Chapter 387

The steaming bathwater had finally eased the tension in Isabella's muscles. She examined her surgical scars in the mirror, satisfied with their healing progress. A glass of rich red wine was exactly what she needed now.

"Margaret? Margaret!" Isabella called out sharply.

The maid, Eleanor, rushed in immediately. "Yes, Ms. Isabella?"

Ever since Evangeline had assigned her to spy, Eleanor had been working tirelessly to gain the trust of both Isabella and Arabella. While Arabella remained suspicious and distant, Isabella proved far more gullible—easier to manipulate.

So Eleanor made herself indispensable, catering to Isabella's every whim. Otherwise, as a low-ranking maid who once served under Margaret, she would have been thrown out of the Sinclair Estate without hesitation.

"Fetch me a bottle from the wine cellar. Something expensive," Isabella ordered, smoothing a sheet mask over her freshly enhanced features. Eleanor nodded and hurried off.

Then Isabella realized she'd left her phone in the third-floor theater room. She couldn't function without it, so she had no choice but to retrieve it herself.

As she walked down the dimly lit hallway, a shadow flickered past. Isabella gasped, nearly dropping her mask. A few steps ahead, a pale woman with tangled hair emerged from the darkness.

Isabella exhaled in relief. "Mother? Is that you?"

Arabella, hunched and wrapped in a cashmere shawl, peered at her through unkempt strands. Isabella was stunned—her once-elegant mother looked like a ghost of herself.

Arabella suddenly seized Isabella's arm, dragging her back to the bedroom.

"Mother, what's wrong? You're hurting me!"

"Quiet!" Arabella hissed, silencing her with a venomous glare.

Once inside, Arabella locked the door and scanned the room frantically. "Mother, what happened?" Isabella pressed, anxiety clawing at her throat.

Arabella collapsed onto the sofa, shivering despite the warmth. "I made a mistake tonight. I said something I shouldn't have."

"What? What did you say?"

"I went for another treatment. Dr. Laurent gave me an injection—said it would relax me better than my usual medication." Arabella's voice trembled.

"I fell asleep. When I woke up, he asked me about Seraphina!"

Isabella's blood ran cold. Goosebumps prickled her skin.

"Mother, what did you tell him? Who is this Dr. Laurent? How could you—"

The truth about Nathaniel's mother's death wasn't a secret to Isabella. In many ways, Arabella had orchestrated Seraphina's suicide.

Arabella had manipulated Seraphina's maid into tampering with her antidepressants, spread vicious rumors, and ultimately driven her to jump from the balcony.

It was Arabella's proudest achievement—one she could never boast about.

"I don't know how much I revealed. I don't even remember what I said." Arabella's eyes were glazed, her voice unsteady. "But Dr. Laurent swore confidentiality. He won't betray me."

"Mother! How can you trust him? He's not family—what if he blackmails you?"

A faint rustling sound cut through the tension. Isabella tiptoed to the door and flung it open—but the hallway was empty. She exhaled shakily, her forehead damp with sweat.

If anyone had overheard, it would mean ruin for both of them.

"He would never betray me! He works for me!" Arabella insisted, though her confidence wavered.

But what choice did she have? She was utterly dependent on Dr. Laurent now—emotionally and physically.

"Mother, listen to me." Isabella gripped Arabella's icy hands. "You need to distance yourself from him. He's dangerous. And Seraphina's death? That secret dies with everyone who knows it. As long as he's alive, he's a threat to you."

"It's been twenty years. All evidence is gone."

Arabella shuddered, curling into Isabella's arms. "Unless that wretched Seraphina rises from the grave to accuse me, no one will ever know the truth."

"What about Genevieve?"

"She's nothing! A discarded pawn. If she ever dares return to Elmsworth, she'll keep her mouth shut if she knows what's good for her."

Arabella's breathing steadied, her rationality returning. "That maid—the one I bribed, Seraphina's loyal servant. Have you been monitoring her?"

"Yes. She runs a diner in R-town. She owes us. She won't talk."

Isabella's expression darkened. Though she resented Arabella at times, she understood their fates were intertwined. If Arabella fell, Isabella's life in the Sinclair family would crumble. The entire Sinclair Group would fall into Nathaniel's hands—and she'd be left with nothing.

After helping Arabella back to her room, Isabella returned to hers, shaken.

The sight of needle marks on Arabella's arms haunted her. With Reginald and Arabella barely sharing a bed since the incident with Margaret, their marriage was hanging by a thread.

Eleanor stood waiting with the wine. Isabella snatched it and slammed the door in her face.

Eleanor remained frozen, her uniform damp with sweat.

Alone, Isabella had no appetite for wine.

Dr. Laurent's name gnawed at her. She needed to investigate him—discreetly.

After removing her mask and washing her face, she opened her wardrobe to change. A strange scent hit her—someone had been inside.

She grabbed her phone and pulled up the hidden surveillance feed.

Her blood turned to ice.

Foolish as she was, Isabella had installed cameras in her room.

The footage showed Eleanor entering shortly after she'd left—hiding first in the room, then in the closet.

Isabella's phone clattered to the floor.

That wretched maid had heard everything.

She knew the truth.

Trembling, Isabella paced, her mind racing. She snatched up her phone and dialed Arabella.

"What is it? I was about to sleep."

"Mother, we have a problem!"

Isabella huddled on the bed, voice shaking. "Eleanor overheard us. She was hiding in my closet. The cameras caught her!"

Silence.

"Mother? Did you hear me? What do we do?"

"That maid cannot stay."

Arabella's voice was glacial. "Act normal for now. Don't alert her. Watch her closely. When the time comes, we'll make her disappear—permanently."

Evangeline was finally discharged from the hospital.

The entire Ashbourne family came—even the three aunts flew in from Skyrim, though Elijah refused to see Reginald. Seeing their beloved Evangeline so frail, the women wept.

"My dear, you've suffered," Margaret murmured, pulling Evangeline into a tearful embrace. "We failed you. I'm so sorry."

"The fault is mine," Evangeline whispered, bitterness swelling in her chest.

"How have you been? Has Reginald treated you well? Bought you bags? Jewelry?" Evangeline teased weakly. "He's not that stingy, is he?"

"Margaret isn't materialistic, but she did bring back enough gourmet ingredients to cook for you for a month," Seraphina chuckled, arm around Sophia.

"What? I'm not an invalid!" Evangeline protested, though secretly touched.

Across the street, Nathaniel stood alone in the shadows, his gaze fixed on Evangeline.

Her smile—once his to cherish—now felt like a distant dream.

He'd canceled an important meeting to be here, yet all he could do was watch from afar, like a ghost haunting his own life.

Pain lanced through his chest, sharp and unrelenting.

How had it come to this?

Was it Genevieve's fault? Adrian's?

No. The blame was his alone.

"Evangeline," he whispered, stepping forward involuntarily.

Just then, a vintage Rolls-Royce pulled up—Reginald's prized possession, one of a kind in the country.

Mr. Donovan stepped out first, opening the rear door.

Evangeline expected her father—but the man who emerged was impeccably dressed, his presence commanding.

Adrian.