Chapter 322

Nathaniel's hand shot out, silencing the television with a sharp click.

Victoria approached, her eyes brimming with concern. "Theodore, is Isabella resting?"

Her voice carried a honeyed tenderness.

"She wept herself to exhaustion moments ago. Darling, Isabella has but one desire - to wed Mr. Falcon. Can't you make this happen for her?"

Nathaniel's face darkened like a gathering storm. "Explain yourself."

"Sweetheart," Victoria pressed, "I know the truth. Isabella isn't even your blood!"

His lips pressed into a thin line, silent as a tomb.

"Isabella comes from noble lineage. If you'd only reveal her true heritage, all barriers would vanish. She could marry Mr. Falcon," Victoria insisted, her tone growing more urgent.

Nathaniel rose like a thunderclap, his voice cutting through the air. "Never speak of this again! Keep your mouth shut."

With that final warning, he ascended the staircase.

Victoria's frustration boiled over. "Why won't you acknowledge Isabella's true birthright, Theodore?"

At the landing, Nathaniel stood unnaturally still, his calm demeanor belying the storm beneath. After a weighted pause, he confessed, "Isabella's mother doesn't want her returning to the Capital."

That woman again!

Victoria's eyes flashed with venom. No wonder Harrison, even after being banished to the countryside, emerged a prodigy. The bloodline was extraordinary.

But what did it matter?

All glory would ultimately belong to Isabella.

Though Nathaniel had rejected Victoria's proposal outright, she sensed his inner conflict. He did care for Isabella.

Soon, the truth would surface.

A sly smile curled Victoria's lips.

The next morning found Nathaniel in his office when Alistair's call interrupted his thoughts. The dean had just returned from his business trip.

"Nathaniel, are you free for lunch today? Join us," Alistair invited.

He wanted Nathaniel to dine at the Whitmore residence.

Having pulled an all-nighter at the office, Nathaniel rubbed his temples with a groan. "Uncle Alistair, I'm swamped today."

"Pity. I've already invited Rosalind and Harrison."

Harrison was dining at the Whitmores'?

Nathaniel's answer came instantly. "I'll be there shortly."

Within thirty minutes, Nathaniel arrived at the Whitmore estate. Harrison and Rosalind hadn't yet appeared.

Alistair adjusted his glasses with an amused smirk. "Nathaniel, didn't you claim to be busy? Yet here you stand."

Nathaniel's gaze swept the room like a searchlight.

"Save your effort," Alistair chuckled. "Harrison and Rosalind are still en route."

Nathaniel settled onto the living room sofa, his stare unwavering.

"The rumors reached me," Alistair continued, clearly entertained. "Now all of Willowridge University knows Harrison, the 'Sleeping Goddess,' is actually a genius. No wonder when she dozed in my lecture, she could correct my error the moment her eyes opened. Nathaniel, your wife is quite the hidden treasure."

Alistair remained unaware of their divorce.

Nathaniel offered no reply.

Alistair changed tack. "Incidentally, Rosalind's birthmark vanished suddenly. She claims Harrison gave her some horribly bitter candy."

Nathaniel's brow furrowed slightly. "I'm not entirely certain about that. When I asked Harrison, she said..."

"What did she say?"

She'd refused to tell him!

Just then, Beatrice's cheerful voice rang out. "Ms. Whitmore, you've returned!"

Hearing this, Nathaniel assumed Harrison and Rosalind had arrived.

His gaze snapped toward the doorway.