Chapter 172

Isabella sent her final terms to Julian Hawthorne. (Amor Group deal is confirmed.)

Julian immediately executed the arrangements upon her acceptance.

She stepped back inside from the balcony. The matter was settled.

Her eyes fell on Christopher. The boy sat staring blankly at his open textbook.

He seemed deeply troubled.

She moved closer to him. Her voice was soft. "What's wrong, sweetheart? Do you need help?"

He looked up, his small face creased with worry. "It's my assignment. I have to write about 'family'. About Daddy, Mommy, Grandpa, and Grandma." He sighed. "I have Mommy. But I don't have a grandpa or a grandma."

Isabella was taken aback. "That can't be right, Christopher. You have wonderful grandparents. Mommy remembers them."

She knew Nathaniel's father came from a long line of renowned physicians. A man decorated with countless medical awards. His mother was born into an elite perfumery dynasty. Her family's signature fragrance once sold for a staggering nine figures.

"They don't love me, though," Christopher mumbled, his voice barely a whisper. It was filled with a sadness that shouldn't belong to a child.

This was new. Isabella had never heard him speak like this before. Her brow furrowed.

"Listen to me," she said firmly, kneeling to his level. "Everyone loves you. You are a wonderful, lovely boy. You know that, right?"

Any trace of happiness vanished from his face. "Grandpa and Grandma don't like me. They said my mommy was a bad woman. So they think I'm bad, too." His lower lip trembled. "They called me a jinx. They said I won't live past eight years old."

Her heart shattered into a million pieces. She quickly gathered him into her arms, holding him tight.

"You are the sweetest, most amazing boy in the entire world," she whispered fiercely into his hair. "If they can't see that, then that is their loss. Their problem. Not yours. You are going to get better. I promise you. God loves you just as much as I do. He will let you live to be a hundred. We don't listen to cruel words from others, understand?"

He looked up at her, his big eyes wide and hopeful. "Really? I'm not a jinx?"

"Of course not," she assured him, stroking his cheek. "You are the best. Promise me you will never be sad because of what other people say. You live for yourself. Remember that. One day, when you are strong and powerful, they will regret ever saying those things."

"Yes, Mommy! I promise!" he chirped, his usual cheerfulness flooding back. A bright, adorable smile spread across his face.

"That's my boy. Now, finish your homework. You can write all about Daddy and Mommy. For the part about Grandpa and Grandma... just write a little. It's okay."

"Okay, Mom!" He wriggled out of her embrace and scampered back to the table, pencil in hand.

Her heart ached as she watched him.

He was only five. Yet he was diligently tackling fourth-grade work during his summer break. She had assumed all Blackwood children were born with silver spoons.

She never imagined Christopher, a Blackwood, would lack a mother's love. Let alone face such cruelty from his own grandparents.

The more she thought about it, the heavier her heart felt.

'It must be because of his condition. I need to talk to Nathaniel.'

"Mommy is going to get some fruit for you. You keep working, alright?" she said, heading for the stairs.

She found Nathaniel in his study. He was focused intently on his work at the large desk. His expression was serious, his gaze sharp.

She paused, momentarily captivated. It was the first time she'd seen him emanate such a solemn, powerful aura. His beauty wasn't just in his features, but in the intense light of his concentration.

He looked up as she knocked gently on the doorframe. "Come in," he invited.