Chapter 73

Chapter 73
Isolde

Dorian's smile remained in place, though I could feel the subtle tension in his body. "Our family has been established in Crescent Bay for generations, actually," he replied, his voice carrying that subtle edge of authority that made Robert's dismissive expression falter slightly.

"Hmm," Robert grunted, clearly unimpressed. "Well, I suppose congratulations are in order. Though you might have informed us of your marriage, Isolde. Proper families observe certain protocols."

"Proper families support each other, Robert," I replied evenly. "We both know that's not what you've provided."

Abigail ushered us inside with manufactured enthusiasm, clearly trying to smooth over the awkwardness. "Well, isn't this a surprise! Please, come in, come in. Had we known you were bringing guests, we might have prepared something more appropriate."

The subtle emphasis on "appropriate" wasn't lost on me. Typical Abigail—always implying I didn't understand social graces.

The foyer was exactly as I remembered—marble flooring, a sweeping staircase, and too many gilded mirrors reflecting our entrance from every angle. A crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling, throwing fractured light across the space. The tasteless opulence had always made me feel small, but with Dorian beside me, I found myself less intimidated than before.

"Lovely home," Elissa said with a brightness that didn't quite mask her judgment. "Very... shiny."

Abigail either missed or ignored the undertone. "Thank you, dear. I personally selected every fixture." She gestured grandly to a particularly gaudy wall sconce. "That's Venetian crystal, you know."

"Is it?" Aiden murmured, his tone suggesting he very much doubted the authenticity.

As we moved into the sitting room, Rachel appeared, descending the stairs with deliberate slowness. She wore a crimson cocktail dress that hugged her figure, her dark hair styled in elaborate waves. Her eyes swept over our group, lingering on Aiden with obvious interest before settling on me with a smirk.

"Sister dear," she said, the endearment dripping with sarcasm. "What a pleasure to have you join us before tomorrow's festivities. I was beginning to think you'd forgotten where we lived."

I forced a polite smile. "Rachel. Congratulations on your engagement."

"Thank you," she preened, adjusting her designer dress. "Malcolm and I are very happy. He sends his regards, by the way. He mentioned how... amusing it was to run into you at the hospital."

The deliberate reminder of my humiliating encounter with my ex stung, but I refused to show it. "How thoughtful. Please return my congratulations to him on finding someone so perfectly suited to his... ambitions."

Rachel's smile tightened. She turned to Dorian with renewed interest. "And you must be the husband I've heard whispers about. The hospital staff can't stop talking about how Isolde snagged herself a man." Her gaze swept over him appraisingly, clearly finding him attractive but unconvinced of his worth.

"Dorian Hawke," he introduced himself, his arm sliding around my waist possessively. "I'm the lucky one in this marriage."

We settled into the ornate sitting room, tension thick in the air. The furniture was upholstered in cream silk that likely required professional cleaning after every use. Crystal decanters of amber liquid sat on a mirrored tray, untouched.

After perfunctory offers of refreshments, which we all declined, Robert wasted no time getting to the point.

"So, Isolde," he began, leaning forward in his armchair, folding his manicured hands, "I assume you're here about your mother's medical expenses? Because if you're expecting an increase in the monthly allowance—"

"Allowance?" Dorian cut in, his eyebrow raised.

The directness of Robert's question caught me off guard, but I recovered quickly. "Actually, no. My mother has been transferred to a specialized facility. She's receiving excellent care now, so there's no need for further financial arrangements between us."

Robert's expression shifted from smugness to confusion. "Transferred? By whose authority?"

"Mine," I said firmly. "I'm her medical power of attorney."

"But the costs—" he sputtered.

"Are being handled," I cut in. "You no longer need to concern yourself with them."

Robert's face flushed. "Well, you certainly seem to have come into money suddenly," he said, his gaze sliding to Dorian. "Must be nice to have the luxury of shopping sprees while your mother lies ill."

I felt Dorian tense beside me, his jaw tightening. "Mr. Beck," he said, his voice dangerously soft, "I find your implication offensive. Isolde works tirelessly for her patients and has spent years devoted to her mother's care—often with minimal support from those who should have helped her most."

Robert's face darkened. "Now see here—"

"No, you see here," Dorian continued, his tone still measured but carrying an unmistakable threat. "The expenses for Sarah's care are now my concern, as is Isolde's wellbeing. And I take both very seriously."

Abigail interjected with a saccharine smile, clearly trying to defuse the tension and redirect. "Those are lovely designer pieces you're wearing, Isolde. Quite a change from your usual... practical attire." Her eyes raked over me. "It's amazing what attaching yourself to money can do for a girl's wardrobe. I always told Robert you were smarter than you let on."

The room temperature seemed to drop several degrees. I could feel Elissa bristling beside me, her back straightening as she prepared to launch into what would undoubtedly be a fierce defense.

"I beg your pardon?" Elissa said, her voice sweet but eyes flashing dangerously. "Are you suggesting Isolde married for money?"

Abigail gave a tinkling laugh. "Oh, I'm not suggesting anything, dear. Just making an observation. After all, a plain doctor with no family connections suddenly marrying into one of Crescent Bay's wealthiest families..." She shrugged delicately. "One does wonder."

Aiden, observing Elissa's reaction, placed a subtle hand on her arm. I caught a glimpse of her eyes—they had begun to change color, the green intensifying unnaturally. His touch seemed to ground her, and she took a deep breath, regaining control.

"Actually," Aiden said, his voice cool and measured, "Isolde's contributions at the medical center have been invaluable. Her pioneering research on trauma response has already saved numerous lives. Her professional accomplishments stand entirely on their own merit, regardless of her personal relationships."