Chapter 492

Isabella Montgomery had only known Nathaniel Blackwood for three months.

Nathaniel noticed her silence.

His usually icy composure fractured with unease.

“Don’t overthink this, Isabella.” His voice turned gravel-rough. “I’ll handle it.”

“How long?” The question sliced through the tension.

Nathaniel’s brow furrowed. A timeline? He couldn’t promise one.

“I’m not certain yet. But I’ll expedite it.” Sophia Whitmore was drugged. Confronting Vivienne Delacroix without the antidote would backfire. Vivienne would make Sophia suffer more if provoked.

Until Sebastian Blackwood and his medical team developed an antidote, the situation remained volatile. Nathaniel refused to make false promises. Especially not to Isabella.

A sharp pang pierced Isabella’s chest. His caution was unnerving. The decisive Nathaniel Blackwood was hesitating. For Sophia.

He feared for her safety. He worried the antidote might never come.

It was simple, really. Had it been anyone else, Nathaniel would have crushed Vivienne immediately. But this was Sophia Whitmore. His former lover. Chris’s biological mother. That changed everything.

His concern for the consequences shackled him. That’s why he couldn’t give her a clear answer.

Ding-dong.

The doorbell chimed again.

Both their gazes snapped toward the entrance. Was it Sophia returning? Neither moved.

The bell persisted.

Faint voices filtered through the door. “Perhaps Isabella isn’t home? Should we wait?” It was Eleanor Kensington’s voice.

Isabella released a breath she didn’t realize she was holding. “Go inside,” she instructed Nathaniel.

After that scene, introducing him to her estranged parents was impossible. Their future together now felt uncertain, hanging by a thread. Nathaniel paused, then wordlessly stood and retreated into the house. He respected her decision. He wanted to claim their relationship openly, but now was not the time.

The air in the living room remained thick and heavy even after he left. Isabella drew a steadying breath and opened the door.

Eleanor and Richard Montgomery stood there. Their wealthy veneer had completely vanished. They still wore the same clothes from the hospital yesterday, now wrinkled and stale. Eleanor’s hair accessories were gone, her face bare and weary. She looked plain and diminished.

Eleanor held a delicate matcha cake box. “Isabella…” Her greeting was strained, overly polite.

Isabella leaned against the doorframe, her posture cool and closed-off. “Yes?” Her tone was clipped, each word measured and distant, as if speaking cost her a fortune.

Richard and Eleanor felt the chilling divide. Guilt washed over them. This was their actual daughter. Their flesh and blood.

Because of Victoria Kensington’s schemes, they had ruined any chance with their real child. For twenty-three years, they’d cherished an imposter while their true heiress was scorned as the ‘adopted’ daughter.

Eleanor’s emotions were a tangled mess. She extended the cake. “Isabella, I remember you loved matcha cake. Your father and I bought this for you.”

Isabella’s eyes flicked to the offering. Her expression, already frosty, turned to absolute ice.