Chapter 704

Henry Lancaster watched Isabella's retreating figure, her hips swaying with a deliberate, tantalizing rhythm that sent heat rushing through his veins. The sight was so infuriatingly alluring that he let out a bitter chuckle.

Eleanor reached out, her fingers brushing toward the corner of his lips. "Are you okay?"

Before she could touch him, Henry stepped back sharply. "I'm heading home."

Without another word, he turned and walked away.

Eleanor's hand hung suspended in the air. The moment he was gone, her carefully constructed mask shattered. Her expression twisted into something venomous—resentment and icy hatred burning in her eyes.

She despised Isabella.

Eleanor was the daughter of the Lancaster family's chauffeur. Years ago, her father had died saving Henry's father, and her mother had followed soon after.

Out of guilt, Henry had taken her under his wing. They had grown up side by side, and she had convinced herself that one day, she would become Mrs. Lancaster.

Then, without warning, the Lancasters and the Blackwoods forged a marriage alliance. Henry married Isabella instead.

Eleanor had tried to console herself—Isabella was just a pawn in a business arrangement, destined for a loveless marriage. But reality proved her wrong.

Isabella was a seductress. From the moment she married Henry, she wrapped herself around him like a serpent, refusing to let go.

Two years into their marriage, Eleanor had once lingered outside Henry’s study. The door was slightly ajar, and she had peeked inside.

Henry sat at his desk, buried in paperwork, but Isabella was perched shamelessly in his lap, her silk camisole slipping off one shoulder, revealing flawless skin.

Henry’s voice was rough. "I have a lot of work tonight."

"Don’t work tonight, darling. I need you..." Isabella purred, pressing closer.

Henry pulled her against him. "Fine. Let’s go to the bedroom."

But Isabella shook her head, her lips curving into a wicked smile. "No. Right here, in your study. Don’t tell me you don’t like it?"

Henry tilted her chin up and kissed her deeply, letting her hands slide beneath his tailored shirt, bold and teasing.

Breathless, Isabella murmured, "I heard there’s a new secretary at your company. A very pretty one."

"Who?"

"You know exactly who I mean. The one who looks at you like you’re her personal god."

Henry chuckled. "Honestly, I have no idea who you’re talking about."

"Really? Then I’ll have your assistant transfer her."

"Do whatever you want."

Isabella softened, her voice dripping with playful possessiveness. "You must think I’m being jealous. But with a man like you—handsome, powerful—I have to keep you on a tight leash, or else you’ll be handing out favors to every woman who bats her lashes at you."

Henry’s hand slid beneath her skirt, his gaze darkening. "You drain me dry every night. I have nothing left for anyone else."

Isabella kissed him again. "Let’s have a baby."

Henry stilled. "Why the sudden change of heart?"

"Don’t you want one with me?"

"I do."

Eleanor had stood frozen outside the door, jealousy searing through her veins as she watched. Isabella, still in her stilettos, looked utterly wanton, the sharp tip of her shoe tracing slow circles against Henry’s trousers.

What man could resist that?

Henry had been young, passionate.

Isabella was beautiful, cunning, and raised to be the perfect trophy wife of the Blackwood dynasty. She knew exactly how to command a man’s attention—and she had made it clear from the start that she wanted everything Henry had to give.

In those early years, he had been completely enthralled.

Not long after, Isabella became pregnant.

Eleanor had hoped, foolishly, that this might be her chance. But Isabella only tightened her grip.

Once again, Eleanor had found herself outside the door, peering in.

Henry sat on the couch while Isabella knelt before him, worshipping him with unwavering devotion.

No man could ever refuse a woman like that.