Chapter 250: Between the Father and the Grandpa

Perhaps the Fosters had taken Isobel as their goddaughter.

That had to be it.

What other explanation could there be?

The Fosters were known for their generosity. Isobel had spent months caring for Morgan’s twins, serving as their wet nurse when the family desperately needed someone they could trust. Perhaps they considered her devotion a debt that could never truly be repaid with money.

So they had chosen to bring her into the family in another way.

A goddaughter.

The thought eased something inside Isobel.

At least it meant she hadn’t misunderstood their kindness.

She took a slow breath, smoothing the front of her dress before stepping out from behind the marble pillar.

The moment she emerged, her eyes fell on the three figures standing beneath the garden’s ornamental archway.

Julian Foster stood with his hands clasped behind his back, his imposing presence impossible to miss even among the lavish surroundings. Beside him, Leanne looked every bit the elegant matriarch, her expression composed and dignified.

Mary was facing them, wearing the polished smile of a hostess who had been interrupted in the middle of entertaining important guests.

"So, it is Isobel you were looking for," Mary said pleasantly. "For a moment, I thought you meant Selene."

Julian’s brows drew together.

"Selene?" he repeated. "Who is she?"

Mary blinked.

"The mayor’s daughter."

Before Julian could respond, Leanne stepped in.

"We’re here for Isobel."

Her tone was polite, but there was something unmistakably firm beneath it.

"We weren’t able to accompany her earlier, so we promised to come back and pick her up."

Mary’s smile remained on her lips.

But it froze there.

Her eyes flickered between Julian and Leanne.

Pick her up?

The words echoed in her mind.

Why would the Fosters personally return for Isobel?

This wasn’t the sort of favor a powerful family usually did for an ordinary employee—or even for someone they had merely taken a liking to.

Mary’s confusion deepened.

Is Isobel really that special to them?

She opened her mouth to ask.

But before she could get the question out, the sound of approaching footsteps drew everyone’s attention.

Kristoff appeared from inside the hotel.

He had changed into a fresh, crisp white shirt, the sleeves neatly rolled to his forearms. His dark hair was still slightly damp, as though he had barely taken the time to dry it before coming back downstairs.

The simple change of clothes somehow made him look even more striking.

His gaze swept across the garden.

Then it stopped on Isobel.

For a fleeting second, his expression softened.

But Mary noticed.

And so did the Fosters.

Kristoff walked toward them without hesitation.

The hotel belonged to the Dalton family, and the penthouse occupying its highest floor was his private residence. Yet at that moment, none of that seemed as important as the woman standing quietly beneath the garden lights.

Mary’s eyes narrowed slightly.

One powerful family had come personally to collect Isobel.

And now Kristoff Dalton had returned for her, too.

Something was very wrong with the picture Mary had formed of Isobel.

Or perhaps—

She had never understood who Isobel really was in the first place.

...

Kristoff slowed the moment he stepped into the garden.

His eyes landed on Isobel first, then on the two people standing beside her.

The Fosters.

A fleeting shadow crossed his face.

He hoped to spend a little more time alone with Isobel before taking her home. After everything that had happened, he wanted those few quiet minutes with her—away from curious eyes and unwanted interruptions.

Now that opportunity was gone.

Kristoff concealed his disappointment and walked toward them.

"Mr. Foster. Mrs. Foster."

His greeting was respectful, his voice calm.

Then his gaze met Julian’s.

For a brief moment, neither man spoke.

The air between them seemed to tighten.

Julian’s expression remained cold.

He still hadn’t forgiven Kristoff for what he believed had happened between him and Isobel. Now that he knew Isobel was his daughter, his resentment had only grown stronger.

Worse, he had yet to figure out how to secure visitation rights—or, if circumstances allowed, partial custody of Alexander.

He had no intention of allowing another man to decide how much access he would have to his own grandson.

Kristoff, however, showed no sign of being intimidated.

"I wasn’t expecting to see you here," he said pleasantly. "Did you just arrive?"

"Yes."

Julian’s answer was sharp.

His eyes remained fixed on Kristoff. There was no warmth in them. Only a silent warning.

Kristoff understood it immediately.

Still, he smiled.

"We’re here to pick up Isobel," Julian said.

The words were simple.

But the emphasis made their meaning clear.

She’s coming with us.

Kristoff’s eyes flickered toward Isobel.

Then back to Julian.

"Of course."

He paused before adding with an almost disarming smile, "But since you’ve only just arrived, why don’t you have something to eat first?"

Julian’s jaw tightened. He could hear the deliberate politeness in Kristoff’s voice.

It was almost too respectful.

As though Kristoff were already treating him like a father-in-law.

And Julian wasn’t sure whether that was meant to show respect...

Or provoke him.

"There is no need," Julian replied. "We just came from a party. We’ve already eaten."

"It’s getting late," Leanne added gently. "We should head home."

Kristoff nodded.

"Of course."

He turned slightly toward Julian.

"Although, Mr. Foster, you’re always welcome here. You could stay a little longer."

Julian’s eyes narrowed.

"I’m sure we could."

The two men stared at each other.

Neither moved. Neither smiled.

For several seconds, the garden seemed strangely quiet.

Then Mary hurriedly stepped into the silence.

"Leanne, why don’t you stay a little longer?" she suggested, forcing a bright smile. "The party will be ending soon anyway."

Her gaze briefly shifted toward Julian.

She was still hoping the Fosters might be persuaded to make another generous donation before leaving.

But Julian didn’t even look at her. His attention remained on Kristoff.

"Perhaps another time."

He turned toward Isobel.

"Isobel, we’re leaving."

Kristoff’s fingers curled slightly at his side.

He had expected Julian to take charge.

What he hadn’t expected was how much the older man’s possessiveness would irritate him.

Isobel was Julian’s daughter. That much was true.

But Alexander was his son.

And Isobel...

Kristoff’s gaze settled on her again.

He wasn’t ready to define what she was to him.

He only knew one thing.

He didn’t like watching another man—even her father—take her away from him.

"Let me walk you out," Kristoff said.

Julian stopped.

He slowly turned his head.

"You don’t have to."

Kristoff’s smile didn’t waver.

"I know."

A beat of silence passed.

"But I’d like to."

Julian’s expression hardened.

The two men stood facing each other without the protection of polite conversation.

It was no longer a meeting between a wealthy businessman and a respected family patriarch.

It was a silent contest.

And neither man seemed willing to be the first to step aside.