Chapter 218: Plotting Against Isobel

Mary flinched, but she did not retreat.

She had spent years mastering the art of keeping her emotions beneath a polished exterior, and she would not lose that control now—not over a woman she considered completely unsuitable for her son.

"They aren’t enough for you to bring her into this family."

Kristoff went still.

For a moment, Mary regretted saying it so plainly. Not because she believed she was wrong, but because she had revealed too much of what she had been thinking.

Still, there was no point pretending anymore.

"That’s where this is heading, isn’t it?"

Kristoff’s eyes darkened.

"Who said anything about bringing her in?"

"The way you defend her." Mary’s voice remained steady, but her eyes studied him carefully. "The way you look at her."

She paused.

"I saw the photographs, Kristoff."

His jaw tightened.

"And you brought Alexander to see her," she continued. "Even after you promised us you wouldn’t."

Mary took a slow breath.

"You’re falling for her."

Kristoff said nothing.

That silence told her more than an argument ever could.

Mary’s expression hardened.

"Kristoff, think carefully. A woman like that may deserve your gratitude, but gratitude does not make someone fit to become the mistress of this family."

His eyes flashed.

"Don’t speak about her like that."

Mary froze.

It was the first time her son had openly rebuked her over Isobel.

For a second, something cold settled in her chest.

Then she understood.

This was no longer about a passing infatuation.

"You see?" she whispered. "This is exactly what I’m afraid of."

Kristoff drew a slow breath.

"Isobel is special. Soon, you’ll see it."

"She has nothing to her name."

"But what I care about, is who she is, Mom. The person, not the name."

His voice was calm, almost frustratingly so.

Mary watched him closely.

"You think love is enough?"

"I didn’t say I love her."

The words came quieter this time. Almost too quiet for Mary to hear.

Kristoff looked away.

Do I love her?

He didn’t know.

All he knew was that he kept thinking about her.

He wanted to see her smile. He wanted to know she was safe. And when he had learned she was in danger, fear had seized him in a way he could not explain.

Mary saw the uncertainty in his eyes.

And that was enough.

"But you didn’t deny it," she said.

Again, silence.

Her son wasn’t looking at Isobel as a woman who had once been useful to him...the tool for bringing Alexander into the the world.

He wasn’t even looking at her merely as the woman who had saved his life.

He was beginning to choose her.

And Mary refused to allow that choice to stand.

"You may be willing to throw away everything we’ve built for a woman with no family and no standing," she said quietly, "but I won’t stand by and watch it happen."

Kristoff’s gaze hardened.

He wanted to tell her the truth. Isobel wasn’t an orphan with no family.

She was a Foster.

But he remembered his promise.

Isobel had made it clear that she did not want anyone knowing her identity until the Foster family announced it themselves.

So he kept silent.

Instead, he turned toward the door.

"Then don’t expect me to abandon someone simply because you don’t approve of where she came from."

He walked out.

The door closed behind him.

Mary remained motionless.

Only when his footsteps disappeared did her expression change.

The warmth vanished from her face.

Her eyes became cold and calculating.

She had just learned something important.

Kristoff would fight her if she attacked Isobel directly.

And Mary was not foolish enough to give her son an enemy he could rally against.

She needed another approach. Something quieter.

Something that would not make Kristoff rush to Isobel’s defense.

Something that would make Isobel leave him herself.

Mary turned toward Henry.

"Henry."

Her husband looked at her.

"Do something," she said sharply. "Why were you silent all along?"

Henry gave a faint sigh.

"My dear, as if you don’t know your son. If I joined you in reprimanding him, he would only become more determined."

Mary’s lips tightened.

"What, then? We simply stand aside and watch?"

"You know what works best with Kristoff."

She stared at him.

"Not coercion," Henry said. "He responds to reason. Give him a choice, and he’ll convince himself it was his own."

Henry walked toward the door.

"Come. Let’s see what new tricks our grandson has learned in the few days we’ve been away."

Mary didn’t move.

Her gaze had already drifted toward the family portrait hanging behind Kristoff’s desk.

It showed everything she had spent years protecting—the Dalton family, its reputation, its legacy.

She stared at the faces in the painting. Hers. Henry. Their son, Vandolf and his wife. Kristoff holding the newborn Alexander.

Then Henry’s words settled into place.

Don’t coerce him.

Her expression slowly changed.

"Of course."

Henry glanced back.

Mary turned from the portrait.

"I’ve been approaching this from the wrong direction."

He raised an eyebrow.

"I don’t need to convince Kristoff."

Her voice became quieter.

"I need to convince Isobel."

Henry studied her for a moment, but Mary had already begun constructing the plan in her mind.

She knew exactly what she needed.

A place where Isobel could see the world Kristoff belonged to.

A place where the difference between them could not be ignored.

And, most importantly, a situation where Mary would never have to openly insult her.

Mary would let the Dalton world do it for her.

She would arrange an elegant family gathering under the perfect pretense: a formal celebration to thank Isobel for saving Kristoff’s life.

The invitation would appear sincere.

Gracious.

Impossible to refuse.

And she would make certain Isobel arrived.

Then Mary would control every detail.

The guest list.

The seating arrangement.

The conversations.

Even the people Isobel would encounter.

Influential families would surround her. Women dressed in couture would casually discuss their estates, charitable foundations, prestigious schools, and family connections.

Isobel would have none of those things to contribute.

Mary could already imagine the question.

Which family are you from?

A simple question. An innocent question. And one that would expose everything.