Chapter 69

Isabella Sinclair grabbed her phone with trembling fingers. "What's wrong, Nathaniel?" Her voice was barely above a whisper.

"Damn it, Isabella! Why is it so hard to reach you these days?" Nathaniel Prescott's tone crackled with barely contained frustration.

Her delicate brows knitted together. "Just tell me what happened."

"Did Alexander Kingsley contact you today?"

"No. Why?"

A heavy sigh traveled through the phone line. "We got drunk last night. He said... things he shouldn't have."

Isabella's pulse stuttered.

Everyone knew Alexander's peculiar trait - when intoxicated, his words weren't empty threats. The man possessed an eidetic memory, recalling every slurred syllable with crystal clarity the next day. A terrifying skill for someone in his line of work.

"What exactly did he say?" Her grip tightened around the phone.

"That he's going to make Nathaniel Vanderbilt pay. That he won't rest until that bastard suffers ten times what he put you through." Nathaniel's voice dropped to a hushed panic. "I thought he'd listen to reason after sobering up, but he's been ignoring my calls all day. You don't think he'd actually—"

The blood drained from Isabella's face. Without another word, she spun on her heel and bolted for the church exit.

Meanwhile, at the press conference...

Gwendolyn Vanderbilt's half-hearted apology had backfired spectacularly. The live audience erupted in outrage, their fury rippling across social media platforms.

Elspeth had personally crafted the apology speech and insisted Gwendolyn appear makeup-free. But the arrogant heiress had other plans - arriving with full glamour, hoping to trend as "New York's Most Beautiful Socialite."

The gamble failed. Miserably.

[K Group's hospitality is unmatched! Employees like 'Angel Girl' deserve all the recognition!]

[Never booking Vanderbilt Hotels again!]

[Let's boycott them into bankruptcy!]

As Gwendolyn finished her disastrous statement, reporters swarmed like vultures. Microphones jabbed at her face, questions sharper than stilettos. Two bodyguards barely managed to extract her from the frenzy.

Then came the final humiliation - she missed a step, twisting her ankle with an undignified shriek. The viral clip of her being carried out like a limp doll would haunt her for years.

At that exact moment...

Nathaniel Vanderbilt and Julian Montgomery staggered out of Sapphire Nights, arms slung over each other's shoulders. The whiskey had melted their animosity into something resembling camaraderie.

Julian remained relatively sober. Nathaniel, however, was in bad shape - tie askew, pupils dilated, the sharp angles of his face flushed with alcohol.

"You good, man?" Julian steadied him.

"Never better." Nathaniel rubbed his temples. "Your bartender needs firing. That was straight gasoline."

"Christ, no wonder Isabella left you." Julian swallowed hard, suddenly aware of how dangerously attractive his rival looked in disarray.

Nathaniel shoved him away. "I'm walking myself home."

"Like hell. You'll get mugged—or worse."

"Worried someone will take advantage?" Nathaniel smirked. "Not everyone has your lack of boundaries, Julian."

With that, he stumbled toward his Maybach.

En route, his assistant Gordon updated him on the PR disaster. "Gwendolyn's antics are tanking Vanderbilt Group's stocks, sir."

"Our Vanderbilt Group?" Nathaniel's laugh was bitter. "How convenient they remember I exist when there's damage control needed."

He'd never been family to them. Not really. Only old Reginald had ever treated him as such. Tonight's fiasco? Poetic justice for using him and hurting Isabella.

His wife.

The word sent an unexpected jolt through his system. That infuriating, mercurial woman. Had her little performance with Julian been revenge? Or something crueler?

"Pull over," he growled.

Gordon obeyed, parking beside a deserted park. "Do you need—"

"Stay here." Nathaniel lurched out, desperate for air that didn't reek of betrayal.

The night breeze helped. A little.

Then his instincts screamed danger.

"Show yourself," he demanded.

"Impressive." The voice was velvet wrapped in steel.

Nathaniel turned slowly. A figure emerged from the shadows - all black, from trench coat to mask. A specter with piercing eyes that felt... familiar.

"Who the hell are you?"

"Your reckoning." The man cracked his knuckles. "You hurt someone precious to me. Tonight, I return the favor."

Nathaniel's alcohol-fogged brain struggled to place him. "Who did I supposedly hurt?"

The masked stranger advanced. "You really don't remember? How typical." His gloved hands flexed. "Maybe pain will refresh your memory."