Chapter 1018
No.1
“Fine. You can stay. Make dinner. Three dishes, one soup. Keep it simple. And healthy,” Isabella commanded. With no meal delivery scheduled, a personal chef wasn’t unwelcome.
He had offered, after all.
Nathaniel seemed momentarily taken aback by her specific instructions. Nevertheless, he removed his jacket, rolled up his sleeves, and carried the groceries to the kitchen. His physique was noticeable beneath his crisp shirt—toned and commanding. Isabella found her eyes drifting toward him, her pulse quickening unexpectedly.
Strange. She’d encountered countless attractive men. Why did Nathaniel affect her so strongly?
“Mommy, I’m tired. Will you read to me?” Oliver asked softly.
Isabella shook off her distraction. “Of course. Close your eyes.” She lifted him, carried him to the bedroom, and settled beside him.
Oliver curled against her, his head resting on her arm. Isabella began, her voice uncharacteristically gentle. “Once, there was a lone wolf…”
She didn’t recognize her own soothing tone. Her expression softened with affection. She expected a long story, but Oliver was asleep within moments. His breathing evened, his small hands stilled.
Asleep so quickly?
No.2
She lightly brushed his cheek. When he didn’t stir, she carefully slid her arm free. She tucked the blanket around him, adjusted the thermostat to a comfortable level, and quietly left the room.
In the kitchen, Nathaniel stood frowning at the array of ingredients.
“Need assistance?” A playful voice came from the doorway.
Nathaniel turned. Isabella leaned against the frame, arms crossed, an amused smirk on her lips.
He remained composed. “Simply deciding on the cooking method.”
She laughed lightly, stepping forward. She took his wrist, guiding him aside.
“Alright, out. Wait for me. Don’t wreck my kitchen.” Her eyes sparkled with teasing.
His inability to cook was no surprise. Why would a man of his stature know his way around a kitchen?
Isabella washed the vegetables, then began chopping spices with practiced ease.
No.3
A slight smile touched Nathaniel’s lips as he watched her focused movements. She handled the knife skillfully, one hand steadying the chili, the other slicing precisely.
Dressed in fitted black attire, her figure was striking. She moved with the confidence of a warrior, though she was merely preparing a meal.
Everything she did radiated boldness and self-assurance. Nathaniel observed, captivated. Soon, prawns turned vibrant red in the sizzling wok. She plated them and carried the dish out.
Passing him, she paused. “Why are you just standing there? Get the utensils.”
No one spoke to him so bluntly. Yet, from her, it felt natural. He retrieved cutlery and followed her.
Isabella sat at the sleek dining table. She picked up a prawn and ate with unpretentious relish. Her manner was unrestrained yet not uncouth.
Though unaccustomed to late meals, Nathaniel joined her, drawn by her evident enjoyment.
The food was excellent. She continually amazed him. After a while, he set down his fork.
“The situation with Harrison Winslow… How are you managing it?”
No.4
“A minor issue. It will resolve itself,” she replied casually, snapping a photo of her meal.
Assuming she was downplaying her stress, he approached differently. “I can assist.”
“Oh? How?”
He was direct. “Marry me.”
Marry him?
“I’ve already given my answer,” she stated calmly.
Nathaniel’s brow furrowed slightly, but he persisted. “Isabella, as my wife, no one would believe you’d disrupt Harrison Winslow’s life.”
The Winslow wealth was significant but confined to diamonds. The Blackwood empire spanned technology and medical research. Their influence dwarfed the Winslows.
Marriage to him would silence all rumors.
No.5
A smirk played on her lips. She reached out, lightly touching his chin.
Her slender finger lifted his chin with deliberate grace.
“Nathaniel,” she murmured, her voice a low challenge. “Do I strike you as the type to trade my body for solutions?”
His brow furrowed. Trading her body? Marriage to him was the ultimate fantasy for countless women. How could she frame it as some sordid transaction? Her fingertip felt cool against his skin, carrying a faint, intoxicating scent.
A slow smile touched his lips. “If Miss Montgomery insists on conducting business that way first,” he countered, “I wouldn’t object.” His large hand closed over hers, small and delicate in his grasp. A jolt, sharp and electric, shot through them both, freezing them in place.
Isabella recovered first, snatching her hand back. “In your dreams,” she scoffed, brushing off her fingers. “A body like mine is far beyond your means.” She turned from the table, her posture radiating unyielding pride as she walked away.
Nathaniel’s frown deepened, but he let the matter drop.
She retreated to Oliver’s room; the boy would be sleeping in her bed tonight.
Sleep, however, eluded her. Lying in the dark, she switched her phone to silent and opened Twitter. A torrent of criticism flooded her screen. Her response was swift and cutting.
No.6
[Is this truly the best you can manage? It’s not even worthy of being my garnish.]
She attached the photo of the vibrant, perfectly cooked prawns from earlier.
Her fans had been waiting. They expected her to be hiding, weeping in some corner. Instead, she was living her life, even cooking a luxurious meal. The audacity! The sheer nerve of the woman!
Her inner circle saw the post immediately.
Maxwell and his team rallied in the comments.
[Boss Montgomery’s courage is unmatched!]
[Fools should verify their facts before spewing nonsense.]
[Boss, I stand with you! Can I get priority on the next batch?]
Strange replies peppered the comments, but they were quickly buried under the avalanche of new messages every minute.
No.7
Sophia nearly hurled her phone across the room. She had been certain Isabella was drowning in shame. Yet here she was, bold and unbroken. That infuriating spirit remained intact. Unacceptable. She needed a plan to crush her completely, utterly.
Her phone rang. “Sophia! Incredible news!” Lillian’s excited voice burst through. “A confidential source confirms Diamond Prince arrived in Westchester today. He’s staying at The Ritz-Carlton. Presidential Suite, room 8801.”
“Are you certain?” Sophia demanded, skepticism warring with hope.
“One hundred percent. The source is impeccable. I verified it myself.”
“Perfect. Arrange everything. Tonight.”
The thought sent a thrill through her. She selected a new dress and rushed to The Ritz-Carlton.
At The Ritz-Carlton, Presidential Suite 8801…
A strikingly handsome man, every bit the prince, watched the evening news. His doorbell chimed.