Chapter 270
Isabella Montgomery arrived on her motorcycle, a streak of black against the city skyline. She pulled off her helmet, her gaze icy as it swept over the security team. "What are we paying you for? To stand around and look pretty? Clear this mess. Now."
"Yes, Ms. Montgomery." The guards snapped to attention, fear evident in their hurried movements as they began pushing back the screaming crowd.
Voices rose in a chaotic wave. "Isabella! How could you support a homewrecker? Have you no shame?"
"After what your own sister did to you! Don't you understand Genevieve's pain?"
"That woman destroyed a family! A child is involved! She deserves worse than death!"
Isabella ignored the vitriol. Words were a waste of time. Action was the only currency that mattered here. Most of the mob had been contained, reinforcements were on their way.
She strode into the building, her heels clicking a sharp rhythm on the marble floor. Adrian Sinclair rushed to meet her, his usual composure shattered. "Isabella, thank god. What's the plan? The rescue team's vehicle broke down. They're saying thirty minutes. She could be... it could be too late by then."
He was her older cousin, but right now, he sounded like a panicked child.
Isabella remained unnervingly calm. She moved toward the elevator. "Get me a rope. Heavy-duty gloves. Now."
"Gloves? A rope? For what? To pull her back? She's completely lost it, Isabella! She won't let anyone near!"
Adrian, normally unflappable, was fraying at the edges. This was a crisis unlike any he'd faced.
The elevator doors slid open. Isabella stepped inside, pressing the button for the ninth floor. "Have them brought to me when they're ready," she commanded, her voice leaving no room for argument.
Adrian immediately turned to carry out her orders.
On the ninth-floor lobby, Julian Hawthorne had evacuated everyone, desperate not to further upset the fragile woman on the ledge. He was trying to reason with her, but his words seemed to bounce off her. Arabella Fontaine sat perched on the concrete edge, a solitary, broken figure against the vast sky.
Isabella approached, but Julian quickly grabbed her arm. "Don't. She's not in her right mind. One wrong move... she could slip."
Isabella halted by the doorway, a frown etching her features.
If Arabella was truly the villain they painted her to be, she wouldn't be up here consumed by this kind of agony. The truth was always more complicated than the story.
Adrian arrived moments later, carrying a coiled rope and a pair of thick work gloves. "Here. Now what?" he whispered.
"Both of you. With me." Isabella took the items and turned toward the stairwell.
Julian and Adrian exchanged confused frowns. Follow her? That would leave Arabella completely unattended...
"Will staring at her make her step down?" Isabella's voice echoed slightly in the concrete stairwell as she began to climb.
They had no choice but to follow. The three of them emerged on the eleventh floor, two stories above the desperate scene.
Julian and Adrian frowned again, their confusion deepening. The eleventh floor? How in the world was this supposed to help Arabella?