A deep flush of humiliation heated Isabella's skin, making her wish the ground would swallow her whole.

She pushed against Ethan with all her might, her voice sharp. "Ethan Blackwood, have you completely lost your senses? You're acting like a madman."

Ethan staggered back, caught off guard by her force.

He quickly regained his balance, a cold smirk twisting his lips.

He straightened his collar, smoothed by her frantic shoving. "You tell me, Isabella. Am I insane?"

She trembled, fighting to steady her breathing and her racing heart.

"Give me back my son," she demanded, her voice low but unwavering despite the fear.

Ethan's gaze was dark and unreadable, a deep pool of shadows. "Just come back to Hawthorne Residence. Do that, and I promise no harm will come to either of you."

His tone carried a clear threat, yet underneath it was a thread of something else—anticipation, perhaps.

Isabella froze.

Hawthorne Residence. The very name sent a chill down her spine. It was the place that had once been their shared home, the backdrop to so much past pain and terror. The thought of returning was abhorrent.

But he had Liam.

Her mind was a battlefield, fear warring with a fierce, protective resolve.

She could not, would not, risk her son's safety.

Protecting him was her only priority.

Yet, a plan was already unfolding. Perhaps returning to that gilded cage would provide her with a front-row seat to the drama about to unfold.

Isabella’s fists clenched at her sides, her nails digging into her palms.

She slowly lifted her head, meeting his intense stare.

"Fine." The word was a whisper, barely audible. "I agree." She surrendered.

Ethan's expression softened almost imperceptibly. He pulled her into an embrace, his chin resting on the top of her head. "Good girl," he murmured into her hair. "I won't hurt you. Everything will be alright now."

Isabella bit her lip hard, fighting back the tears that threatened to fall. Her body remained rigid, unyielding in his arms.

"Welcome home, Mr. and Mrs. Blackwood." Henry Wilson's voice echoed through the grand foyer of Hawthorne Residence. A line of servants flanking him bowed in unison.

The reception felt formal, cold, more suited to distinguished visitors than to the lady of the house returning.

Ethan guided her inside, his grip on her arm firm and possessive. She stayed silent, her thoughts a chaotic storm.

"Mommy!" Liam's cheerful voice cut through her turmoil.

She turned to see him seated at the massive dining table, happily devouring a slice of elaborately decorated cake. His face was smeared with white cream, making him look like a happy little kitten.

A wave of profound relief washed over Isabella at the sight of her son, safe and content.

"Liam," she breathed, her voice soft as she hurried to him, her hand gently stroking his hair.

"Mommy, you're here! I waited forever," he said, beaming up at her, his smile showing off his tiny white teeth.

Her heart twisted, a painful mix of joy and sorrow.

"Master Liam has been exceptionally well-behaved, waiting patiently for your return," Henry interjected, his tone professionally polite, breaking the intimate moment. He turned and gave a slight bow to Ethan. "Sir, dinner is served. The menu includes all the favorite dishes of yourself, Mrs. Blackwood, and young Master Liam. Shall we proceed?"

Ethan gave a curt, approving nod. He led Isabella to the table and personally served her a bowl of steaming soup. "Eat something warm first," he instructed, his voice surprisingly gentle, a stark contrast to the man who had just threatened her.