Alexander Kane's instructions were executed by David without the slightest discount, like the most precise code compiled to perfection. The next morning, when Isabella once again picked up the tablet, carrying both anxiousness and expectation, and tried to revisit that old blog with the mysterious character string, what awaited her was a clean, neat "404 Not Found" error page.
Her heart sank heavily.
Unwilling, she tried several more times, but the result remained the same. She quickly attempted other marginal technical sites she had previously been able to access, and found that a large portion of them could no longer be opened either. Yet those documentaries and science articles on aerospace and technology were still perfectly accessible, and even the recommendation list now contained several new, finely produced series, as if diligently telling her: Look, here is everything you need, why bother looking at those outdated, useless scraps?
A cold, voiceless noose slowly tightened around Isabella's throat, suffocating her.
He knew.
He definitely knew.
He had not even come to question her, had not issued any warning, only in the lightest of touches, silently erased that faint glimmer she had struggled so hard to glimpse, and in passing built the boundary walls higher and smoother. This absolute, effortless control was more despairing than an angry reprimand.
She felt like someone who had groped in the dark for so long, finally glimpsing a thin crack of light, only to watch with her own eyes as that crack was silently, completely sealed in front of her, without even a speck of dust raised. And she did not even know when he had begun watching her futile attempts, perhaps even with a trace of mocking pity.
For an entire day, Isabella remained in a state of absent despair. She mechanically watched the documentaries she was allowed to view. The vast starry sky no longer stirred resonance in her, but rather seemed like another carefully displayed cage, unreachable. She ate very little, spent longer and longer staring blankly out the window. Her ankle was gradually healing, but some part of her within seemed to wither on this very day.
David saw everything, but he was silent as a mountain. He arranged the meals, replaced the flowers, reminded her to take her medicine, everything as usual. Only in those professionally trained eyes, there occasionally flickered the faintest, hardest-to-interpret emotion—perhaps sympathy, perhaps a trace of helplessness beyond duty, but ultimately all drowned in absolute loyalty.
He was even more meticulous than usual in inspecting the suite's facilities, including that tablet, ensuring its functions were "normal" and its contents "appropriate."
Isabella could feel that this voiceless surveillance had grown even stricter. She no longer attempted any searches, merely numbly switched channels. The void after hope's collapse nearly swallowed her whole.
Just as she was sinking into this utter helplessness, an unexpected visitor once again stirred the still waters of the Amber Pinnacle.
In the afternoon, the suite door was gently knocked. David opened it, and outside stood not Lucas Wilson, but a middle-aged woman in an elegant champagne-colored suit, with makeup immaculately done. She was well maintained, appearing only in her forties, yet the shrewdness in her eyes and the aloofness of long-standing authority betrayed her true age and identity.
"Madam Lydia." David bowed slightly, his tone carrying a touch more formality than when facing Lucas, but his blocking stance did not change. "The master is currently in a meeting."
"I know Alexander is busy. I am not here to see him." Lydia Kane, Alexander's mother, spoke in a voice gentle yet carrying an undeniable penetrative force. "I came to see the young lady who has made him so 'concerned'—Miss Isabella." Her gaze passed over David, already landing on Isabella in the living room, who was looking back in dazed surprise.
That gaze was like a precise scanner, swiftly and critically sweeping over Isabella's pale face, her simple loungewear, her curled-up posture, and the faint yellow traces of ointment still visible on her ankle. Lydia's lips held a perfect, socially appropriate smile, yet her eyes carried no trace of laughter, only cold assessment and a faintly unconcealed disdain.
David hesitated for a moment. Mr. Alexander had not explicitly forbidden Madam Lydia's visits, but the order of "no one is to disturb" was a general one.
"What's this? Am I not even allowed to see the person my own son is concerned about?" Lydia's tone remained gentle, yet carried pressure.
"Of course not, Madam." David stepped slightly aside, making way, but followed close behind like a silent guard.
Lydia, in high heels, walked gracefully into the suite. A scent of expensive yet icy perfume radiated from her, mingled with her own Omega pheromones—meticulously refined into a flawless sweetness—like a frost-covered artificial flower. The scent made Isabella uncomfortable, and she instinctively shrank back.
"Oh, darling, you must be Isabella?" Lydia came to the sofa, looking down at her from above, her smile flawless. "I'm Alexander's mother. I've heard about you for quite some time and always wanted to see you. How is it here—are you settling in? That son of mine is just terrible at taking care of people, especially someone as delicate as you, an Omega."
Her words sounded like concern, yet every syllable carried falseness and distance. She sat gracefully on another sofa, as if this were her own salon.
Isabella nervously clenched her fingers, speaking softly: "Hello, Madam Kane, I…I'm fine."
"Just call me Aunt Lydia, no need to be so distant." Lydia waved a hand with a smile, her gaze once again sweeping over Isabella's body, lingering a moment on the suppressant patch at her nape and the monitoring stickers on her bare skin. A fleeting trace of disgust passed through her eyes, as if she had seen something unclean. "Oh dear, these things look so unpleasant. Truly a grievance for you, but it's for your own good. After all, your situation is special, and requires special 'care.'"
She placed deliberate weight on the word "care."
"Alexander too—keeping you hidden away like this. If it weren't for that boy Lucas letting something slip when he returned, I'd never have known he was keeping such a little beauty here." Lydia casually mentioned, deftly revealing the source of her information while carefully observing Isabella's reaction. "If you ask me, since he's found an Omega to his liking, he should bring you back to the family estate sooner, make a proper introduction. Far better than keeping you here so vaguely on the top floor, don't you think?"
Isabella's face grew even paler. Every word from Lydia was like a sugar-coated poisoned needle—seeming concerned, yet full of probing, sowing discord, and applying pressure. She didn't know how to respond, and could only lower her head in silence.
"Look at me, rambling on." Lydia took from her handbag a palm-sized, exquisitely packaged velvet box. "First time meeting, just a small gift. I hope you'll like it."
She pushed the box toward Isabella.
Isabella looked at the box, but did not move.
"Go on, open it, child." Lydia urged, still smiling.
Hesitantly, Isabella reached out and opened the box. Inside lay a dazzling diamond bracelet, ornate and luxurious, refracting a cold, piercing brilliance under the light. Its worth was obvious at a glance, yet it carried the vulgar ostentation of a nouveau riche, utterly unlike the understated, detail-infused luxury Alexander had given.
"This is too valuable…I can't accept it…" Isabella instinctively refused.
"Tsk, why be so polite with me?" Lydia, without giving her a chance, picked up the bracelet and moved to put it on Isabella's wrist. "Our Kane family will never shortchange you. As long as you're obedient, stay quietly by Alexander's side, there will be endless good days ahead. After all, for an Omega like you, meeting Alexander is already the greatest fortune imaginable. You must learn to be grateful, do you understand?"
Her ringed, cool fingers touched Isabella's wrist, like being entwined by a cold serpent. Isabella trembled violently, as if burned, and quickly pulled her hand back!
That act of resistance instantly shattered the perfect mask on Lydia's face.
Her smile froze, a flash of icy anger flickering in her eyes, though it was quickly smoothed over by an even more false smile. "Hehe, so shy." She nonchalantly placed the bracelet back in the box, though her tone was colder. "Since you're not comfortable right now, then let's leave it for later. When you finally come around, you can wear it."
She set the box on the coffee table, as if placing down an unmistakable marker.
At that moment, the suite door opened again.
Alexander Kane appeared in the doorway. Clearly just out of a meeting, he wore a sharp black suit, his expression stern, his whole presence still carrying the lingering pressure of decision-making. His gaze instantly locked onto the uninvited guest in the living room. His gray-blue eyes darkened in an instant, like a frozen lake.
"Mother." His voice was cold, devoid of warmth, even more distant than usual. "Who gave you permission to come up here?"
Madam Lydia seemed momentarily surprised by his sudden appearance and hard tone, but quickly recovered, standing with a smile: "Alexander, you've finished your meeting? I just happened to be free, so I came to see Miss Isabella. Look at you, placing her here but not taking proper care—her complexion is so poor…"
Kane ignored her words. His eyes swept over Isabella's pale face, her tensely clasped hands, and then the conspicuous velvet box on the coffee table with its cheaply ostentatious sparkle. His gaze sharpened instantly, the pheromonal pressure in the air rising in silence, carrying a chilling anger that made one's heart pound.
"David." He didn't even look at the butler.
"Sir." David immediately stepped forward.
"Escort Madam back. From now on, without my explicit permission, no one is to set foot on this floor." His order was direct and merciless, leaving no room for compromise.
Madam Lydia's expression finally changed. Her delicate smile vanished completely. "Alexander! I am your mother! And for the sake of some Omega of dubious origin, you speak to me like this?"
"It is precisely because you are my mother that you may walk out of here on your own," Kane's voice was low and terrifying, his eyes fixed on Lydia as though she were nothing more than a trivial stranger, "instead of being 'escorted' out by security. Remember my words. Do not test my limits, Mother."
That final title he uttered was laced with bitter mockery and ice.
Madam Lydia's face turned pale with fury, her lips trembling as if she wanted to retort, but under the crushing weight of her son's absolute cold authority, she could only glare venomously at Isabella, snatch up her handbag, and storm out in her heels. David followed in silence, right behind her.
The door closed.
Only Kane and Isabella remained in the suite.
A heavy, suffocating pressure filled the air. Kane stood motionless, saying nothing at first, only fixing her with those glacial eyes, as if assessing whether she had been tainted by an influence she should not have.
Isabella shrank under his gaze, her voice trembling as she blurted, "I… I didn't accept her gift…"
Kane strode to the coffee table, picked up the velvet box without even opening it, and tossed it into the trash can beside him—a gesture so casual, as though discarding a piece of refuse.
"Not a single word she says is worth listening to." He stepped closer, looming over her. "You need only remember what I say."
His hand reached out, lifting her chin with cold fingers, forcing her to meet his gaze. His touch carried the chill of the outside air, yet his presence burned with oppressive heat.
"You belong to me. You obey me. Understand?"
She stared into his fathomless eyes, turbulent with icy fury and absolute domination. Fear gripped her—but twisted within it was a strange sense of release, as though he had pulled her out of another, equally suffocating snare.
Her head moved in the slightest, trembling nod.
His thumb brushed once against her chin before withdrawing. He seemed satisfied.
"There's a multinational video conference tonight. It'll run late." His words were abrupt, as though an announcement of his schedule was a privilege granted. "Rest on your own."
Without another glance, without the faintest mention of the fact her network access had been altered, he turned and left.
As if that detail were too trivial to acknowledge.
Isabella sat alone in the living room. Her eyes fell on the glittering bracelet in the trash, then recalled Madam Lydia's glacial stare as she departed—and Alexander's unmasked anger and unyielding control.