A glacial coldness settled in Ethan’s eyes, his expression turning unreadable. The sacrifices Isabella had made for another man ignited a chilling fury deep within him, one he hadn’t anticipated.

Ethan’s glass slipped from his grasp, shattering violently against the floor. The sharp noise sliced through the suffocating tension.

“I have no interest in someone like you,” he stated, his voice dangerously low and controlled.

Isabella froze, her entire body stiffening as the full force of his words crashed over her, pulling her under a suffocating wave of shame.

He stepped closer, his presence looming over her like a dark shadow. “I’m not finished,” he murmured, his tone leaving no room for debate. “This house has been without a hostess for far too long. That position is now yours. Whether you want it or not.”

Without waiting for a reply, Ethan bent down, snatched her fallen bag, and threw it at her. His next words were absolute. “You will remain here at Hawthorne Residence.”

He turned and started up the staircase but paused halfway. Glancing back at Isabella, who had collapsed onto the floor, he spoke with icy calm. “If you attempt to run again, I will ensure the Grant Group ceases to exist.”

With that, he continued his ascent and disappeared from her view.

Isabella remained on the cold floor, tears streaming silently down her cheeks. Her chest felt hollow, as if her soul were being carved out piece by piece. She had returned to this gilded cage, this prison she had sworn never to enter again. Time lost all meaning as she sat there, numb and trapped in the heavy silence. She didn’t know how long she had been sitting there when footsteps finally broke through her trance.

The butler entered the room, his demeanor gentle yet hesitant. “Mrs. Blackwood, are you alright?” he asked carefully, his gaze flickering over her with quiet concern.

Isabella gave a faint nod, her distant eyes tracing the intricate patterns of the crystal chandelier above. When she finally spoke, her voice was a rough, broken whisper. “Liam. Can you bring him to me? Please.”

The thought of her little boy made her heart ache. He was still so young, so fragile, especially after his recent surgery. The idea of being separated from him now was unbearable.

The butler shifted uncomfortably, his face shadowed with unease. “Mrs. Blackwood,” he began cautiously, “I’m afraid I don’t have the authority to make that decision. For now, please try to rest. We can discuss this matter later.”

He helped Isabella to her feet, guiding her with a mix of persuasion and firmness up the stairs toward the master bedroom. As the door swung open, she went completely rigid.

The layout, the furniture, even the color of the drapes—everything was exactly as it had been three years ago, as if the room had been preserved in time.

Not a single speck of dust could be seen. It was clear someone had been meticulously maintaining the room all along.

But why?

She had left. Shouldn’t Ethan have been relieved she was gone?

How was any of this possible?