Chapter 311

Isabella Sinclair walked toward the grand ballroom, a playful melody humming on her lips.

She knew Vanessa Wright was about to face a storm.

Well, let the show begin.

She knew Alexander Kingsley—or rather, she knew men like him. Superficial creatures, their pride more fragile than glass. And if anyone dared tarnish the reputation of the Sinclair family's golden boy? They'd pay dearly.

Vanessa deserved every bit of it for messing with her sister. A little humiliation was the least she should suffer.

"Isabella."

A deep, achingly familiar voice called from behind her.

Her pulse stuttered, fingers curling into fists.

No other voice in the world could unravel her like this.

Only his.

The man she had once loved beyond reason. The man who had shattered her.

Isabella inhaled sharply, steadying herself before turning, her gaze glacial.

Nathaniel Hawthorne stood a few paces away, holding an exquisitely wrapped gift box. He closed the distance between them with effortless grace, his presence commanding as always. His eyes softened the moment they landed on her.

Isabella remained impassive. "Hmm."

His lips pressed together, regret shadowing his gaze. "I meant to arrive earlier—to see if you needed help. But it seems I'm late." The man who had once carried himself like royalty now stood before her with the humility of a penitent.

"Why would we need an outsider's help for a Sinclair event?"

She scoffed, glancing around. "Where's Grandfather? Didn't he come with you?"

"He's already here. In the lounge with Chairman Reginald," Nathaniel answered gently.

"Good. I'll go see him. You can do whatever you want."

Without hesitation, she turned to leave.

"Isabella—" Nathaniel reacted instantly, his hand closing around her wrist.

"Let go!" She jerked back, cheeks flushing. "If someone sees us, it'll cause rumors!"

"There's no one here. Just us."

He exhaled sharply, pulling her closer. "I'm not wasting another chance, Isabella. Not when I can finally hold you again."

Caught off balance in her stilettos, she gasped—

And then she was pressed against the solid warmth of his chest.

Nathaniel barely had time to react, one arm securing her while the other still clutched the gift box.

"Ugh—" Isabella braced against his muscled forearm.

His breath hitched.

She was soft. Warm.

Her curves fit against him perfectly, igniting a fire he couldn't suppress.

Damn it. He was only human.

His thoughts scattered as heat flooded his veins, his grip tightening.

"Isabella," he murmured against her ear, voice rough. "You're breathtaking."

The words sent a shiver down her spine, his body radiating heat that threatened to consume her.

Her eyes flashed with fury. She shoved him away and slapped him—hard. "You disgusting pig!"

The sting barely registered.

Instead, Nathaniel felt exhilarated, drunk on her nearness.

"Even if you hit me, I won't lie. You're stunning." His gaze burned with sincerity.

Was this harassment? Or just brutal honesty?

"Shut up!" Her face burned. "Stay away from me, or I swear you'll regret it!"

"I don't care about consequences." He stepped closer, undeterred. "There's nothing I want more than you, Isabella. If you push me away, I might as well be dead."

"Then die!" She whirled around, stomping off in frustration.

She knew he was relentless. Impossible to shake.

But to take advantage of the moment and comment on her body? Unforgivable!

No wonder he and Daniel Carter were best friends. Birds of a feather!

Nathaniel watched her storm away, imagining the furious blush on her cheeks.

A slow, satisfied smile curved his lips.

"Isabella!"

Another voice—clear, powerful—rang out behind her.

Her heart lurched.

She spun around, eyes instantly welling with tears. She sprinted past Nathaniel toward the woman who had called her.

"Seraphina!"

"Isabella!"

This time, the voice cracked with emotion.

Nathaniel turned, stunned.

Who had called her?

A woman in an elegant sapphire suit stood nearby, her delicate features striking. Her makeup was flawless, her eyes sharp with intelligence.

The resemblance to Eleanor Sinclair was uncanny.

Had Isabella just called her Seraphina?

Was this the legendary sister who had married into the Lockwood family?

Isabella threw her arms around Seraphina Lockwood, her half-sister, tears of joy spilling over.

"Seraphina! When did you get back? Why didn't you tell me? I would've picked you up!"

"I just arrived tonight—barely an hour ago." Seraphina hugged her tightly, voice thick with emotion. "I didn’t want to disrupt your preparations."

"This is the best surprise!" Isabella choked out, clinging to her.

"You’ve lost weight." Seraphina cupped her face, concern flickering. "Your cheeks used to be so full. Who’s been neglecting you?"

Nathaniel’s chest tightened.

He remembered when Isabella had first married him—her face had been rounder, softer.

But over time, the light in her eyes had dimmed. Her cheeks had hollowed.

Had he done that to her?

He deserved hell.

"My brother used to tease me for being chubby. Now he can’t!" Isabella grinned, leaning into Seraphina’s shoulder. "And even if I’m thinner, I’m still gorgeous, right?"

"Of course you are." Seraphina, though only three years older, doted on her like a mother.

"Miss Seraphina."

Nathaniel approached, his expression carefully neutral.

Seraphina blinked in surprise, studying the striking man before her. "Mr. Hawthorne?"

"Just Nathaniel, please." He extended his hand, charm radiating effortlessly.

He didn’t resemble the ruthless tycoon from the rumors.

Before Seraphina could respond, Isabella yanked her back. "Don’t even think about cozying up to my sister, Nathaniel. Your tricks won’t work here."

Nathaniel withdrew his hand, lips quirking awkwardly.

"Isabella, what’s going on between you two?" Seraphina asked, baffled by her sister’s hostility.

She had no idea they’d once been married.

Isabella flushed.

"Seraphina, I’m Isabella’s husband."

Both women froze.

"Or rather," Nathaniel corrected smoothly, gaze searing into Isabella, "I intend to be again. She can have other men, but I only want her."

Seraphina inhaled sharply.

Isabella’s face burned.

The audacity!

"Mr. Hawthorne, are you pursuing my sister?" Seraphina ventured.

"With everything I have." His voice was raw with conviction.

"Seraphina! Ignore him—he’s delusional!" Isabella dragged her away.

Nathaniel watched them go, grinning like a fool.

Hopelessly in love? Absolutely.

"Did you come back alone?" Isabella asked, squeezing Seraphina’s hand. "Where’s your husband?"

"Adrian’s swamped. The election results are days away."

"He’ll win. You’ve campaigned tirelessly for him."

"Let’s hope so." Seraphina glanced back, lowering her voice. "Now tell me—what’s really going on with Nathaniel Hawthorne?"

Isabella gritted her teeth. "Oil and water. We don’t mix."

"Really? Because from what I’ve heard, he’s one of the most powerful men in the country."

Remembering his shameless advances, Isabella wanted to scream.

"Powerful? More like insufferable!"