Chapter 5

Years had passed with barely any contact between Nathaniel and Isabella. Yet even in their few encounters, Nathaniel could see the change. The fiery, self-assured woman he once knew was gone.

He remembered the Isabella of old. Insecure? That word would never have described her. While he knew little about her marriage to Alexander, her current state was an open secret he'd somehow missed.

Nathaniel kept his suspicions to himself. Instead, he offered encouragement. "A setback doesn’t define you. Your talent still outshines most. If you still love this field, it’s never too late."

"Don’t forget—you were Professor Aldridge’s favorite student in his entire career."

Isabella smiled faintly. If the professor heard that, he’d scoff. "No choice but to pick the least terrible one," he’d say.

Thinking of her sharp-tongued mentor, her smile faded. "I saw the news. He’s back for the centennial. How is he?"

"Annoyed, mostly. By us—his eternally disappointing students—showing up uninvited," Nathaniel replied.

Isabella laughed, nostalgia washing over her. Those long nights drafting thesis papers under his scrutiny felt like another lifetime.

"Come back, Isabella," Nathaniel urged.

Her grip tightened around her cup. After a steadying breath, she nodded. "Alright."

AI had been her passion since childhood. But for love, she’d shelved that dream for seven years.

Catching up wouldn’t be easy. But she believed in hard work. It wasn’t too late.

"When?" Nathaniel asked.

"I need to wrap things up at my current job. It’ll take time."

"That’s fine. No rush."

As long as she returned, waiting a little longer didn’t matter.

Their conversation lingered until Nathaniel checked his watch. "I’m meeting an algorithm prodigy who just returned from abroad. Since you’re here, why not join us?"

Isabella shook her head. "I’d be out of place. Next time."

"Fair enough."

As Nathaniel left, Isabella spotted Victoria Whitmore approaching. Alexander’s sister. She’d seen her in headlines but never expected to cross paths here.

"Hello, Victoria."

No response. Just a frown. "What are you doing here?"

"Trellis’s centennial. I came to visit."

Had Isabella not mentioned it, Victoria might’ve forgotten she’d even graduated from Trellis. Today’s attendees were either current students or honored alumni.

What was a nobody like Isabella doing here?

As long as she didn’t embarrass the Whitmores, Victoria couldn’t care less.

"Benjamin misses your cooking," she said bluntly. "I’ll send him to your place tomorrow."

Benjamin, Victoria’s son, was a year older than Sophia. Between a crumbling marriage and demanding career, Victoria had little time for him. His rebellion had only worsened.

Learning he liked Isabella’s food, Victoria had been dumping him at her doorstep for years.

To the Whitmores, Isabella was invisible. Even Benjamin treated her like a servant.

Before, she’d endured it for Alexander. She’d bitten her tongue through every disrespectful remark.

Not anymore.

"Sorry, Victoria. I’m unavailable."

With her return to AI, every minute counted. After the divorce, the Whitmores would mean nothing to her.

Victoria blinked. Refusal? Isabella had always groveled for their approval.

She dismissed it—Isabella must have some "important" errand. Still, irritation prickled. "What could possibly be more important? Alexander and Sophia aren’t even with you."

Isabella’s lips twisted bitterly. Years of erasing herself for them, and this was her worth.

It stung, but she wouldn’t live like that again.

Before she could retort, a group descended. "Ms. Whitmore!"

Their eyes flicked to Isabella. "Who’s this?"

Victoria’s reply was ice. "A friend."

Their interest evaporated. One or two lingered on Isabella’s striking features, but the rest refocused on Victoria.

Once, the dismissal would’ve crushed her. Now? She couldn’t care less.

After Victoria left, Isabella grabbed her bag and walked away.

That night, Alexander’s flight landed at 10 PM. By the time they reached the estate, midnight approached.

Sophia was asleep in his arms. Passing the master bedroom, he noted the open door—and the darkness within.

After tucking Sophia in, he returned, flipping the light on. The bed was empty.

The butler, Richard, arrived with luggage.

"Where is she?" Alexander asked, loosening his tie.

"Mrs. Whitmore is on a business trip."

Richard hadn’t been home when Isabella left with her suitcase weeks ago. The staff assumed it was work-related.

Odd. Her trips rarely lasted more than a few days. This time? Over two weeks.

Alexander said nothing, his expression unreadable.