Isabella's feet felt rooted to the floor as the echo of the child's laughter faded into the mansion's silence. Her mind spun with questions, each more piercing than the last.
He has a daughter. A daughter old enough to walk, to laugh—and he never told me.
She turned back to Alexander, her jaw clenched. "How old is she?"
He exhaled, as if the weight of the truth had finally become unbearable. "Three."
Her eyes widened. "Three? That means—"
"Yes," he interrupted. "She was born not long after our divorce."
The timeline hit her like a punch. He hadn't wasted a moment.
"And the mother?" she asked again, softer this time.
Alexander paused. His voice dropped. "She's gone."
"Gone as in…?"
"She left. Not dead. Just… not in her life anymore."
That answer, vague and cold, settled like a stone in her stomach.
Isabella's voice was quiet but sharp. "So you're raising a child on your own, while also running an empire?"
He chuckled bitterly. "You'd be surprised what a broken man can do when he has no other choice."
There was something in his eyes she hadn't seen before—regret. Deep, unspoken, clawing regret.
Isabella's chest tightened, but she didn't allow herself to soften. Not yet.
"Why didn't you tell me?" she asked. "Even now, when I'm back in this house?"
"Because she has nothing to do with us," he said too quickly.
"That's where you're wrong," Isabella whispered. "She has everything to do with us. She's a reminder of what you destroyed… and what you're trying to rebuild without me."
He looked away. "I didn't bring you back for this conversation."
"I know," she said. "But I'm not leaving until we have it."
Just then, a small voice called from the hall. "Daddy?"
They both turned. The little girl peeked around the corner—hazel eyes, dark brown curls, a perfect blend of him and someone else.
Isabella's breath caught. The child was beautiful… and unknowingly caught in the storm of adult sins.
"Come here, sweetheart," Alexander said, his voice suddenly tender.
The girl ran to him, and he scooped her up into his arms. As he held her, Isabella watched the gentleness in his expression—and something inside her shifted.
He was still capable of love. But was it too late for him to give it to her?