Chapter 80
This was the darkest, most agonizing secret Isabella Sinclair had ever carried.
Two years ago, she lost her baby. For months afterward, she couldn’t walk past a children’s boutique without her chest tightening. The sound of a child’s laughter made her flinch. Even a diaper commercial could send her spiraling into grief.
She would never forget that Christmas Eve. Snow had been falling in thick, silent flakes as she drove her grandfather to the coast to admire the winter seascape. Then the accident happened. Despite the searing pain in her abdomen, she hauled her injured grandfather back into the car and sped toward the hospital.
At the time, the Prescott family was vacationing in Europe. Nathan Prescott was overseas, celebrating the holidays with Victoria Sterling.
Isabella endured the agony alone until Alexander Dubois arrived. The moment she saw him, her knees buckled.
“Mrs. Prescott! You’re—you’re bleeding!”
Through the haze of pain, she saw crimson staining her dress. The metallic scent of blood clung to her memory like a curse. Only then did she realize—she had been pregnant. Two months along.
She had lost Nathan’s child before ever knowing it existed.
“Mrs. Prescott! I’ll call Mr. Nathan immediately!”
Alexander fumbled for his phone, but Isabella’s icy fingers clamped around his wrist.
“Don’t.” Her voice cracked. “Please. He doesn’t know. It would destroy him. He’d blame me.” Tears streaked her cheeks as she begged. “Keep this secret for me. Please.”
She curled in on herself, arms wrapped around her empty stomach, choking on sorrow.
Now, in the present, she watched as Olivia Bennett, Sophia Reynolds, and Evelyn Prescott clung to her, their faces etched with horror and grief.
“This is my fault! I won’t mention it again—never again!” Olivia’s voice was thick with remorse, her attempt at comfort clumsy but earnest.
“The baby was lucky.” Isabella forced a brittle smile. “If it had lived, it would’ve grown up watching its parents tear each other apart. Better this way.”
That night, sleep eluded her. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw the blood. The tiny, lifeless form. She buried her face in the pillows, but the cold emptiness in her chest refused to fade.
In the days after the miscarriage, she had wept uncontrollably. Bullets and battlefields had never frightened her, but losing that fragile life had shattered her soul.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered into the dark. “I don’t know if I’ll ever get to hold you in this lifetime.”
By morning, she had pulled herself together. When she descended the stairs, she was every inch the poised, untouchable heiress.
“Isabella, I made breakfast. Your favorites.” Sophia adjusted her apron, studying Isabella’s bloodshot eyes with a pang of sympathy.
“Pack it to go. I’ll eat in the car.” Isabella’s smile was flawless, her pain locked away. “High-level meeting at The Chateau Royale this morning. Can’t be late.”
“Of course. I’ll pack something for Mr. Daniel too.”
“Thank you, Sophia.” Daniel Carter strode in just in time to hear his name.
Isabella left the villa with Daniel. Emeric was still asleep—she had no intention of waking him before slipping back to New York.
“Isabella, running that hotel alone is insane. If the Prescotts give you trouble, don’t take it lying down.” Evelyn’s jaw clenched as she recalled the auction where Isabella had been cornered by Victoria and her cronies. “Next time, I’ll make them regret it.”
“Damn right.” Olivia cracked her knuckles. “They’ll wish they’d never crossed you.”
Isabella laughed despite herself.
Evelyn came from a dynasty of surgeons. The Bright Group owned half the hospitals in New York and Seattle. If she wanted someone to suffer, they would.
“Actually, I need a favor.”
“Name it,” Evelyn and Olivia said in unison.
“I want the Dante Chair Emeric had you bid on at the last auction.”
They gaped at her. “You’ve got guts.”
Emeric would hand over his fortune without blinking. But his art collection? Not a chance. Especially not a Renaissance masterpiece worth millions.
“He’ll never agree. Why do you want it?” Evelyn frowned.
“If I tell you, he’ll say no for sure.”
“Leave it to me.” Olivia smirked. “If he refuses, I’ll steal it for you.”
Isabella’s laughter was genuine this time.
After returning from Seattle, Nathan Prescott spent one restless night at home before dragging himself to work.
Victoria called twice. He answered, but his mind was elsewhere. She prattled on about wedding gowns, exclusive jewelry, a fairytale venue—endless details for the wedding that would finally be announced at Hamilton’s eightieth birthday gala next weekend.
12:50 PM.
“Nathan, what do you think? My team and I have been planning this for months!” Victoria’s voice dripped with pride.
“Whatever you like.” His reply was absent as he stared at a broken gemstone bracelet in a velvet box. His thoughts were consumed by Isabella and the Ashbournes’ icy rejection.
He snapped the box shut with a sigh.
“Nathan, the designer is waiting. We need your measurements today.” Victoria’s tone turned wounded. “He flew in from Paris just for us.”
“Sorry. Work’s been chaotic.”
“It’s fine. I’ll handle everything.” Her smile was audible.
“I’ll pick you up this afternoon.”
The moment he hung up, Lawrence Bennett rushed in with a file. “Mr. Prescott, we’ve secured a meeting with Ada Ang’s agent. These are the wedding venue proposals. The Abernathy needs this.”
Nathan skimmed the documents. The scandal involving Glynnis had tanked the Abernathy Hotel’s reputation. Meanwhile, The Grand Marquis was trending globally.
He had no interest in salvaging Glynnis’s image, but as CEO, the Abernathy Group’s survival was his responsibility. Hosting Ada Ang’s wedding would be a coup—a spectacle to reclaim their prestige.
“I’ll review this with the board. It’s critical.” He closed the file.
“Sir, there’s something else.” Lawrence hesitated. “The other contender for Ada’s wedding is… the general manager of The Grand Marquis. Isabella.”
Nathan’s expression darkened.
That scheming woman again.