Chapter 84

The final notes of the music faded as Isabella Sinclair gracefully concluded her dance, dipping into a flawless curtsy with her partner. Though this was merely an intimate gathering among friends, her mesmerizing performance had transformed the room into a grand ballroom.

Across the room, Victoria Sterling's grip tightened around her coffee cup as she overheard the murmurs of admiration for Isabella. Memories surfaced of her own glory days - when she'd been celebrated as both a songbird and prima ballerina, her trophy case overflowing with awards. But years spent chasing wealthy men across Europe had dulled her talents, leaving only hollowed-out skills in their place.

"Alexander," Victoria purred, "don't you think Isabella's being rather...indecent? Dancing like that, dressed so provocatively in public? I'd be mortified—" Her words died as she turned to find Alexander Kingsley's seat empty.

Alexander stormed down the backstage corridor, his mind replaying Isabella's hypnotic movements against his will. His throat burned with a thirst he refused to name as emotion. This was anger, he told himself - nothing more. Justifiable fury at her constant defiance and deception.

Then he heard it.

"That woman I danced with tonight - her waist was so delicate in my hands! Like holding spun glass!" A male voice gushed from around the corner. "Most thrilling partner I've ever had!"

The words detonated in Alexander's skull.

The unsuspecting dancer barely had time to turn before Alexander's military-honed fist connected with his jaw.

"AGH—!"

The man crumpled to the floor, writhing in pain.

"Who gave you permission to touch her?" Alexander's voice dropped to arctic temperatures as he loomed over the groaning man. "Who do you think you are?"

"M-Mr. Kingsley?!" The dancer's eyes bulged in terror. "But you're engaged to Ms. Sterling! I didn't realize Ms. Sinclair was—"

Mentioning Victoria was his fatal mistake. Alexander's expression darkened further.

"Alexander! What the hell?"

He whirled to find Isabella and Camille Dubois rushing toward them, their heels clicking sharply against the marble. The dancer scrambled toward the women, blood dripping from his split lip.

"Attacking my guests at my event?" Camille jabbed an accusatory finger at Alexander. "Explain yourself!"

"I didn't care for his commentary." Alexander flexed his stinging knuckles. "Consider this an educational moment about appropriate conversation."

Isabella stared, stunned. The Alexander she knew maintained icy composure always - never brawled with random men. Had he lost his mind?

"Explain. Now." Camille rounded on the trembling dancer.

"I-I meant no offense to Ms. Sinclair! I just told a friend how wonderful it was to dance with her—" The man cradled his jaw. "Then Mr. Kingsley just...attacked me!"

"Enough." Isabella sliced her hand through the air. "Camille, take him to get medical attention."

"I'm not leaving you alone with him!" Camille hissed, eyeing Alexander like a rabid animal. "The man's clearly unhinged. Probably bipolar!"

"Noted." Isabella's gaze remained glacial. "But the mess belongs to its maker. Don't worry - he wouldn't dare lay a finger on me."

Alexander heard every whispered word. His jaw clenched.

Though visibly reluctant, Camille helped the injured dancer away, leaving suffocating silence in their wake.

Alexander's gaze raked over Isabella's crimson dress - the same one that had clung to her curves during their dance. The dancer's words echoed in his skull. Without a word, he shrugged off his suit jacket and thrust it at her.

"Put this on."

SMACK! Isabella knocked it from his hands, the fabric pooling on the floor between them. "First assault, now this? Are you deliberately trying to provoke me?"

"Isabella!" Alexander's pupils contracted violently.

"I know you prefer your women demure and docile like Victoria. Newsflash - I'm done playing the good girl. Three years of that charade was more than enough." Isabella's glare could have melted steel. "We're divorced, Alexander. What I wear, how I dance, who touches me - none of it concerns you, especially when you're engaged to another woman!"

"So now that you're free of me, you'll just throw yourself at any man?" Alexander's face paled with fury. "Must you dress like a common—"

Isabella's sudden laughter cut him off. "Oh my God. Alexander Kingsley, are you jealous?"

"Don't be absurd." His pulse hammered against his ribs.

She stepped into his space, tilting her face up to his. "If you don't want me, why do you care? Or..." Her lips curved. "Is this just possessive rage because another man appreciates what you took for granted?"

"Possessive?" Alexander recoiled.

"What else would you call this tantrum?"

Her smile vanished. "Have some dignity. Go find your fiancée. Skulking around with your ex-wife behind her back? Now that's truly disgraceful." She turned to leave, the red silk of her dress swirling around her legs.

Alexander's hand shot out, fingers clamping around her wrist hard enough to bruise. She gasped, struggling against his iron grip.

"If you have issues with me, address them directly," he growled. "Using others to get at me? Pathetic."

"Using—what?" Isabella blinked, genuinely baffled.

"Victoria came to Camille for a dress design. Instead of assistance, she got humiliation." Alexander's grip tightened. "You expect me to believe you weren't behind that? That this wasn't some petty revenge scheme?"

The accusation hung between them like a guillotine's blade.