Chapter 20

When Victoria Kensington celebrated her birthday, Alexander Whitmore had Julian Montgomery and his circle arrange the festivities. Now, during Victoria's racing competition, Julian and the others showed up again to support her.

Rumors swirled about Victoria's closeness with Alexander's inner circle. Their bond had grown so strong that even in Alexander's absence, they never failed to include Victoria in their gatherings.

Julian and his friends had fully embraced her as one of their own. This acceptance had gradually eroded their interactions with Isabella Sinclair over the past two years, their indifference toward her becoming more pronounced.

Isabella had once attempted to forge connections with them. But they'd dismissed her from the start, never granting her an opportunity.

Pride prevented her from pushing the matter after their stance became clear. She maintained polite greetings during necessary encounters, though most were met with deliberate ignorance or outright disdain. This time, Isabella chose silence, walking past Julian without acknowledgment.

"Ms. Sinclair, I never took you for a racing enthusiast," Julian remarked coolly, assuming she'd followed Alexander here.

Isabella turned, her voice glacial. "What exactly are you implying?"

Julian didn't mask his contempt. "Merely observing that racing seems... incongruous with someone of your disposition. I found it curious."

"My disposition?" Isabella held his gaze steadily. "Mr. Montgomery, do we share such intimacy that you presume to know me? Enlighten me - what exactly is my disposition?"

Julian had always perceived Isabella as quiet, gentle, almost shy. But he believed this facade concealed a calculating nature - how else could she have orchestrated that despicable scheme to win Alexander's affection?

His silence spoke volumes, heavy with unspoken judgment. He considered her unworthy of further commentary.

Yet today, Isabella's tone carried an unfamiliar edge. The pretense of meekness seemed discarded, though not entirely. Her piercing gaze held both cold clarity and subtle mockery - as if laughing at his presumption of understanding her, at his self-righteous condemnation without full context.

Isabella cared little for Julian's thoughts. She turned away without another word.

Catherine Whitmore had rented Henry Whitmore an apartment near campus. By the time Isabella dropped him off, the clock showed 11:00 PM.

Despite his earlier dinner, Henry's stomach growled again. "Isabella, there's an amazing late-night spot nearby. My treat," he offered.

Isabella hadn't eaten. The prospect of warm comfort food appealed to her current mood. She agreed. As they settled at the diner, her stomach emitted a quiet protest.

Henry froze, then realization dawned. "Wait... you skipped dinner?"

She nodded.

His face fell. "God, Isabella, I'm so sorry. This is completely my fault—"

"It's fine. I wasn't hungry earlier."

Her gentle reassurance only deepened Henry's guilt. In that moment, he recognized her genuine kindness. What a tragedy that Alexander remained blind to it.