Chapter 278

The afternoon sun cast golden streaks across the pavement as Isabella Sinclair and her daughter Sophia strolled past a neon-lit arcade. Sophia's eyes sparkled with excitement—it had been forever since she'd played games with her mother. Without warning, she tugged Isabella inside.

Arcades weren't new to Sophia, but doing this with Isabella made it magical. Every laugh, every high score felt like a treasure.

Later that evening, Isabella had dinner plans with Richard Fairchild.

As they exited the arcade, she considered dropping Sophia off first.

But Sophia clung to her hand, lips pursed in protest. "Can't I come with you?"

Isabella hesitated.

It was just a casual meal—nothing formal.

Bringing Sophia shouldn’t be an issue.

She dialed Richard. "Mind if I bring my daughter along?"

Richard chuckled. "Of course not. The more, the merrier." A pause. "Yours?"

"Yes."

Surprise flickered in his voice.

Last time they met, she’d mentioned being married—but he hadn’t pictured someone so youthful already a mother.

Half an hour later, Isabella arrived at the private dining room, Sophia’s small hand in hers.

Richard stood as they entered. His gaze softened at the sight of the little girl. "Isabella, this must be your daughter. She has your smile."

Isabella nodded.

"What’s her name?"

"Sophia Whitmore."

"Whitmore?"

Richard froze.

Something about Sophia struck him as familiar, but he couldn’t place it.

Then it hit him—New Year’s Eve. The Flemings. The little girl holding Alexander Whitmore’s hand had been Sophia.

His eyes widened. "Your husband is Alexander?"

Isabella confirmed with a quiet nod.

Richard was speechless.

When she’d first mentioned marriage, he’d wondered why someone like her had settled so young.

Few could match her brilliance.

But if it was Alexander…

Well, in terms of status, intellect, and influence, he was perhaps the only equal in their world.

Richard smiled faintly—but then remembered the distant look in Isabella’s eyes when she spoke of her marriage.

And New Year’s Eve—she hadn’t been with the Whitmores.

This wasn’t just tension. The rift between her and Alexander ran deeper than he’d realized.

He gestured for them to sit and slid two gift boxes across the table.

Isabella instinctively declined, but Richard insisted. "Just a small tradition. Take it."

Reluctantly, she accepted. "Thank you, Mr. Fairchild."

She nudged Sophia. "Say thank you."

Sophia beamed. "Thank you, Mr. Fairchild!"

"You’re welcome."

Richard studied her features. "She favors Alexander more, doesn’t she?"

"She does."

He grinned. "With parents like you two, she’ll turn out extraordinary either way."

Isabella’s smile didn’t reach her eyes.

Richard leaned in. "Has my stubborn son made peace with you yet?"

She shook her head. "If anything, it’s worse."

Richard laughed outright. "Good."

"He’s had it too easy. A little humility will do him good. Frankly, I’m looking forward to it."

Their conversation drifted to lighter topics.

Dinner stretched into an hour of lingering chatter before they finally parted ways.

The next few days, Isabella buried herself in research materials Frederick Aldridge had sent.

Sophia, ever patient, entertained herself—occasionally joining Thomas and William for outings but mostly staying close.

She still video-called Alexander daily.

And more often than not, Victoria Kensington was beside him.

Isabella didn’t eavesdrop, but Sophia knew her feelings. Whenever Victoria appeared, she’d take the tablet outside.

After three days of relentless focus, Isabella finally had a breakthrough.

Her thoughts crystallized—the solution was clear.

She worked from dawn till dusk, barely registering when Caroline called her for lunch.

Seeing her untouched meal, Sophia frowned. "Mom, eat first."

Isabella mumbled a reply, eyes glued to the screen.

Sophia tried again. No response.

Only after multiple attempts did Isabella finally pause to eat.

Night fell, and the pattern repeated.

Isabella was so absorbed she skipped dinner entirely. Sophia, needing help with her bath, gave up and sought William instead.

By the time Sophia returned, freshly bathed, Isabella was still typing furiously.

She climbed into bed alone and drifted off.

Morning light filtered through the curtains when Sophia stirred. Rubbing her eyes, she found Isabella still at her desk.

"Mom… did you sleep at all?"

"Don’t worry about me," Isabella murmured absently.

Sophia bit her lip.

She’d slept and woken—yet her mother hadn’t moved.

"Aren’t you tired?"

A distracted hum was her only answer.

Not wanting to disturb her further, Sophia tiptoed away to wash up.