Ethan’s fingers stilled on the page.

His gaze locked on the words “Isabella’s Studio.”

“Monitor it closely,” he ordered. “Report anything unusual immediately.”

“Understood, Mr. Blackwood.”

Ethan closed his eyes, pressing his fingers to his temples. Isabella’s resolve was unnerving. He had expected her to beg. To cling. To fall apart without him.

Instead, she had walked away as if he meant nothing.

“Take me to her studio,” he told the driver, the words leaving his lips before he could stop them.

He remained in the car outside, watching through the tinted window. One by one, the lights inside the studio went dark. Then she appeared.

Isabella.

She had changed out of her work clothes into a simple white dress. Unaware of his presence, she stepped to the curb and hailed a cab. She gave the driver an address he recognized—her grandmother’s building.

In the front seat, Benjamin watched Ethan’s reflection cautiously.

“Sir, should we—?”

Ethan’s eyes remained fixed on the taxi ahead. His jaw was tight.

Mateo, the driver, understood without a word. He smoothly pulled into traffic, following at a discreet distance.

The cab eventually stopped in front of an older apartment complex. Isabella paid and got out. Ethan watched until she disappeared inside.

He finally looked away.

“Mr. Blackwood, shall we return to—?” Benjamin began.

“Hawthorne Residence,” Ethan cut him off, his voice low and weary.

Benjamin and Mateo exchanged a silent, surprised glance. Ethan had rarely gone back there since she left. Without another word, Mateo turned the car around.

Isabella felt a strange prickle of unease as she reached her grandmother's door. She glanced back at the dimly lit street. Had something moved?

Nothing was there.

The night air was cool. She pulled her coat tighter.

“Just my imagination,” she murmured, unlocking the door.

“Isabella! You’re home!” The warm, comforting aroma of home-cooked food and Eleanor’s smiling face greeted her. The table was set, dishes steaming. Lucas was placing down the final utensils.

“Grandma, you shouldn’t have cooked,” Isabella said, dropping her bag to hug her.

Eleanor patted her hand affectionately. “I invited Lucas for dinner. I must treat my future grandson-in-law well. Now, wash up. Food is ready.”

Isabella froze for a second. She then looked at Lucas, her tone polite. “Lucas. It’s good to see you.”

“I’m just here for a free meal,” he said lightly, pulling out a chair for her. “Liam is already asleep.”

They sat. Eleanor served Isabella, chatting about her day.

“Isabella, you and Lucas are at the perfect age to marry. When are you planning the wedding?”

The question made Isabella pause, her fork halfway to her mouth.

“We… well…” she stammered.

Lucas smoothly intervened. “We’re discussing it. We’ll tell you as soon as we set a date,” he said with a gentle smile.

“Wonderful,” Eleanor beamed. “I know you young people have your own ways. I won’t interfere. But Isabella, Lucas is a good man. You must cherish him.”