All Chapters of Rise Of The Heiress : Chapter 121 - Chapter 130

The morning after their shared confession arrived with soft golden light bleeding through the sheer curtains of Isabella’s room. A gentle breeze stirred the fabric, carrying the scent of roses from the garden below. The world outside was peaceful, but Isabella’s heart raced with a quiet, stirring energy. She lay beneath the crisp sheets, her body still warm from Alexander’s embrace hours ago. Though he’d left her room before dawn out of respect and routine, his scent lingered faintly on her pillow—citrusy, clean, and undeniably him. A part of her missed the weight of his presence already, but the thought of last night sent a tingle down her spine. It hadn’t been passionate in the traditional sense; no frantic hands or whispered promises of forever. It had been deeper, a shared vulnerability that peeled away another layer of fear. He had made her feel seen—safe. And yet, with the safety came a nervous flutter. What now? Isabella rose from the bed slowly, wrapping a silk robe around

The sky outside the estate had turned overcast, casting the once-golden gardens in a gray, muted tone. The kind of weather that invited warm blankets, unread books, and long, unspoken thoughts. Isabella sat curled on the settee in the reading room, her phone abandoned beside her. She hadn’t touched it in hours. The internet was still ablaze with speculations and rumors. The media had spun her relationship into a political scandal, a PR stunt, a desperate power grab. But none of it mattered now. Because Alexander Blackwood had proposed. And for one terrifying, beautiful moment, time had stopped. She hadn’t said yes. Not yet. But she hadn’t said no either. Her fingers absently traced the edge of the velvet cushion as she replayed his words over and over again. “Not for strategy. Not to silence the tabloids. But because I love you.” That was what undid her. Not the timing. Not the chaos. But how simple and unguarded his confession had been. “Still hiding in here?” His voice, warm

The morning sun spilled through the open terrace doors, bathing the room in gold. A gentle breeze stirred the linen curtains, and birds chirped cheerfully in the distance. Isabella stirred under the covers, feeling the warmth of Alexander beside her. He was still asleep, chest rising and falling in rhythm, one arm draped over her waist possessively, like even in his sleep, he needed to know she was there. She smiled to herself. This was peace. The kind that couldn’t be bought or faked. The kind they had built in stolen moments and slow glances, in vulnerability and trust. Her hand moved to the sapphire ring on her finger. Still there. Still shimmering. Real. Just as she was about to drift back into sleep, her phone—forgotten and ignored on the side table for over twenty-four hours—buzzed. The sound was jarring in the silence, like a siren in a cathedral. Alexander didn’t wake. He merely shifted slightly, pressing a sleepy kiss to her shoulder. Isabella sighed, untangled herself

The smell of fresh croissants lingered in the air long after the breakfast tray had been cleared. Isabella, still in Alexander’s oversized shirt, padded barefoot across the penthouse floor, sipping coffee while sunlight spilled like liquid gold across the hardwood. It had been three days since her mother’s diagnosis, and while the looming surgery remained heavy in her heart, there was peace now—real peace—woven through the days like threads of quiet strength. And Alexander had become her constant. She glanced over at him, sitting on the sleek couch with his laptop open, half-reading a report, half-watching her. “You’re staring,” she teased. “I’m admiring,” he corrected, without missing a beat. “You’re impossible.” “You’re luminous.” He closed the laptop and stood. “I don’t know how you do it. After everything—you're still glowing.” She arched a brow. “You sure it’s not just your shirt being two sizes too big?” He walked to her, slipping a hand around her waist and lowering his

There was something about stepping into Alexander’s corporate tower that felt different now. Isabella adjusted the collar of her cream blouse and smoothed the front of her pencil skirt as the elevator ascended. She wasn’t just the quiet woman from the PR team anymore. She was Alexander Lancaster’s fiancée. And the ring on her finger glittered like a declaration. Beside her, Alexander stood tall and unmoved, radiating calm dominance in his custom charcoal-gray suit. But she knew what awaited on the top floor—a meeting with Lancaster Corporation’s board of directors. A gathering of cold-eyed wolves in expensive suits, none of whom were known for their compassion. “You still sure about this?” Isabella asked as the elevator pinged past the 56th floor. Alexander didn’t even blink. “They work for me. They’ll adjust.” She wanted to believe that. But the moment the elevator doors opened onto the executive floor, and they stepped into the glass-walled conference room, the air changed.