At New Orleans City Cemetery, crowds of people littered around the lawn, having gathered for a common reason. Some were huddled together like crows, whispering among themselves, the faint of heart among them occasionally breaking down in tears. Dressed in black, Isobel stood in the crowd in a low profile, accepting condolences from her father's former friends who were coming one after the other to pay their last respects.

"Please accept my heartfelt condolences, Miss Xander," an elderly woman whispered, squeezing her shoulder in sympathy.

Izzy wiped away her tears, smiling bravely and thanked the guests graciously. She alone knew the troubles she had inherited from her father along with his empire. It was no longer news that a month ago, the Xander Shipping Group completely crashed underneath tens of millions worth of debts. Shareholders had fed them countless lawsuits, their representatives as mean as sharks. As if not yet enough, two of their shipping vessels had sunk in the ocean, with no survivors to tell the tale. Her stepmother, afraid of being attacked by angry shareholders, took to her heels, forsaking her vows shamelessly.

Her father, Manfred, unable to fathom the sudden fall of his empire, suddenly had a heart attack and died a few days later after the capsizing of his shipping vessels. The Xander family, who had been once feared and revered, had sunken deep into the unsavory nadir of financial debt. Without no siblings to share her burden with, Isobel went through the funeral service mechanically, smiling for the bright lights of the camera when necessary. The crowd murmured amongst themselves, but none of them dare to echo their thoughts to Izzy's hearing. Regardless of her family's failed enterprise, she managed to keep her chin up because of her last trump card; her marriage to William Bowen, the CEO and founder of WB Corps., a multi-continental business dynasty.

The funeral was followed afterwards by a mild reception at the Xander Villa at noon. As if on cue, when it was close to the end, a Bentley, as dark as midnight, slowly drove into the spacious garage. The driver got out, opened the rear door and a pair of polished Italian leather shoes were the first sign of the powerful man who had been occupying the back seat of the vehicle. They were followed closely by the perfectly handmade charcoal-black Arabian suit. William's cold eyes accentuated his hard, square jaw and handsome angular face, as he gazed around, inspecting his surroundings.

Izzy had managed to escape the mournful atmosphere of the reception and had sent herself to the balcony, a glass of champagne in her hand. While examining the movements of people, their eyes met inadvertently and a chill went down her spine. The cold wine froze to chips in her throat and she fought hard to push it down. She had not seen her husband after two years of marriage and somehow, it was a bit ironic that it had to be at her father's funeral. She had been married to him in name alone or at least, that was what she thought because immediately after their rather brief and platonic honeymoon, William Bowen had fled her arms, delving into his business fully.

As a sign of courtesy, most of the guests brought flower baskets and other perfunctory presents to commiserate with the mournful family but Liam stood tall, empty-handed, with his hands shoved deep in his pockets. The door on the other side of his car opened as well and an exotic woman in a short red dress came out of the car and affectionately wrapped her arms around Liam's right arm. The vampish Latina was a silky brunette, with an enviable tan that started from her exposed neck and ran down to her shaved legs.

"Am I coming along too, honey?"

Liam looked sideways at her, a corner of his lips curving upwards. His face warmed up a bit and he peeled her fingers away from the crook of his arm, kissing the interior of her palm briefly.

"No, you are waiting for me here."

She was not pleased with his response but could not contradict him. No one could.

"Alright, then."

The woman smiled and rising on her tiptoes, planted a quick but sensual kiss directly on his lips, her palms flat on his broad chest. The scene was undoubtedly a slap on Izzy's face and she dipped her head in unexplainable anger. It was her father's funeral, and the woman had not only worn a flashy red dress, but had also kissed her husband openly in front of all her guests. He had no respect for the dead, especially one who had been his father-in-law. Izzy clenched her palms fiercely, struggling to keep them from shaking while Liam leisurely walked into the villa. When he stood before her finally, he bent his head backwards to meet her gaze, having the advantage of being two heads taller than her.

"It's been two years, Liam. What do you want from me?" Izzy asked, her heart aching with cold hate.

"From you?" Liam's eyes turned chilly at once, only a few temperatures lower than snow falling around them. "You wish. I only came to pay tribute to my father-in-law.”

He looked down condescendingly at Izzy who stood fuming in front of him. He could not deny that she was more attractive than she was the last time he saw her two years ago. Her thick jet-black hair had grown longer, its tips brushing against the swell of her curvy hips. Attractive or not, it did not change the fact that she was a Xander, a name almost synonymous with fraud. He had married her to get revenge on her fraudulent father and had no affections whatsoever for her. Now that the lying bastard was gone, he would take up his battle with Isobel.

"I would like to have a word with you in private," he suggested, catching errant tresses of her hair, blown haywire by the wind. Isobel let out the breath she had not known she had been holding and increased the distance between them.

"Say what you have to say. I'm not going an inch anywhere with you," she rebutted, sticking her dented chin in the air in defiance. She gave him her back, her full skirt swishing against her legs. Impatiently, Liam tossed Izzy over his shoulder roughly and she wriggled in resistance, struggling to get out of his grasp. Unable to resist, he spanked her on her behind to keep her still and she cursed at him in fluent Italian. Servants looked on in surprise as they watched their mistress being manhandled. He carried her into their joint room, one he had never slept in and slammed the door behind them.