Chapter 405

The chapel was filled only with members of the Sinclair family today.

Alexander stood composed beside Isabella, his demeanor unshaken despite being the sole outsider present. If anything, this was the moment he needed to be her unwavering pillar of strength.

He wanted Isabella to feel completely secure, to know she could rely on him without reservation.

Behind them, Daniel trailed nervously, sweating under the intense gazes of all five Sinclair brothers. Note to self: never marry into a family with so many protective older brothers.

"Isabella!" The brothers rushed forward, surrounding their sister.

Their expressions toward Alexander were noticeably less hostile than before—progress from the cold shoulders they'd once given him.

"Thank you for everything these past few days," Isabella said softly before turning to Natalie, who was pushing Sebastian in his wheelchair. "And thank you, Natalie, for taking such good care of Sebastian."

"We're family," Natalie replied warmly, touched by Isabella's gratitude.

"Sebastian," Isabella took his hand in her left and Natalie's in her right, linking them together firmly, "get well soon and treat my sister right. From now on, the person you protect with your life should be Natalie."

Tears glistened in Sebastian's eyes as he looked past Isabella to the towering figure of Alexander behind her.

Yes. It was time to step back.

His girl had found someone far stronger to shield her now.

Alexander watched Isabella's slender yet resilient frame, his heart swelling. He ached to pull her close and declare to the world—she needed no one else.

The ceremony began.

Then Oliver burst in, face grim. "Isabella! Reporters just swarmed the gates. Someone leaked the memorial details!"

"What?" Isabella's eyes flashed. "Oliver, you're meticulous. No family member would've done this!"

"Our security says the guards outside are from Vanderbilt Industries." Oliver's gaze flicked meaningfully to Alexander.

"Not me," Alexander stated coldly.

"I know." Isabella raised a silencing hand. "If I doubted you, you wouldn't be here."

Alexander's chest tightened at her trust.

"Only Eloise and Giselle benefit from this. They know exactly how Emily died. They've been waiting for this moment—another chance to perform for the cameras and rehabilitate their image. But crashing a Sinclair memorial? They're digging their own graves."

Her commanding presence silenced all objections. Even Alexander and Oliver felt a chill.

"Ms. Isabella." Emily's grandmother trembled behind her. "Is something wrong?"

Isabella spun around, her anger melting into tenderness as she rushed to comfort the elderly woman. "Don't worry, Grandma. We're all here for you. Nothing will disturb Emily's peace."

Outside the chapel, reporters jostled for shots of the memorial—this was headline gold! Vanderbilts and Sinclairs together at a maid's funeral? The implications were explosive!

Just as Isabella predicted.

Eloise and Giselle had orchestrated this media circus.

Inside a black limo, Eloise dabbed pale powder on her cheeks, perfecting her grieving widow look. "Mother, must we really attend?" Giselle fretted, eyeing the chapel windows. "We always lose against Isabella. And with Emily freshly dead—shouldn't we lay low?"

"Lay low? It's too late for that," Eloise snapped her compact shut, her ghostly pallor accentuating her venomous glare. "If Isabella had proof, she'd have struck already. No evidence means she can't touch us."

Giselle nodded. Isabella's ruthless efficiency was legendary—if she'd had ammunition, the Vanderbilts would already be in ruins.

"Besides," Eloise smoothed her dress, "as Emily's employer, skipping her funeral makes me look heartless. This is our chance to win public sympathy." She eyed the envelope in Giselle's hands. "The compensation money?"

"Ready. But must we give so much?"

"Darling, it's pocket change to keep that secret buried."

Stepping out, they transformed into grieving saints, tears materializing on cue for the cameras.

"Eloise! Was the victim really your personal maid?" a reporter shoved a mic forward.

"Yes," Eloise dabbed her eyes with a lace handkerchief. "Emily was such a kind soul. Worked tirelessly for our family."

"Though she attended Giselle, I treated her like a sister," Giselle sniffled dramatically, subtly throwing Margaret under the bus.

The reporters ate it up. "Ms. Giselle, your compassion despite your status is remarkable!"

"As her employer, attending is my duty," Eloise proclaimed to the flashing cameras.

"And how will you handle this tragedy?"

"We accept partial responsibility for not safeguarding our staff better. This compensation is but a token of our remorse. May she rest peacefully."

The media's approval was palpable—their Vanderbilt redemption arc was working.

Then the chapel doors swung open.

All color drained from Eloise and Giselle's faces.

The Sinclair siblings stood like a thunderstorm given human form, with Isabella and Alexander at the forefront—their identical crimson gazes burning with murderous intent.

Giselle whimpered, suddenly finding it hard to breathe under Isabella's piercing glare.

"Ms. Isabella," Eloise forced composure, "the deceased deserves respect. Whatever our past, we're here only to pay respects."

Isabella took one step forward.

The Sinclair army advanced in unison, forcing the Vanderbilts back. Even the reporters recoiled—nobody crossed the Sinclairs lightly.

The brothers formed an impenetrable shield behind Isabella. Hidden in shadows, Oliver's hand twitched toward his concealed weapon—one wrong move, and the Vanderbilts would drop where they stood.

"Everyone may mourn Emily," Isabella's voice dripped venom. "Except you two."

"Why not?" Giselle squeaked.

"Because you're unworthy."

Gasps rippled through the crowd.

"Isabella! You can't—"

"Did I stutter?" Isabella tilted her head, a predator toying with prey. "Your presence here desecrates her memory."

Eloise's nails dug into her palms. "We came in good faith. Must you politicize a funeral? It disrespects the dead and embarrasses both families."

Isabella laughed coldly. "The only ones disturbing Emily's peace are you. Standing here, you stain her vision. Eloise. Giselle." Her voice dropped to a lethal whisper. "You know what you did to Emily. Do you truly believe you'll escape retribution?"

The room erupted in shocked murmurs. Cameras clicked furiously—was Isabella implying the Vanderbilts killed their maid?

Alexander's arm slid around Isabella's waist, feeling her tremble with rage. He squeezed gently, wordlessly promising: I'm here. Burn them to the ground.

Eloise and Giselle's masks cracked, panic twisting their features. Their media allies suddenly felt like vipers turning in their hands.

"Isabella!" Eloise's voice shook. "Are you accusing us of murder?"

"Did I say that?" Isabella feigned innocence. "I merely mentioned karma, and you jumped to conclusions. Guilty conscience?"

The reporters' lenses zoomed in on the Vanderbilts' ashen faces.

"You—" Giselle spluttered, "You're slandering us! We'll sue!"

"Stating facts isn't slander." Isabella's smile was glacial. "I know your crimes intimately—because I lived with the Vanderbilts for three years as Alexander's wife."

The bombshell detonated in silence.

Reporters froze. Eloise and Giselle gaped. Even Alexander and the Sinclair brothers stiffened in shock.

"Isabella—" Alexander began.

She cut him off. "No one knows your evil better than I do. Because I was there. As part of your family."