Chapter 476
The golden chandeliers cast a warm glow over the grand ballroom as Isabella Morgan leaned closer to Alexander Whitmore. "Tell me," she murmured, her voice laced with playful challenge, "would any man stand by and watch his fiancée dance with another man at his own birthday celebration?"
Alexander arched a brow. "Dominic Powell has a reputation for a short temper. Aren’t you worried he’ll make a scene?"
Isabella waved a dismissive hand. "That’s precisely why I need you. In all of Cresthaven, you might be the only person he wouldn’t dare cross."
The Morgan and Powell families had been bound by an engagement contract for years—signed when Isabella was barely fourteen.
Now, over a decade later, the thought of marrying Dominic repulsed her.
Truthfully, no woman in her right mind would willingly tie herself to a man with his violent history.
But the Morgans had fallen from grace long ago. With no remaining influence, Isabella stood alone against the Powells.
Her only lifeline? Alexander.
She had orchestrated this dance with one purpose—
Yet as the music faded, no enraged fiancé stormed into the ballroom.
Alexander opened his mouth to speak when his gaze snagged on a pair of figures at the far end of the corridor.
Evelyn Carter and Ethan Caldwell stood bathed in moonlight, their bodies angled toward each other. Evelyn's eyes shimmered with unshed tears while Ethan's expression warred between longing and restraint.
To any onlooker, they looked like star-crossed lovers torn apart by cruel fate.
Alexander's jaw tightened, his hands curling into fists at his sides. The air around him turned glacial.
Isabella followed his line of sight and immediately recognized Evelyn—the same woman who had nearly interrupted their meeting that morning.
Even now, standing motionless, Evelyn commanded attention effortlessly. The soft glow of the overhead lights kissed her porcelain skin, the delicate pearl earrings at her lobes enhancing her ethereal beauty.
She was elegance personified—the kind of woman who made others pale in comparison.
"Is that your nephew?" Isabella asked casually, nodding toward Ethan.
The question hung between them, heavy with unspoken implications.
Leaning forward with her elbow resting on the table, Isabella studied Evelyn with narrowed eyes. "That woman sitting across from him... Could she be his wife?"
Alexander's jaw clenched.
He snatched a champagne flute from a passing waiter and downed it in one swift motion, his stormy gaze never leaving the couple across the room.
Through gritted teeth, he bit out, "She's my wife."
Isabella had already pieced it together.
She sighed dramatically, tilting her head. "Oh dear... So your wife is seeing someone else?"
The deliberate phrasing made Alexander's expression turn glacial. With a sharp exhale, he slammed the empty glass onto the table hard enough to make nearby guests flinch.
The air around him crackled with barely restrained fury.
As he moved to storm over, Isabella caught the edge of his tailored jacket.
"Half of Cresthaven's elite is here tonight," she murmured. "If you make a scene now, won't that just prove there's truth to the rumors?"