Chapter 351
Isabella Sinclair never imagined Alexander Kingsley would carry her back to the bedroom where she'd spent three solitary years.
"What the—"
Alexander meant to place her gently on the bed, but the fiery woman in his arms twisted like an angry kitten. His grip slipped, sending her face-first onto the mattress.
Thankfully, Isabella's nose remained intact. That fall could've ended badly.
"Your own fault for squirming," Alexander muttered, fighting a smirk at her undignified position. "I didn't plan to drop you."
"Men always make excuses," Isabella snapped, pushing up from the bed.
Alexander caught her ankle in one swift motion, pinning her beneath him. "Let go! You some kind of creep?" She kicked wildly, nearly flashing her underwear. Mortification burned through her.
Her struggles proved useless against Alexander's strength. Like challenging an Olympian to arm wrestle.
His grip tightened as his gaze traveled from her flushed cheeks to her cherry lips, down her slender neck to the delicate collarbone peeking from her blouse.
His breath hitched. Blood roared in his ears.
Suddenly, sharp pain lanced through Alexander's skull. He squeezed his eyes shut, palms pressing against his temples. "Isabella...it hurts...so much..."
"Just breathe. It'll pass."
"I'll be gentle with you. Promise."
Unfamiliar memories flooded his mind—sensual moans, tangled sheets, heated whispers. As if he'd shared an intimate night with a woman in this very room.
Impossible. He'd never been with anyone.
Seizing his distraction, Isabella drove her foot into his stomach.
"Get off!"
Though she barely used force, Alexander staggered back, catching himself against the wall.
Isabella's eyes widened. Sweat beaded on his suddenly pale forehead.
Before she could speak, Alexander rasped, "Why did you really come to see Margaret?"
"None of your business." Her gaze turned arctic.
That look pierced Alexander's heart. He gritted his teeth. "If you're here about Cassandra, pick another night. Tonight's not the time."
"Why not?" Isabella arched one perfect brow, sitting up with regal grace. Legs crossed, back straight—every inch the untouchable queen. "Oh, is it because Mr. Vanderbilt, Mrs. Lockwood, and Seraphina are here? Afraid I'll ruin your little matchmaking soirée?"
Alexander's frown deepened. "What soirée?"
"The one where you're courting, discussing marriage plans." Mischief sparkled in her eyes. "Congrattions on your uing nuptials, Mr. Kingsley."
"Shut up!" Alexander's chest constricted, vision tinged red.
Isabella continued as if he hadn't spoken, smile widening. "This time you've outdone yourself. Seraphina's younger, more beautiful, and from the prestigious Vanderbilt family. A two-for-one deal with her brother Nathaniel. Your father must be thrilled."
"You think I care about that?" Alexander's control frayed.
"Honestly? I don't care what you care about." She stood, brushing invisible lint from her dress. "Stay out of my way, and I'll stay out of yours."
She'd come tonight to confront Margaret, not get tangled with this man. Every second in this room choked her.
The walls pulsed with memories—three years of loneliness, of unreciprocated love. And worst of all, the memory of losing her virginity here to a man who still couldn't remember their shared past.
Perhaps forgetting was kinder.
Remembering only brought pain.
As she moved past him, Alexander grabbed her arm and slammed her against the wall with near-savage force.
"Are you insane?" Her vision swam from the impact.
Before her, Alexander's eyes burned crimson. Beautiful. Dangerous.
"Did we ever...you know..." His whisper scorched her ear, making her pulse stutter.
"What?" Her voice cracked.
"Nothing." He shook his head sharply.
Madness. Why ask such a question?
But those phantom memories—moans, tangled limbs—what were they? Some belated teenage fantasy at thirty?
"Enough." Isabella shoved against his chest, cheeks flaming. "You saved my life once. I don't want to hate you. But keep harassing me, and I won't hold back."
"Do you truly despise me that much?" The raw ache in his voice startled them both.
In love's cruel alchemy, even kings could become beggars.
"Alexander, do you know how much I hate this room?" Her gaze lifted to the chandelier she'd stared at through countless sleepless nights. "All I see here is heartbreak. You should be with Seraphina. In her world, you're perfect. In mine? You're just broken pieces that'll never fit back together."
She took a shuddering breath. "I wish us both happiness. In separate lives that never intersect."
"Never again." Alexander released her, pain twisting his features. "Well said, Isabella. Very well said."
He'd wanted to explain. To make her understand.
But suddenly he saw—she didn't want explanations. Didn't care about his innocence.
She wanted him gone. Forever.
The evidence Nathaniel presented, while circumstantial, was damning. Things were escalating.
Thankfully only the Kingsleys and Vanderbilts witnessed tonight's spectacle. Had this happened publicly, Seraphina's reputation would be ruined.
As her brother, Nathaniel wouldn't allow that.
Seeing tensions rise, Reginald Vanderbilt decided to retreat and investigate further. "Nathaniel, Seraphina, we're leaving."
"Going so soon, Mr. Vanderbilt?" A crystalline voice rang out. Isabella descended the staircase with effortless grace, as if Windermere Estate belonged to her. "Have you settled your granddaughter's marriage?"
Margaret's face purpled.
"Ms. Sinclair, what a...surprise." Reginald's smile didn't reach his eyes. "Since you and Mr. Kingsley have history, I'll leave you to...reminisce."
"Oh, we've nothing to reminisce about." Isabella waved a careless hand. "Consider what happened earlier temporary insanity. As his ex-wife, I've never understood what goes on in that handsome head."
Her blunt admission stunned the room.
Alexander, following behind, darkened at her words. Temporary insanity? Really?
Would he have to wait until his next life for this woman to see him clearly?
"Margaret." Isabella's voice turned glacial. "Let's talk."
"I'm tired, Ms. Sinclair. Another time."
"We have all night." Isabella positioned herself before the gathered crowd. "And since you refuse privacy, don't blame me for airing dirty laundry publicly."
Her smile turned lethal. "At Cassandra's birthday gala, when she was attacked by that viin—you were involved, weren't you, Margaret?"
Gasps filled the room. All eyes snapped to Margaret.
The departing Vanderbilts froze.
"Ms. Sinclair!" Margaret's voice shook. "Our past connection doesn't justify these baseless accusations!"
"Fine. Let me rephrase." Isabella's eyes gleamed. "The viin who attacked Cassandra—the one who nearly killed Alexander—he was an old friend of yours, wasn't he?"
An old friend?