Three weeks after my father's surgery, the Hamilton Group boardroom buzzed with tension. I sat at my father's right hand, Michael at his left, as the quarterly projections flashed across the screen. Dad had recovered with remarkable speed, though he tired more easily than before. Today marked his first full board meeting since the operation.

"These numbers are unacceptable," my father said, silencing the presenter. "We're down eight percent in the Asian markets."


"The trade tensions, sir," the CFO explained nervously. "All firms in our sector are suffering."

"All firms aren't Hamilton." My father turned to me. "Isabella, your thoughts?"

Every head swiveled in my direction. Most of these men had known me since childhood, but they'd never seen me in this capacity. I was no longer just William Sinclair-Hamilton's daughter; I was now his apparent successor.


"We're approaching this defensively," I said, surprising myself with my steady voice. "Instead of retreating from Asian markets, we should be leveraging the instability to acquire undervalued assets there."

My father's eyes gleamed with approval. "Precisely. Gentlemen, my daughter will be heading a new acquisition task force effective immediately."


The meeting continued, but I felt the shift in the room. I was no longer an observer but a player. By the time we adjourned, three executives had already invited me to lunch to "discuss synergies."

"You were magnificent," my father said as we returned to his office. "Like you've been doing this your whole life."

"I've been watching you do it my whole life," I replied.

"Not the same thing." He settled into his chair with a slight wince. "Isabella, I've been thinking about your situation."

"My situation?"

"Your divorce." He held up a hand when I started to speak. "Michael told me. Don't be angry with him; I needed to know."

I sighed. "I was going to tell you when you were stronger."

"I'm plenty strong." He studied me. "This Ryan fellow—he hurt you badly, didn't he?"

"It doesn't matter anymore."

"It matters to me." His voice softened. "You left all this to find something genuine, and instead found more deception. I'm sorry for that."

The simple acknowledgment nearly undid me. "I made my choices, Dad."

"Yes, you did. Brave ones, even if I didn't always agree." He leaned forward. "But now you have new choices to make. Including what to do about that doctor of mine."

I felt heat rise to my cheeks. "There's nothing to do about Dr. Reed."

"No?" My father smiled knowingly. "Then you won't mind that I've invited him to the foundation gala tomorrow night."

"You what?"

"He saved my life. The least I could do was invite him to a boring charity event." His eyes twinkled. "The fact that my newly single daughter will be there is merely coincidental."

"Dad, I'm not ready to—"

"Life doesn't wait until we're ready, Isabella. It moves forward regardless." He reached for my hand. "Just talk to the man. That's all I'm suggesting."

---

The Sinclair-Hamilton Foundation's annual gala was the social event of the season, transforming our family's historic Boston mansion into a glittering showcase. Five hundred guests in formal attire, champagne flowing freely, millions raised for medical research and education.

I stood greeting donors in a midnight blue gown, playing the role of the perfect heiress. It felt strange how quickly I'd slipped back into this world, as if my three years of independence had been the dream, not this.

"Ms. Sinclair-Hamilton," a familiar voice said behind me. "You clean up well."

I turned to find Ethan watching me with an amused expression. He looked startlingly different in a tuxedo, the formal attire emphasizing his height and the breadth of his shoulders.

"Dr. Reed," I replied, matching his tone. "I'm surprised you came."

"Your father can be persuasive." He accepted a champagne flute from a passing waiter. "Though he neglected to mention the dress code. I had to rent this tuxedo at the last minute."

"You could have declined the invitation."

"I could have." His eyes held mine. "But then I wouldn't get to see you in that dress."

The directness of his gaze sent warmth spreading through me. "Careful, Doctor. That almost sounded like flirting."

"Almost?" A hint of a smile played at his lips. "I must be out of practice."

Before I could respond, a commotion near the entrance caught my attention. My stomach dropped as I recognized the newcomers: Ryan, with Victoria on his arm, both looking polished and confident as they handed their invitation to the doorman.

"You've got to be kidding me," I muttered.

Ethan followed my gaze. "Friends of yours?"

"My ex-husband and his mistress." I fought to keep my expression neutral as heads turned in my direction, gauging my reaction. "I need to handle this."

"Want company?" Ethan offered quietly.

I hesitated, then nodded. His steady presence beside me felt like armor as I crossed the room to where Ryan and Victoria stood surveying the crowd.

Ryan spotted me first, his eyes widening. "Bella? What are you doing here?"

"It's Isabella," I corrected coolly. "And I'm hosting. The better question is what are you doing at my family's gala?"

Victoria's perfectly made-up face registered shock as she looked around the opulent ballroom, then back at me. "Your family's...?"

"Sinclair-Hamilton," I supplied. "As in the Sinclair-Hamilton Foundation, which is hosting this event."

Ryan paled. "You're one of those Hamiltons? But you said your parents were teachers who died when you were young."

"I lied." I felt Ethan shift slightly closer to me, a silent show of support. "Just as you lied about working late all those nights you were with her."

Victoria recovered quickly, her shock morphing into calculation. "Well, this explains so much. Why you were so... basic. You were playing at being ordinary."

"And you were playing at being faithful," Ethan interjected, his voice deceptively pleasant. "Seems like neither of you was particularly good at your chosen roles."

Ryan finally noticed Ethan. "Who the hell are you?"

"Dr. Ethan Reed. I performed life-saving surgery on Isabella's father three weeks ago." His smile didn't reach his eyes. "I also happened to be there when your ex-wife miscarried your child after finding you with this woman."

The color drained from Ryan's face. "Miscarried? Bella, is that true?"

"It's Isabella," I repeated, my voice steady despite the pain lancing through me at the memory. "And yes, it's true. Now I suggest you both leave before security escorts you out."

As if on cue, two discreet security personnel appeared at my elbow. Ryan looked like he wanted to say more, but Victoria tugged at his arm, her social survival instincts kicking in. They retreated, leaving whispers in their wake.

I turned to Ethan, emotions warring within me. "You didn't have to do that."

"Yes, I did." His eyes were serious now. "Some truths need to be spoken aloud."

"Even painful ones?"

"Especially those." He offered me his arm. "Would you like to get some air?"

I nodded, suddenly desperate to escape the curious stares. As we stepped onto the terrace, the cool night air cleared my head. For the first time since returning home, I felt like I could breathe freely.

"Thank you," I said simply.

Ethan studied me in the moonlight. "For what?"

"For seeing me. The real me, even when I was pretending to be someone else."

"I'm beginning to," he replied softly. "And I'd like to see more."