Chapter 86

Isabella Sinclair sat curled on the sofa, pressing her fingers against her pounding temples. The muscles in her shoulders trembled from the tension radiating through her body. The migraine had started during the car ride home, but listening to their cruel words had intensified the pain tenfold.

Noble blood...lowly status...Even if she wasn't perfect, who gave them the right to judge?

"Mr. Sinclair! Is your headache back? Let me get your medication!" Olivia Bennett rushed to the cabinet, retrieving the painkillers before pouring a glass of warm water.

The pills brought slight relief, allowing some color to return to his ashen face.

"Mr. Sinclair, you can't keep relying on these. They have terrible side effects." Olivia hesitated before adding, "I remember Ms. Isabella used to massage your pressure points. It always helped. Should we...ask her to come back?"

"Olivia." Nathan's voice cracked, his bloodshot eyes lifting to meet hers. "Did they always speak about Isabella that way? They said she cooked for the Sinclair family for three years...Is that true?"

"Yes, Mr. Sinclair. I've told you before how dedicated Ms. Isabella was, but you thought it was an act. Who could keep up a charade for three years straight? If it was fake, she deserves an Oscar for that performance!"

Nathan's lips pressed into a thin, pale line.

"When Ms. Isabella first arrived, her cooking was barely edible. She begged me for lessons, even though I told her we had chefs for that. She insisted a wife should handle household duties—that since she couldn't help with your work, she wanted to contribute in other ways."

"At first, the kitchen smoke made her cough so badly she needed a mask. But she persisted. Every morning, she'd be cooking before I even woke up."

Coughing? An allergy to smoke?

Nathan suddenly found it hard to breathe, the painkillers doing nothing for the vise tightening around his chest.

Olivia exhaled sharply. "I've had enough of Victoria and her daughter. After everything Ms. Isabella sacrificed for this family, they mock her? Disgusting!"

"Mr. Sinclair, as much as I want you two to reconcile, remembering how Ms. Isabella suffered here breaks my heart. She deserves a family that appreciates her, not one that stabs her in the back with gossip."

Words could cut deeper than any blade.

Nathan felt like he'd been struck, his brows knitting together.

Days passed quietly until Mr. Hamilton's birthday approached.

With divorce papers imminent, Isabella's emotions were in turmoil. Their marriage had been a rushed registry office affair—no ceremony, no celebration.

In their wedding photo, she'd leaned toward him with radiant joy while he stood stiffly, his expression colder than a winter morning.

She'd believed time and effort could bridge the distance between them. Now she knew—love was the one thing no amount of determination could conjure.

It wasn't that Isabella hadn't tried hard enough for Nathan. Some chasms were simply too wide to cross.

"Ms. Isabella, here are the wedding plans for Amelia that the events team worked on overnight." Daniel placed the folder before her. She picked up a pen, scanning the documents with a critical eye.

"These sections need complete revisions. These designs are five years outdated. And the color scheme is wrong—Amelia detests bright tones. Use more muted Morandi palettes. Redo it." Her pen slashed across the pages.

"Understood, Ms. Isabella."

"We'll begin full preparations after Grandfather's birthday. I want everyone's A-game—no excuses for mediocrity."

"Of course! We won't let Nathan show us up!"

Isabella scoffed. "I hate losing, but this has nothing to do with Nathan. Though if he wants a competition, I'll show him what ruthless really looks like."

Her phone buzzed—Vanessa calling.

"Vanessa, what's the news?"

"Ms. Isabella! Mission accomplished!"

Isabella blinked. "Pardon?"

"I've secured the Dante Chair from your father!" Vanessa's triumphant laughter filled the line.

"Vanessa, you're incredible! I owe you for this!"

"Happy to help, as long as you're happy."

"But what if Father finds out? You'll be in trouble."

Vanessa's voice turned cavalier. "Don't sweat it. Worst case, just pick out a nice headstone for me."

Isabella rolled her eyes.

That evening, Daniel drove Isabella back to the villa. She kicked off her heels, slipping into plush velvet slippers before heading upstairs to shower.

"Ms. Isabella, shall I draw your bath?"

"No need. Just make something simple for dinner. I can manage the rest."

"What would you like?"

"Spaghetti bolognese."

Yawning, Isabella disappeared upstairs.

Daniel tidied the living room before donning an apron to cook. Just as he finished, the doorbell rang.

Only he, Isabella, Sebastian, and Nathaniel had keys. They never rang—they just walked in.

Who could it be at this hour? Who else knew Isabella lived here?

Frowning, Daniel checked the video feed—and froze.

Nathaniel Kingsley's arrogant smirk filled the screen.

"Hello? Anyone home?" He peered closer.

"Mr. Kingsley? What are you doing here?" Daniel's voice turned icy.

"Me? I followed you." Nathaniel grinned like a mischievous schoolboy.

"Since when?!"

"Since you left the hotel. Honestly, for a secretary, your situational awareness is pathetic. Didn't even notice you had a tail."

Daniel took a steadying breath. "Ms. Isabella has retired for the evening. Please leave."

"Her bedroom light's still on. I brought a gift—at least let me deliver it before kicking me out, yeah?"

"Daniel, who's there?"

Isabella emerged in a silk robe, damp hair wrapped in a towel, steam still clinging to her skin.

"It's...it's—"

She leaned toward the screen, arching a brow. "Oh. You."

"Isabella! It's me!" Nathaniel's face lit up like Christmas morning.

"What do you want?"

"I brought you something! Since I missed you today, I wanted to deliver it personally!"

"Mr. Kingsley, I've told you—I don't accept gifts. The gesture is appreciated."

"But this is a crystal sculpture by Manet of Helgen! Do you know how hard these are to acquire—"

Manet? Isabella's lips parted. She hit the door release.

Daniel massaged his temples.

Once again, Nathaniel had found the perfect bait.