Chapter 242

The crimson curve of Isabella's lips remained cold, her piercing gaze unbothered—if anything, slightly impatient.

Edith, on the receiving end of that indifference, seethed. Every fiber of her being trembled with barely contained fury.

Nathaniel's blatant favoritism toward his ex-wife was a brutal execution of her pride.

Why?

Why would he choose a woman he'd discarded over her—someone beautiful, intelligent, and from an impeccable family?

And yet, Isabella had men orbiting her constantly. First, there was Jareth, her current lover. Then that unassuming pretty boy, Avery. How many others had there been? Didn’t Nathaniel find that repulsive?

"I heard Mr. Jareth brought you here to apologize to me," Isabella began, her voice glacial. "That’s the only reason I made time for this meeting. You should know—I’m not just Isabella Sinclair anymore. I’m Alea, the world-renowned jewelry designer. People beg for an audience with me. I don’t waste my time on trivial matters or insignificant people."

She flicked her raven hair over one shoulder, crossing her arms as she lounged elegantly on the sofa. "Had I known you’d be here, I wouldn’t have bothered."

Nathaniel’s jaw tightened. "Why?" His voice was rough, his chest constricting. "Would you rather see Jareth than me?"

Jareth’s eyebrow twitched. He muttered under his breath about Nathaniel’s audacity. He knew damn well he ranked higher in Isabella’s life than Nathaniel ever would.

"There are only two reasons I meet people—business or personal."

Isabella held up two slender fingers, waving them dismissively in Nathaniel’s direction. "With you, Nathaniel, there’s neither. Why should I entertain someone who means less than a stranger?"

Less than a stranger.

Nathaniel’s expression darkened, a burning ache spreading from his throat to his chest.

Jareth smirked. At least she acknowledged his existence.

"Mr. Jareth," Isabella drawled, crossing her long legs, the red stiletto dangling provocatively. "If you have something to say, say it. I have a meeting soon and no patience for wasted time."

She was like a goddess from myth—regal, untouchable, devastating.

Nathaniel’s gaze involuntarily dropped to the sliver of pale ankle peeking from beneath her trousers. His throat went dry.

This was the woman he’d been foolish enough to let go.

Now, she radiated power. Every strand of her hair, every inch of her skin—flawless.

Edith, meanwhile, played the victim perfectly—her face ghostly pale, lips trembling as if she’d been wronged.

"Isabella—no, President Sinclair," Jareth corrected swiftly, noting the shift in her expression. "We came to apologize. The necklace Glynnis gave to Ada at the auction was a replica my sister sourced from Aetheria."

He watched Isabella carefully, gauging her reaction.

"Oh, I knew that ages ago," she replied, unfazed.

The Fairhaven siblings stiffened.

Nathaniel merely frowned. Of course she’d known. The current Isabella Sinclair had eyes everywhere. Edith’s schemes were child’s play compared to her.

"When did you find out?" Edith demanded, unable to mask her shock.

Isabella smirked. "The day you went to Tyler and paid him a fortune to replicate my design."

Edith’s composure shattered. "What?!"

"Ms. Edith," Isabella tilted her chin up, "you assumed Tyler, as my former apprentice, would betray me for money. That’s where you miscalculated. Just because exes can’t be friends doesn’t mean mentors and protégés can’t."

Nathaniel inhaled sharply.

That stung.

"Tyler may be from Aetheria, but he understands loyalty. He’d never sell me out for petty cash."

Her lips curled into a cold smile. "So from the start, your plan was doomed. You judged others by your own pathetic standards."

The contrast between them was stark—one noble, the other petty.

Nathaniel’s lips twitched, his gaze steady.

Jareth, however, struggled to keep his expression neutral. He’d braced himself for Isabella’s sharp tongue—but damn, it cut deep.

"Isabella! You’re vile!"

Edith pointed accusingly, her voice shrill. "You knew everything and played dumb! You orchestrated Glynnis’s downfall at the auction just to humiliate her! Are you going to destroy anyone who crosses you?"

Tears streamed down her face, as if she were the wronged party.

"Or what?" Isabella rolled her eyes. "Should I keep them around for Christmas dinner?"

Edith choked on her fury.

This woman had no fear. Not of Nathaniel, not of Jareth—no man could intimidate her.

"Ms. Edith," Nathaniel’s voice was steel, "you’re here to apologize, not accuse. Is admitting fault so difficult?"

He met Isabella’s gaze, unwavering. "President Sinclair, even if you don’t punish Glynnis and Edith, I will. The outcome remains the same. Any objections?"

Isabella studied him, a flicker of surprise in her eyes.

So he wasn’t shielding Edith after all.

Not that it mattered.

"Nathaniel!" Edith sobbed, heartbroken and furious.

But the man before her wasn’t the gentle brother who’d once walked her through gardens with a smile.

He was bewitched. Lost to reason.

"Are we done here?" Isabella stood, impatient.

"Edith, apologize. Now," Jareth urged.

"I’m sorry," she gritted out.

"Louder." Isabella arched a brow.

"I’M SORRY!"

Jareth pressed a firm hand to Edith’s back, forcing her into a bow. Humiliation burned through her.

She’d make Isabella pay.

"Jason," Isabella called.

"Yes, Miss Sinclair."

"Mr. Jareth mentioned compensating for Edith’s misconduct. Calculate the damages—copyright infringement, emotional distress, everything. Then let him review the total." She strode toward the door. "Every cent will go to the Elmsworth Foundation. I won’t keep a penny."

Jareth’s smile turned bitter.

Isabella was ethereal—but as untouchable as a winter storm.

Later, in her office, Jason presented Jareth with an astronomical sum.

The price of crossing Alea.

Jareth sighed. It wasn’t the money—it was the blow to his dignity.

He’d genuinely cared for Isabella. Even if romance was impossible, he’d hoped for friendship.

Now, even that seemed out of reach.

Outside, Edith sobbed like a martyr.

"The victim isn’t crying. What right does the culprit have?" Jareth snapped, striding ahead.

"Jareth! She extorted a billion from you! Why not just rob a bank?"

"She’s being merciful," he said coldly. "If not for today’s apology, you’d be humiliated at a press conference."

Edith paled.

"Go home. Reflect. Don’t leave without my permission."

He got into his car, ignoring her screams.

As the vehicle disappeared, Edith collapsed, weeping.

Then—her phone rang.

A private number.

"Who is this?" she hissed.

A distorted male voice replied, "Ms. Edith. Today must have been painful. The man you love won’t even look at you."

Her breath hitched.

"What if I said I could help you win him?"

Her pulse raced.

Who was watching her?

And—more importantly—could she trust him?

Meanwhile, Jason returned to Isabella’s side, mission accomplished.