Chapter 193
Alexander’s eyes narrowed sharply. “Isabella, you let another man into your room, but you refuse me? Have you forgotten we’re still engaged?”
“Engaged?” Isabella let out a cold, mocking laugh. Her gaze was sharp and dismissive. “Did that thought ever cross your mind while you were wrapped up with Victoria? What gives you the right to question me now?”
“So you are jealous after all,” Alexander said, a smug, arrogant smirk spreading across his face. He was convinced she was still hung up on him—this was all just an act, a game to get back at him.
The sheer audacity made her stomach turn. How could one man be so utterly delusional? It was nauseating.
Before she could even form a retort, he pressed on. “Isabella, I’m here to make things right. I’ve ended it with Victoria. She’s gone to the countryside to reflect. Nothing stands between us anymore.”
He took a step closer, his tone dripping with false sincerity. “I’m even willing to overlook what happened five years ago. That’s more than any other man would offer. Think carefully—no one else would marry a woman with your… history.”
Isabella’s mind raced. Victoria, in the countryside? That didn’t sound like her. Something was off.
When she stayed silent, Alexander mistook it for consideration. “You always accused me of wanting your fortune. That was five years ago. I’ve built my own empire since then. Why would I need yours now?”
He leaned in, voice softening manipulatively. “And think about Nathaniel Blackwood. Do you really believe he’d accept your past? He’s toying with you. A woman needs stability—a family. I can give you that.”
Isabella’s expression darkened. “You truly want to get back together? You’re sure you want to marry me?”
“I give you my word.” His reply was smooth, practiced. He wasn’t lying—not entirely. Marrying her meant securing her assets. And she was still breathtakingly beautiful. Virgin or not, she’d serve her purpose.
Victoria would understand. She’d help him secure everything.
Isabella saw right through him. But she had her own game to play. “Prove your sincerity. Pursue me properly for one month. Then I’ll marry you.”
“Pursue you?” His face tightened with irritation.
“Yes. Or did you expect me to say yes immediately? Do I need to teach you how to court a woman?” Her tone was ice.
“Of course not,” he replied quickly. One month was nothing. After that, she’d be his—assets and all.
“I’ll do it. Will you at least accept lunch with me today?”
She took the lunch bag and feigned a yawn. “I’m tired. I need to rest. You should go—start planning. And don’t forget to tweet about courting me. Publicly.”
She shut the door before he could protest.
Alexander stood there, seething. A public tweet? She wanted the whole world to know? Humiliating. But he had no choice now.
He pulled out his phone, found her profile, and sent a direct message: [You promise to marry me after one month?]
[Yes.]
One word. Clear and final.
He screenshotted it, swallowing his pride, and left the hotel. As he walked, he texted his assistant: [Draft a romantic tweet. Mention Isabella Montgomery.]
No way was he wasting time crafting some lovesick post. Let his staff handle the embarrassing details.
Later that day, Alexander’s Twitter updated: [After all this time, it’s always been you. Isabella Montgomery.]