The words left his lips automatically, but his mind was a whirlwind of silent questions. Why was Isabella Scott here in Salzburg? And why did she appear so… disoriented?

Isabella seemed completely unaware of his intense scrutiny. Her head remained bowed, her posture withdrawn, as if she were physically present but mentally miles away.

Ethan’s observant gaze didn't miss her evident discomfort. Silently, he reached out and placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder.

“Are you alright?”

His warm touch jolted her. She managed a weak, unconvincing smile, struggling to project an air of composure.

“I’m fine… just exhausted.”

Ethan studied her pale features for a long moment before giving a slight, understanding nod. “Alright.”

He didn’t push for more, simply turning to lead the way to their suite.

Benjamin Clark stood frozen, watching them retreat down the lavish hallway. His forehead creased with a deep frown. Something was unquestionably wrong.

After a brief internal debate, he retrieved his phone, his fingers flying across the screen to dial a familiar number.

“Henry, were you aware Mrs. Blackwood is in Salzburg?”

A noticeable pause followed on the other end. Then Henry Wilson, the perpetually unflappable butler, responded, his usually steady tone laced with surprise. “Mrs. Blackwood is in Salzburg? I received no notification. And Mr. Blackwood… he never mentioned it.”

“I’ve only just discovered it myself,” Benjamin murmured, his voice dropping to a hushed tone. “She returned to The Ritz with Mr. Blackwood, but… something isn’t right. She looks unwell. Distressed, even. As if she’s endured a shock.”

“I understand…” Henry’s voice was thoughtful, calculating. “I will monitor the situation from here. You do the same. Report anything… unusual directly to me.”

“Understood.” Benjamin ended the call, his mind now churning with unanswered questions and growing concern.

Inside the presidential suite, opulence was evident in every meticulously chosen detail—understated elegance and impeccable refinement.

The soft, ambient glow of the city lights streamed through the massive floor-to-ceiling windows. Isabella sat perfectly still on the sumptuous sofa, her eyes fixed on the glittering skyline, though she registered none of its beauty. Her thoughts were elsewhere, trapped in a vortex of fear and uncertainty.

Ethan had poured a glass of chilled water. He crossed the room and offered it to her.

“Drink.”

She accepted the glass, taking a small, polite sip. The cool liquid did little to ease the persistent dryness in her throat.

“Thank you,” she whispered, her fingers tightening their grip on the cool crystal. Then, her voice emerged slow and raspy, she asked the question burning inside her. “What brings you to… Salzburg?” She kept her eyes downcast, focused on the glass in her hands, mentally bracing for his answer.

Opposite her, Ethan settled into a deep armchair, his movements fluid and controlled. He crossed his long legs, the very picture of effortless authority.

He allowed a moment of heavy silence to stretch between them before he finally answered.

“Business.” His reply was simple. Direct. And utterly impenetrable.

Yet those two syllables landed with the weight of a boulder in the pit of Isabella’s stomach.

She lowered her lashes, releasing a soft, shaky exhale.

“I see.”

Silence descended once more, thick and suffocating.

Ethan watched her intently, his expression unreadable. The way she sat there, shoulders slumped under an invisible weight, stirred a powerful, protective instinct deep within him. He knew she was searching. He knew she was desperate for answers—answers that had been deliberately kept from her for far too long.