When Isabella stepped into the grand marble hall of the Blackwood estate, she wasn't expecting to feel anything.
But the weight of legacy here—it wasn't just architecture or wealth. It was breathless pressure in every corner.
Victor had invited her. Or, rather, insisted.
"You saved my grandmother. She wants to see you again. So does my grandfather," he had said. "He doesn't usually care about visitors, but he asked for you by name."
That last part had made her pause.
By name?
Isabella didn't make assumptions. But it gnawed at her on the ride over. She had made a careful effort to stay under the radar—even while saving lives. Her public personas were locked down. Anonymous contributions. Private interventions.
No way an old man like Elliot Blackwood should know who she was.
Unless…
She didn't like maybes.
"Miss Lin?" the butler said gently. "This way, please."
She nodded once and followed.
The hallway opened into a conservatory filled with warm sunlight, tropical plants, and at its center, seated in a leather armchair beneath a hanging orchid, was Elliot Blackwood.
Victor stood behind him, hands clasped behind his back, observing her carefully.
"Grandfather," Victor said, "this is Isabella Lin."
The old man's eyes, pale blue and sharper than glass, locked onto hers. "So. You're the ghost."
She didn't react. "Excuse me?"
Victor raised a brow. "Grandfather—"
"No, no," Elliot waved him off. "Let the girl speak. She knows what I mean."
Isabella took a single step closer. "People use that word when they can't control someone. When they don't know where the influence is coming from."
Elliot let out a slow, approving chuckle. "Sharp. You're every bit like your grandfather."
Her blood froze.
"…My grandfather?"
Victor glanced between them, visibly confused. "You've met before?"
"No," Elliot said. "But I knew her grandfather. And her teachers."
Now Isabella was still.
No one was supposed to know that. Not outside the few old men who had raised her like a secret project.
Elliot leaned forward slightly, hands on his cane. "Do you know what they called you in the old files, girl? 'The Medicine Ghost.' Anonymous, efficient, untouchable. You saved my wife without leaving a trace. Until I saw you on that lab security feed."
"You watched hospital footage?" Victor asked, frowning.
"I'm old, not dead," Elliot said dryly. "I keep tabs on the woman who revived my wife when my own doctors failed. And I know talent when I see it."
Isabella kept her voice neutral. "Why call me here, then? To thank me?"
"To warn you," Elliot said. "The world you're about to enter isn't just about power. It's about enemies you don't even know you've made yet. Your talents make you valuable. Your secrets make you dangerous. Be careful who sees what."
Victor finally stepped forward. "You're not threatening her."
"I'm advising her," Elliot said. "And maybe reminding you, grandson, not to get too careless with someone like her."
Then his eyes flicked to Isabella again.
"And you, girl—don't underestimate what it means to walk beside a Blackwood. Or what it means to be watched by those who don't want you there."
Isabella met his stare with quiet resolve. "Good. I hope they do watch. It'll make it easier when I surpass them."
Elliot burst out laughing.
Victor blinked.
"God, I like her," the old man muttered. "Get out of here, both of you. I'm old and bored, not in the mood for a full interrogation."
As they exited the conservatory, Victor leaned close.
"You're really something, you know that?"
Isabella smirked. "I've heard worse."
Next Chapter Teaser: After the tense meeting, Victor insists on walking her home—but their conversation takes an unexpected emotional turn that shakes them both.