Alexander Sullivan comforted Isabella Roscente, suggesting she must have imagined things.
He then excused himself to his study, claiming work required a phone call.
He dialed Liam Lowell.
"Any news on Frederick Blanchet?"
Liam responded, "We still have people searching in Thailand. No trace yet. He may have assumed a new identity. Why do you ask suddenly?"
"Today, it seemed someone was following Isabella. Station two men at the café during the day. They stay until I pick her up in the evening."
"Understood, Mr. Sullivan."
After hanging up, Alexander tossed his phone onto the desk.
He rubbed his temples.
Could it be... an old enemy has returned?
The café staff had grown accustomed to the two young men who sat idly all day.
Isabella even instructed the staff to provide them with lunch and dinner.
She had complained to Alexander, insisting she didn't need bodyguards.
She spent all day in the café and never went out alone.
He drove her to and from work. What more was there to worry about?
Alexander insisted the men wear plain clothes and blend in as regular customers.
She wanted to argue, "What kind of regular customer sits all day, for days on end?"
But remembering the previous incident with the thugs, she held her tongue.
The staff teased, "Is Mr. Sullivan afraid someone will snatch Isabella away?"
One noon, a package arrived at the café.
A staff member signed for it and handed it to Isabella.
"Isabella, a package for you."
Isabella thought for a moment. She hadn't ordered anything online recently.
She took the package and informed the staff, "I'm taking my break. Call me if anything comes up."
"Sure, Isabella."
Inside the small break room, she used a utility knife to slice open the parcel.
It contained only a single photograph.
A child lay on the ground, covered in blood.
Isabella's heart lurched in terror, thinking it was Jacob.
Looking closer, she saw it was not. It was an unfamiliar child, though around the same age Jacob had been during the accident.
She clutched her chest and sank onto the sofa.
It took a long time for her heartbeat to slow, for the tightness to ease.
Why would someone send such a photo? Who sent it?
Memories from two years ago remained fragmented.
Alexander said she had witnessed Jacob being hit by the car, but that scene never resurfaced in her mind.
After Daniel's death, her mind had become hazy, unsettled.
Why would someone send this? What did they want?
After composing herself, she checked the sender's information and called the number.
A stranger answered, asking who she was.
She apologized for dialing the wrong number and hung up.
She hesitated, biting her lip, wondering if she should call Alexander.
Then, a text message arrived.
She opened it.
[Is the child in the photo your son, Jacob Grant?]
Isabella's heart hammered violently.
She typed quickly in reply. [Who are you? Why are you asking me to identify a child from a photo?]
The response came swiftly. [Just tell me. Is he your son, Jacob Grant?]
She replied. [That child is not Jacob.]
No further messages came.
She tried calling the number. It was switched off.
For days, Isabella was distracted.
Alexander noticed, of course, and asked what was wrong.
She shook her head, insisting she was fine.
He suggested, "The New Year holiday is approaching. How about a trip?"
"Where to?"
"Another city, or abroad. Anywhere you like."
Isabella managed a smile. "Alright."
Both had few relatives. Ordinary days felt lively, but holidays often felt lonely.
Traveling during the break seemed a good choice.
The café would close from December 28th until January 5th.
Local staff had the week off. Out-of-town staff could request additional leave.
Isabella managed things humanely, offering generous benefits.
She didn't rely on the café for income; it was merely a way to pass time.
On the last day before the holiday, the two bodyguards were finally recalled.
The staff asked about their travel plans.
"Isabella, where are you and Mr. Sullivan going? Hawaii? It's warm there now, must be nice."
"We're considering two places. Hawaii, or Miami. I'd rather not travel abroad. Probably just stay within the country."
"Wherever you want to go, Mr. Sullivan will accompany you. When you've found the right person, every day is a honeymoon!" the girls exclaimed enviously.
Isabella smiled.
They closed the café a little earlier that evening.
Isabella let the staff leave first. She waited alone for Alexander.
The sensor chime at the entrance rang. "Welcome!"
Isabella turned. "I'm sorry, we're closed—"
She froze, seeing who it was.
"You—" She was utterly shocked. "Didn't you return to England?"
Julian Sullivan wore a black down jacket and a black baseball cap.
His pale, handsome face looked much thinner than before.
His eyes seemed different, too.
He stepped closer, stopping half a meter away.
"Isabella, you don't fully trust my brother anymore, do you?"
A strange sense of oppression washed over her.
He still looked like that clean, bright young man, yet she felt afraid.
She instinctively retreated half a step. "What are you talking about? I don't understand."
Julian advanced again, backing her against the counter.
He reached out, caging her between his arms. Leaning close, he whispered, "You didn't tell him about either incident. If you trusted him, why wouldn't you?"
Both incidents?
Isabella looked up, eyes wide. "You—"
He gazed calmly at her, his thin lips parting. "That day in the parking garage, you guessed it was me, didn't you?"
Her face went pale. "You... you—"
He bent lower, his face nearing hers. His lips almost brushed her cheek.
"If I were a ruthless criminal, would I have let you off so easily?"
Isabella trembled. "Why? You have Lena. You should have stayed in England..."
He let out a soft laugh. "Isabella, you know the reason." He pressed closer, his breathing heavier. He leaned near her ear. "Because only you can arouse me."
He captured her mouth in a fierce kiss.
Isabella struggled, pushing against him.
Julian seized her arms, pinning them to the counter.
He held her down, kissing her deeply, ruthlessly.
Isabella whimpered, forced to endure it.
Finally, he released her. Isabella gasped for air. "Let me go. Your brother will be here soon—"
Julian showed no alarm. He still held her pinned. "He usually comes at nine. It's only eight-thirty. We have half an hour." His voice dropped. "Just like before. What do you say, Isabella?"
Isabella stared at him, utterly horrified.