CHAPTER 20: A Familiar Face in a Forgotten Memory

The Blackwood estate was not just a mansion.

It was a fortress.

High walls, private security, and traditions carved into every column. Its halls had witnessed centuries of diplomacy, empire, and bloodline secrets—and now, Isabella Lin was walking straight into its heart.

Victor had invited her for a "family dinner."

He hadn't warned her that the Blackwoods didn't host dinners.

They hosted evaluations.

And tonight, she was the subject.

She arrived dressed in quiet defiance: an emerald green silk blouse, tailored black trousers, no jewelry. Understated elegance with razor-sharp poise.

Victor met her at the grand entryway. His gaze swept over her slowly—appreciative, possessive, but with a flicker of something else.

Uncertainty?

"You look…" he began.

"Like someone who doesn't care what your family thinks," she finished.

He chuckled. "Perfect."

Inside the dining room, long chandeliers reflected off obsidian tile. At the head of the table sat Elliot Blackwood, the formidable patriarch. Stern. Sharp-eyed. Still running half the world's steel and energy routes from behind a desk.

To his right sat Victor's grandmother, Anastasia Blackwood—graceful and refined, but still recovering from recent illness. She hadn't spoken much in months, the doctors said. Stroke complications, age, exhaustion.

And yet, the moment Isabella entered the room—

Anastasia gasped.

The silver fork in her hand clattered to the plate.

Everyone froze.

Victor stepped forward. "Grandmother?"

But Anastasia didn't answer him.

She was staring straight at Isabella.

Eyes wide. Wet.

"Clarissa?" the old woman whispered. "No…"

Then softer: "She looks like her…"

Isabella stiffened.

Victor frowned. "Like who?"

"Edward Lin's daughter," Anastasia murmured. "The one who vanished… in the fire…"

The room descended into stunned silence.

Elliot Blackwood cleared his throat sharply, shifting in his seat. "Anastasia, enough."

But Isabella had already caught the tremble in the woman's voice. The glimmer of recognition that ran deeper than gossip.

Victor stepped closer. "You… remember her family?"

Anastasia nodded weakly. "Clarissa was my best friend in school. We used to dream about raising our children side by side… until she married into the Lins and disappeared from public life."

Victor looked between his grandmother and Isabella, something dawning in his eyes.

"She wasn't just a ghost," he said softly. "You knew her."

And then, for the first time since she entered the estate, Isabella's carefully guarded expression faltered.

Because she hadn't known.

She hadn't realized who Victor's grandmother had once been.

But now she did.

This wasn't just coincidence.

This was fate, cracking open its sealed pages.

Later that evening, as Isabella stood by the Blackwood garden balcony, Victor approached her with a quiet reverence.

"You shook them," he said.

She didn't look at him. "I didn't mean to."

He stepped closer, voice low. "You keep doing that."

"Doing what?"

"Changing everything."

Their eyes met in the darkness.

And neither spoke of the fact that Anastasia's words had confirmed something neither of them had yet admitted aloud—

That Isabella Lin was no ordinary girl.

And that her past was already buried in the walls of Victor's legacy.

That night, her phone lit up again.

[AshenWolf]: "Have you ever stood in a place that already remembered you… before you even arrived?"

[SkyeEcho]: "Yes. And it felt like drowning in memories I never lived."

Next Chapter Teaser: Victor visits the Lin estate under the pretense of clarity—but instead learns something that changes his entire approach to Isabella… and the engagement.