Chapter 857
No.1
Isabella’s mind began to churn. Wasn’t this all a little too convenient? Oliver said he was dizzy, and then Nathaniel walked in and struck him with that stick.
Amid the tangled thoughts, something clicked into place. Nathaniel’s acting was simply too convincing. He staged this whole scene with his own son… just to get into her bed? Strangely, the realization didn’t anger her. She couldn’t even muster the will to be truly upset. If this continued, things would inevitably escalate between them.
Isabella’s eyes narrowed as she reached a critical decision. She would tell him the truth. He would find out eventually, and she despised living a lie.
She carefully rehearsed the words in her head, clenching her fists tightly. “Nathaniel,” she confessed, her voice low but clear, “Don’t fall for me. Nothing can ever happen between us. Five years ago, I was… I had a baby.”
A heavy weight seemed to lift from her chest the moment the words left her lips, yet a sharp, persistent ache took its place in her heart.
She was certain this confession would shatter whatever feelings he had for her. This was the end. Their story was over before it ever truly began.
Isabella slowly closed her eyes, bracing for his reaction. She waited. And waited. But the only response was a profound, deafening silence. The room was so quiet she could hear her own heartbeat.
Frowning, she turned her head to look at him. In the silvery moonlight, his eyes were shut, his brow smooth and untroubled. His expression was peaceful, his breathing deep and even.
He was asleep. He had fallen asleep that fast?
No.2
After she had gathered every ounce of her courage to reveal her deepest secret… he was sleeping.
A wave of pure fury washed over her. He had no idea how much it had cost her to say those words, and he… he just slept!
Forget it. Maybe it was fate. They would talk tomorrow. Remembering the Celestial Gala tomorrow night, she forced herself to push down her anger and try to sleep.
Morning light filtered into the room. Isabella opened her eyes to the sight of a bare, sculpted chest. The scent was clean and distinctly masculine.
Wait. What was this?
Why was she curled into Nathaniel’s arm, her head nestled against his chest?
Where was Oliver? Hadn’t he been sleeping between them? How did this happen?
And more importantly, where was Oliver now?
She bolted upright. The other side of the bed was empty. Oliver was gone. It was just her and Nathaniel in the room. He was lying on his side, one leg draped possessively over hers.
No.3
“Nathaniel Blackwood!” she scowled, her voice sharp. “Care to explain this?”
Nathaniel’s eyes fluttered open. Sleep softened his usually intimidating features, making him look like a drowsy, powerful lion.
It took him a moment to process the situation. “Explain what?” he asked, his voice a deep, sleep-roughened rumble.
“Stop playing dumb! Explain why you’re holding me! Where is Oliver?” Her eyes were wide with accusation.
“Holding you?” He frowned, a hint of amusement in his tired gaze. “Shouldn’t I be the one asking questions, Miss Montgomery? Take a good look at your current position. Don’t you owe me an explanation?” His voice was a magnetic drawl.
Isabella’s gaze dropped to their entangled limbs. The reality of the situation hit her, and it was far worse than she initially thought.
Isabella realized she was the one who shifted positions during sleep.
Somehow she had migrated from her designated side of the bed directly into the center.
This meant Anthony hadn't moved to embrace her—she had actively curled into his arms instead.
No.4
Heat flooded her cheeks with instant mortification. This made no logical sense. Her sleeping habits were notoriously still; she never tossed or turned recklessly. How could this occur?
Nathaniel sat up gracefully, adjusting his clothes with deliberate elegance. A smirk played on his lips. "Last time was understandable since you were poisoned. This occasion requires an explanation, Ms. Montgomery."
Last time...
Dread pooled in her stomach as memories resurfaced—that night Lawrence Chamberlain drugged her. Hazy fragments flashed through her mind: lunging at Nathaniel, grinding against him, climbing atop him...
Humiliation burned through her veins. She shook off the vivid recollections sharply. "Why is a grown man complaining? You weren't the one violated here. Stop being shameless!" She slid off the mattress, ready to escape.
Nathaniel's gaze intensified, locking onto her. "That was my first embrace. I've always remained pure. Shouldn't you take responsibility?"
"Don't lie! How could you never have held a woman? Don't fabricate accusations!" She rolled her eyes while slipping on her shoes.
He caught her wrist, expression turning deadly serious. "Isabella, I never lie."
His unwavering stare made her heartbeat stutter uncontrollably.
No.5
Was that true? Had he really never lied? Was Nathaniel Blackwood genuinely untouched?
His lips curved into a faint smile. "Marry me. You won't regret it." His voice dropped to a low, determined timbre.
Disbelief swamped her. Their modern society overflowed with promiscuous men, especially wealthy ones who treated women as toys. Yet here he was, completely chaste...!
Obviously no woman would regret marrying him—he was literally one in a million. But...
Her eyes dimmed slightly as she pulled her hand free. "I don't like men who are too pure. It's childish." She fabricated an excuse and bolted from the room.
Nathaniel frowned. Childish?
Did she just call him childish? Or was she insulting his purity? Perhaps it was time to teach her a proper lesson.
Isabella fled into another room like escaping catastrophe. She splashed cold water on her face in the bathroom, Nathaniel's words echoing in her mind. She never imagined he was untouched, but this revelation made everything more complicated. She needed to clarify last night's conversation soon.
"Mommy, you're awake?" Oliver's timid voice interrupted. "Look at my painting."
No.6
She turned to see him approaching with a canvas.
The artwork depicted three figures sleeping on a bed—a man and woman cradling a small boy between them. Rendered in oils, the subjects were unmistakably themselves.
Isabella stared in shock. "Momo, you painted this?"
"Yes! Do you like it, Mommy?" Hope sparkled in his eyes.
"Of course! You're so young yet created something this impressive! You're more talented than me!" She praised warmly, ruffling his hair.
Oliver jumped joyfully. "I'm glad you like it! I got inspired early this morning. I'll ask someone to hang it beside our bed!"
Her smile faltered slightly. He wanted to display it near the bed? What if his grandparents or relatives visited? They would undoubtedly see it.
The portrait was unmistakably her.
Isabella started to speak. “Christopher, what if we don’t—”
No.7
Before she could finish, Oliver chirped, “I’ll handle it right now, Mommy! See you soon!” He dashed off on his little legs.
Isabella sighed. That boy…
It didn’t matter. No one had visited her at the estate since she moved in. Oliver mentioned his grandparents didn’t like him. They probably wouldn’t come.
She refocused. Preparations for the Celestial Gala tonight demanded attention. Though it was ten hours away, her gown required a perfect hairstyle. Matching accessories and shoes were essential. She wanted to honor Mr. Ashford’s effort.
After breakfast, Evelyn approached her with a box. “Ms. Montgomery, Mr. Blackwood assigned me to style you today.”
Isabella had avoided Nathaniel since the morning incident. His thoughtfulness surprised her.
Evelyn was Nathaniel’s top assistant. She specialized in serving elite clients, including styling. Her work was impeccable.
Isabella sat before the mirror. “Thank you.”
Evelyn began styling her hair.