Chapter 7

The two coworkers beside Isabella Sinclair stole glances at Victoria Kensington before hastily retreating, pressing themselves against the elevator wall.

Victoria noticed Isabella but immediately averted her gaze. Her expression remained cold, as if Isabella didn’t exist. She stepped into the elevator, flanked by executives.

As the doors slid shut, Isabella’s colleagues exhaled in relief before resuming their hushed gossip.

"That must be Mr. Whitmore’s girlfriend, right? She’s absolutely breathtaking! Just look at her designer ensemble—must’ve cost a fortune. No surprise, coming from a wealthy family. She carries herself like royalty. Compared to us commoners, she’s in a league of her own!"

"Absolutely!"

They turned to Isabella, whispering, "What do you think, Isabella?"

Lowering her lashes, Isabella replied softly, "Yes, you’re right."

Victoria was, in truth, the illegitimate daughter of Reginald Kensington—Isabella’s biological father.

Though "illegitimate" wasn’t entirely accurate anymore.

When Isabella was eight, Reginald had refused to let Victoria and her mother suffer any longer. He’d demanded a divorce from Isabella’s mother, Evelyn Sinclair, to marry Victoria’s mother.

After the split, Isabella lived with the emotionally fragile Evelyn under the care of her grandmother, Margaret Sinclair, and her uncle, Charles Sinclair.

Over the years, Charles’ business had declined while the Kensington empire flourished.

Rumor had it that to compensate for Victoria’s difficult childhood, Reginald spared no expense in spoiling her. She wanted for nothing.

And Victoria hadn’t disappointed. She’d thrived.

The once-illegitimate Victoria had transformed into the legitimate heiress, exuding a sophistication that even surpassed Isabella’s in her prime.

Isabella had assumed this would be her only encounter with Victoria. Fate, however, had other plans.

She and Alexander Whitmore had grown up together. Yet no matter how hard she tried, he never truly saw her. From the moment he met Victoria, he was utterly smitten.

"Are you okay, Isabella?"

Her colleagues frowned at her pale complexion.

Shaking off her thoughts, Isabella murmured, "I’m fine."

She and Alexander would soon be divorced. Who he loved no longer concerned her.

That evening, Isabella worked late, wrapping up just before nine. As she finished, her phone buzzed. Her best friend, Emily Donovan, was drunk and needed a ride from The Grandeur.

Grabbing her keys, Isabella left the office.

Twenty minutes later, she arrived.

Approaching the entrance, she spotted a little girl emerging from the parking lot. The child’s profile made her freeze—Sophia!

Why was she back? She should’ve been at school in Salzburg. Had Alexander brought her home?

Though she lacked access to confidential company files, Isabella knew Alexander’s Salzburg project was ongoing. She’d assumed his return was temporary.

Seeing Sophia meant they’d been back at least a day. Yet the girl hadn’t called.

Clutching her bag, Isabella watched Sophia skip cheerfully before following silently.

As they rounded the lobby corner, Victoria appeared down the hall, flanked by Alexander’s friends. Isabella ducked behind a potted plant.

From her hiding spot, she heard Sophia squeal, "Victoria!" before launching herself into the woman’s arms.

Isabella sank onto a nearby couch, concealed by the high backrest.

"Oh! I didn’t know you were back!" Victoria exclaimed.

"Of course! Dad and I missed you!" Sophia beamed. "We came back early for your birthday! We made this for you—happy birthday!"

"You and Alexander made this? It’s incredible! Thank you!" Victoria gushed.

"I’m just glad you like it." Sophia nuzzled her affectionately. "I missed you so much! Calling every day wasn’t enough—"

"I missed you too, sweetheart."

Footsteps approached.

Isabella stiffened. She didn’t need to look—she knew that measured stride anywhere.

After nearly seven years of marriage, waiting nightly for his return, she could recognize Alexander’s footsteps blindfolded. Steady. Unhurried. Just like him.

With family, he remained composed. Unshakable. Or so she’d thought—until Victoria.

"Dad!" Sophia chirped.

Alexander’s friends greeted him. He acknowledged them briefly before murmuring to Victoria, "Happy birthday."

"Thank you," she replied.

"Dad, where’s Victoria’s other gift? Give it to her!" Sophia urged.

The group fell silent until one friend chuckled, pinching Sophia’s cheek. "That’s your dad’s private gift. He’ll give it later. Don’t interfere."

The others laughed knowingly.

Alexander said, "I already did."

"What? When?" Sophia pouted. "You saw her without me again, didn’t you?"

More laughter. Isabella recalled Victoria’s visit to Whitmore Group earlier. That must’ve been when he gave it.

Victoria blushed. "Let’s go upstairs."

As their footsteps faded, Isabella sat paralyzed, her chest burning. Forcing composure, she slipped into the elevator to retrieve Emily.

Emily’s private room happened to be on the same floor as Victoria and Alexander’s gathering.

As Isabella helped her friend into the elevator, one of Alexander’s companions—Oliver Westbrook—suddenly froze.