CHAPTER 22: The Patriarch’s Gaze

"Victor Blackwood never introduces women to his grandfather."

That's what the tabloids said.

That's what the socialites whispered.

That's what his board members assumed when they tried to set him up with daughters trained in elegance and diplomacy.

Which is why the invitation shocked even Isabella.

One message. No preamble. No sweet talk.

[Victor]: "Meet me at the estate at four. My grandfather wants to see you."

Not "please." Not "if you're free."

Just a statement of fact, like she had already agreed.

And to her own confusion… she went.

The Blackwood estate looked different in daylight.

Sharper. Less majestic, more commanding.

Victor was waiting by the inner gates, suited in slate gray, no tie, hair still damp like he'd rushed from a meeting.

"Why me?" she asked as she stepped out of the car.

His gaze swept over her—she wore simple jeans, a navy blouse, and white sneakers. Yet somehow, she still walked like royalty.

"Because he asked," he replied. "And I didn't say no."

"Is he ill?"

"Not physically. Not yet."

Elliot Blackwood's private study was nothing like the rest of the mansion. It felt older. Real. It smelled like ink, smoke, and history.

The old man himself sat behind a desk made of ancient mahogany. His cane leaned against the wall. His expression was unreadable, sharp as a blade.

Isabella didn't flinch under his stare.

Victor stayed silent beside her.

Finally, Elliot spoke.

"So. You're the Lin girl."

"Isabella Lin," she replied calmly.

"You have her eyes," he said, voice low.

She didn't ask whose.

He already answered in the pause that followed.

"Clarissa," he murmured. "That woman had the kind of fire you don't inherit—you survive it."

Isabella tilted her head. "Did you know her well?"

"I knew her father better. Brilliant, brutal man. If you're anything like that side of your blood, my grandson will have his hands full."

Victor exhaled sharply through his nose. "You have no idea."

Elliot's eyes narrowed at his grandson's tone. "And you. Don't mistake her elegance for compliance."

"I don't," Victor said, gaze resting on her. "That's why I'm still here."

The room was quiet for a beat too long.

Then Elliot leaned back in his chair. "You can stay."

Isabella blinked. "Pardon?"

"I don't like strangers," he said. "But I know ghosts when I see them. You've walked through fire, girl. I respect that."

It wasn't warmth.

But it was something better.

Recognition.

As they left the study, Isabella glanced at Victor.

"So… that was your softer side?"

Victor chuckled. "That was his softer side."

She shook her head. "Your whole family has a way of making me feel like I'm living someone else's life."

"You're not."

They paused at the staircase.

"You're just taking it back," he said.

She didn't reply, but her silence said everything.

That night, her phone buzzed.

[AshenWolf]: "Ever met someone who saw right through you?"

[SkyeEcho]: "Today. Twice."

[AshenWolf]: "Did it hurt?"

[SkyeEcho]: "No. It made me feel like I existed."

Next Chapter Teaser: Isabella is formally invited to a private Blackwood Foundation gala—where her name isn't on the guest list, but her presence shakes the entire elite circle. Especially when an anonymous benefactor is unmasked… and it's her.