Chapter 51

Isabella Sinclair had locked herself inside Starry V for three straight days.

She was obsessed with finding the perfect diamond to repair the bracelet her grandfather had given her. Sleep became a luxury—she'd collapse in her studio when exhaustion hit, grab a quick meal when she woke, then dive right back into work.

Her brothers were banished from the villa during the day, but every evening, they canceled all engagements just to return and have dinner with her.

Despite the lavish spreads they prepared, she barely touched her food, pushing pasta around her plate with a vacant stare.

Her brothers exchanged helpless glances.

They knew nothing about jewelry.

"Ms. Isabella."

She blinked, snapping out of her daze, and turned to Mr. Louis with tired eyes.

He pulled out a velvet box from behind him and slid it across the table.

"What's this?"

"Open it."

Frowning, she lifted the lid—and froze.

Her breath caught.

Inside lay a diamond bracelet, nearly identical to her grandfather's.

"This belonged to Mr. Alexander. One of his finest pieces. He intended it for the woman he loved... but never got the chance to give it to her." Mr. Louis sighed.

"Lover?" Sebastian arched a brow. "I thought Mr. Alexander never married."

"Everyone has a first love," Mr. Louis said dryly.

"Frankly, I assumed he preferred men," Oliver joked, swirling his drink. "So what happened? Cold feet?"

"They grew up together. He teased her mercilessly, never realizing his feelings until it was too late. On her wedding day, she was in a car crash. Brain dead before he could even say goodbye."

A heavy silence fell over the table.

"After that, he shut himself off. Never loved again. But that doesn’t mean he couldn’t. How many men today could love as deeply as he did?"

Isabella’s chest tightened with envy.

"Sounds like he brought it on himself," Oliver muttered.

Three pairs of eyes glared at him.

A bitter taste filled Isabella’s mouth.

If a man as cold as Mr. Alexander could love so fiercely—what did that say about Nathan?

In three years of marriage, had he ever looked at her with real passion?

Did he regret losing her now?

No.

If he did, he wouldn’t keep tearing her down. If he did, he wouldn’t side with those vipers without a second thought.

The divorce had stripped her of his name, but not his cruelty.

She scoffed inwardly, downing her drink in one burning gulp.

Comparing Nathan to Mr. Alexander was an insult.

"Ms. Isabella, take this bracelet. It’s the closest match to yours."

"I can’t. It’s his legacy—"

"His will states you’re all free to take anything of his."

Her eyes stung.

"You’ve barely slept trying to fix yours. He’d want you to have it." Mr. Louis pressed the box into her hands.

That night, the Sinclair siblings left Starry V, bidding Mr. Louis farewell.

In the back of the Rolls-Royce, Isabella slumped against Sebastian, exhausted, clutching the box like a lifeline.

"Isabella," he said hoarsely, "Nathan contacted me the night you returned to New York."

"I know." Her voice was flat.

"I told him to stay away. Wasn’t kind about it."

"Good. I’m the CEO of Phoenix Rising now. He doesn’t get to waltz back in."

"You’re the queen of this family," Sebastian murmured, brushing her hair back.

11:21 PM

"Phone." She held out her hand.

He handed it over without question. "Passcode’s your birthday."

"Obviously."

She scrolled, then blocked Nathan’s number with a decisive tap.

Sebastian chuckled. "Brutal."

"He needs to learn his place." Her voice was ice.

Meanwhile, Nathan Prescott hadn’t eaten or slept properly in days.

His ex-wife had vanished.

No calls. No texts. Nothing.

Even worse—Hamilton wouldn’t stop pestering him like a lovesick teenager.

"Sir, should we file a missing person’s report?" Gordon suggested. "Technically, you’re still married. It’s not weird for a husband to report his wife missing."

Nathan shot him a withering glare.

"Well, what else can we do? She’s off-grid. No phone, no friends, and the one person who could reach her just blocked you!"

Nathan’s eye twitched.

Last night, he’d tried calling Sebastian—only to discover he’d been blocked.

For the first time in his life, he felt powerless.

Humiliated.

He grabbed his coat.

"Get the car. We’re going to The Regal Palace."

Back in New York, Isabella threw herself into work.

Jason had been holding down the fort in her absence. Seeing her return with fire in her eyes, he finally relaxed.

The hotel’s occupancy had risen by 20%. Not groundbreaking, but progress.

She’d revamped the menus, launched a food festival—now, guests were coming just to dine. Profits were climbing.

But she wanted more.

She wanted to crush the Prescott Group’s hotels.

In love, she’d lost.

In business? She refused to lose to Nathan.

"Someone actually booked the Presidential Suite? After two years?" She glanced up from financial reports.

"Guess who?" Jason massaged her shoulders expertly.

"Not Lucas again?"

"Vanessa."

Isabella’s brows shot up. "Why would she need that much space?"

"Party with three friends. Later, two male models slipped in. They... kept busy. Thank God for soundproofing. The models left at 5 AM—probably to avoid paparazzi."

"I knew Vanessa was messy, but two men for three women? Disgusting." She wrinkled her nose. "Burn the sheets after checkout. I don’t want guests catching something."

Just then, Jason’s phone rang.

His face darkened instantly.

"What?" Isabella snapped.

"Vanessa’s causing a scene in the lobby. Accusing our staff of theft."