Charlotte’s smile turned genuine. "I’m donating a very special piece of jewelry."

"Ooh! Can you give us a hint?"

"Patience." She winked. "You’ll see."

Nearby, Victoria mustered her courage and approached Seraphina.

"Ms. Lockwood! Wait, please!"

Seraphina paused, glancing over her sunglasses at the girl in the ill-fitting haute couture dress.

No recognition. Just another clueless socialite with more money than taste.

"Ms. Lockwood, I’ve adored Vogue Paris since I was little!" Victoria gushed, cheeks pink. "I’m your biggest fan!"

"Since childhood?" Seraphina’s tone was dry. "How old do you think I am?"

"N-no! I didn’t mean—!"

But Seraphina was already walking away.

Victoria’s face paled.

Then—

"Mr. Kingsley! There you are!"

Seraphina’s entire demeanor shifted as she spotted Isabella, striding forward with a radiant smile.

As if they were lifelong friends.