Eleanor gazed at her with deep affection. “What’s on your mind, my dear?”

Isabella hesitated, gathering her courage. “Grandmother… would you… consider coming with me?”

“Coming with you? Where exactly?” Eleanor’s brow furrowed in confusion.

Under the room’s soft, warm lighting, Isabella’s face looked pale. Her eyes reflected deep exhaustion.

She bit her lower lip nervously. “To… another country. Somewhere we can begin again. A brand new environment,” she murmured, her voice barely audible.

Eleanor paused, her fork suspended mid-air. She stared at Isabella, clearly taken aback.

Isabella fought back tears, forcing a fragile smile. “Please, Grandmother. I want to start over. I want you by my side. Will you come?”

Eleanor reached out, taking Isabella’s hand in hers. Her palm felt rough yet comforting. She sighed softly, her gaze tender.

She knew Isabella was strong and independent. Since childhood, Isabella rarely asked for help. Eleanor gently squeezed her hand. “My dear, I am an old woman now. I don’t really…”

“…wish to move. But I will support whatever decision you make. Just promise me you’ll take good care of yourself. That’s all I ask.”

Tears finally spilled from Isabella’s eyes, tracing paths down her cheeks.

She wrapped her arms around Eleanor, burying her face in her grandmother’s shoulder. She wept quietly.

Eleanor softly stroked her back, comforting her like a small child.

Guilt pressed heavily on Isabella’s heart.

After a long moment, she lifted her head. She managed a weak, trembling smile.

“Grandmother, I… I must go now.”

“Alright, my dear. Please be careful,” Eleanor replied gently.

Isabella turned and walked slowly toward the door.

She paused at the threshold. She didn’t dare look back. One glance might shatter her resolve to leave.

She took a deep, steadying breath. Then she opened the door and stepped out into the cool night air.

Isabella hurried down the stairs. Motion-sensor lights flickered on, illuminating her path before fading behind her.

She reached the small flowerbed and sat on the cold stone steps.

She hugged her knees tightly, hiding her face against them.

Nearby, a sleek black Maybach was parked silently by the roadside. Inside, Ethan tapped his fingers restlessly on his thigh. He watched Isabella’s fragile form from a distance. Frustrated, he loosened his tie.

“Mr. Blackwood, will you not go to her?” Benjamin asked cautiously from the passenger seat.

Ethan looked away, his voice flat. “Why should I?”

Benjamin had no response. He remained silent.

A heavy quiet filled the car.

Despite the silence, Ethan’s mind was racing.

“When is she arriving?” he asked after a moment, his tone sharp with annoyance.

“Her flight lands in two hours,” Benjamin answered promptly.

Ethan gave a slight nod. He said nothing more. His eyes drifted back to Isabella, still curled up on the steps.