Chapter 268: Easy to Judge From the Sidelines

Chapter 268: Easy to Judge From the Sidelines

Isabella had mastered the art of dealing with problems as they came.

She'd set up her laptop at the small table in the corner of the hospital room—working without disrupting William's recovery, and giving Sophia and Henry absolutely nothing to complain about.

With no opening to needle her, the two of them didn't bother sticking around. They left Laura with firm instructions to stay close to William and build some kind of connection with him, then made their exit.

Isabella paid them no attention. She turned back to her screen and got to work.

"I'm thirsty," William announced.

Laura had already poured a glass of water and was holding it out to him. He didn't even glance at it.

"Isabella." When she didn't move, he tried again, with exaggerated patience. "I said I'm thirsty."

Isabella dragged her eyes away from her data analysis and gave him a flat look.

"I don't do magic. The water I pour won't taste any different."

"I don't care. I want you to get it. I'm thirsty." He repeated himself with the stubborn persistence of a man who had decided this was a hill worth dying on.

Isabella was fairly certain his voice was going to make her lose her place in her calculations. She gave in, stood up, and poured him a glass.

Once he'd drained it, she refilled it and left it on the nightstand—preemptively cutting off the next round—then sat back down.

The thread of reasoning she'd been working through was completely gone now, scattered by the interruption. She pulled out a notepad and started writing down each critical step by hand instead.

The experimental data was a mess. After organizing it, she still needed to run simulation models to map out the charge-discharge mechanism for the new material. Every step demanded precise, careful calculation—the kind of work that deserved a quiet lab and zero distractions.

If William hadn't gone and gotten himself stabbed with a pitchfork, she'd be sitting at her own desk right now.

"Isabella, I want an apple."

Not twenty minutes later.

To head off the inevitable follow-up complaints, she washed every apple in the fruit bowl and dried them one by one on a paper towel. She set the whole lot on the tray beside him. Then she sat back down.

She hadn't even opened her laptop when he started up again.

"I don't want the skin on. I want it peeled. And cut into slices—I'm sick, I need proper care."

"Then peel it yourself," she said, her voice sharpening for the first time.

"No. I want you to do it. Peel it, then slice it. I'm the patient here."

Isabella thought of the time Olivia had been hospitalized with a fever—how her daughter had barely complained at all. She didn't say that out loud.

She peeled the apple. She cut it into slices. She handed them over without a word.

William ate every piece with obvious satisfaction.

Isabella closed her laptop.

She walked out of the hospital room, took the elevator down, and stepped out through the main entrance.

The sidewalk outside was familiar territory to anyone who'd spent time around hospitals—a loose cluster of middle-aged women standing near the curb, each wearing a laminated badge printed with "Private Care & Home Assistance." Some of them had been standing there for hours. They were independent caregivers, unaffiliated with agencies, putting themselves in front of whoever needed them.

Isabella scanned the group. Her eyes landed on a woman in her mid-forties with an unhurried, capable look about her—the kind of person who seemed constitutionally incapable of sitting still.

"Can you cook?"

The woman nodded.

"Patient care experience?"

"Plenty." There was a quiet pride in her voice. "I worked for a licensed home care agency for years. Had a falling out with management, so I went independent. The hospital circuit suits me better—more flexibility, decent money." She paused. "Today's actually my first day out here."

Isabella didn't need to hear more. "Come with me."

 

The woman's name was Brenda.

Within thirty seconds of setting foot in the VIP room, Brenda had produced a cleaning cloth from her bag and started wiping surfaces. She worked in methodical, overlapping strokes—windowsill, monitor stand, IV pole, chair arms—moving with the quiet intensity of someone who considered dust a personal offense.

By the end of twenty minutes, a room that had already been clean had been elevated to a standard that would have satisfied a surgical suite.

Isabella glanced up from her laptop and thought, with genuine appreciation, that she might actually be a genius.

Brenda, it turned out, was physically incapable of being idle.

"Sir, that gown looks like it could use a wash," she said, turning to William with cheerful efficiency. "Go ahead and take it off—I'll run it through while I've got a free minute."

Isabella looked up again.

Hospital gowns went through industrial sterilization. There was no such thing as "running one through" in a hotel sink.

While Brenda stepped out to empty a basin, William lowered his voice to a tight, controlled hiss.

"Where did you find her?"

Since Brenda had walked in, the room had not been quiet for more than four consecutive minutes. She didn't seem to notice that no one was responding to her. She hummed to herself, reorganized the bedside supplies by apparent preference, and asked William whether he'd had his afternoon water.

"She did it on purpose." Laura's voice was sharp with indignation, aimed at Isabella. "Sophia specifically put you in charge. You can't just outsource it to a stranger."

Laura said it like she was invoking something sacred—Sophia's name as a trump card, guaranteed to produce results.

Isabella set down her pen.

"Then go tell her. Call Sophia right now and let her know I hired someone. I'll wait."

She meant it. Being expelled from this entire arrangement was exactly what she wanted.

Laura opened her mouth. Nothing came out.

"If you've got an opinion," Isabella continued, "you're welcome to step in and handle it yourself. See how long you last."

Silence.

"Sophia assigned this to you before she left. Not to me. Whether I do it personally or I bring in someone qualified, William is being cared for and this room is being maintained." She looked at Laura with something close to boredom. "Is there a rule somewhere that says it only counts if I'm the one doing it by hand?"

Laura had no answer to that.

The cost of hiring Brenda was negligible—anyone in the room could have afforded it without thinking twice.

The whole point had never been about William's care. It had been about making Isabella miserable.

It just hadn't worked out that way. Sophia had set the trap, and William was the one sitting in it.