Chapter 146: Vomited Blood

George barked, "Just drive."

The car eased into motion. Isabella tried to bring up the gift a couple of times, but George wasn't having it.

He remained silent until the car pulled up to the Spencer Manor. As he reached for the door handle, Isabella caught his arm. "George, please, let me explain about the gift."

"Don't worry about it," he said dismissively. "As long as you're happy."

He got out of the car and strode toward the house. Clutching her purse, Isabella hurried after him. "George, it's not like that. I'm not happy because of the gift."

"I didn't give it much thought," he said, his pace not slowing. "No explanation needed." He continued up the stairs. His stiff posture and clipped tone made it clear he was furious.

Isabella trailed behind him, but he shut the bedroom door in her face. She knocked twice, her frustration rising. "George! Will you just listen to me?"

He locked the door. Left with no other option, Isabella went to find John.

John, oblivious to the argument, naturally sided with the Spencers. "You know how George gets," he said. "He'll cool off. You must have done something to upset him."

Isabella didn't bother arguing. Of course they'd stick together.

John retrieved a spare key and opened the door for her. "George works himself to the bone. Try not to get him riled up."

They all blamed her.

"Fine," she muttered. When she entered the bedroom, George was already asleep.

Isabella tiptoed to the bed. Suddenly, George spoke. "I don't feel well. Sleep in the guest room."

Isabella froze. He's kicking me out? Separate rooms?

"What's that supposed to mean?" she asked.

"Exactly what I said." He didn't turn over, his back still to her.

"That's ridiculous!"

His silence only fueled her anger. It wasn't her fault someone gave her a gift; he had no right to be mad.

"I need to explain," she insisted.

"I don't want to hear it. Guest room. I'm exhausted." He flipped off the nightlight.

The room plunged into darkness. Isabella snapped on all the lights, then yanked George upright. "Why won't you listen to me? Don't you love me anymore? Are you tired of me? Is there someone else? Are you messing around with some actress again?"

George opened his eyes slowly, looking at her with a weary expression. "I know right from wrong. You don't need to explain anything. And yes, I am tired."

"Excuses! You just don't love me anymore. Fine! Let's just separate. We can get a divorce. I'll take Frederick. You can find some other woman to have kids with." The pressure she'd been under lately, combined with George's refusal to even listen, had pushed her to the edge. If he didn't want to hear her, she wasn't going to waste her breath.

Isabella snatched her pillow and stormed out, slamming the door behind her. She half-expected him to come after her, to try and smooth things over. He didn't.

With a sigh, she thought, He really doesn't love me anymore. Clutching her pillow, she trudged to the guest room, expecting a sleepless night. Surprisingly, she slept soundly.

She woke to a commotion outside her door. Rubbing her eyes, she checked the time: seven o'clock.

She opened the door to find John and Daniel talking in the hallway.

Isabella blinked, rubbing her eyes again. Why is Daniel here? Is George sick?

Daniel looked at her. "Did we wake you?"

Isabella nodded and joined them. "What's going on?"

"George is sick. I had to come."

Isabella glanced into the bedroom. A maid was cleaning the floor, and a strange smell hung in the air. "What's wrong with him?"

"He coughed up blood."

Isabella's breath hitched. "Coughed up blood?"

"Overworked. Old injuries acting up."

Overwork can cause you to cough up blood? That doesn't seem right. "What old injuries?"

"The car accident, nearly drowning, getting shot… His body hasn't fully recovered, and he pushes himself too hard. I heard he hasn't had a decent night's sleep all week."

Isabella stared at him, speechless.

Daniel frowned at her blank expression. "You're always sleeping in the guest room. How would you know how he's doing?"

He kicked me out. But it was true; George had been coming home late, sometimes not at all. She had no idea what he'd been so busy with.

"George needs rest. Let him sleep," Daniel said.

Isabella nodded.

Daniel picked up his medical bag. "I'm going to head out. Call me if anything changes."

Isabella hesitated, then followed him. "Daniel, wait."

He stopped. "What is it?"

"Is George going to die?"

Seeing the genuine fear in her eyes, Daniel reassured her. "He'll be fine, but he needs to take care of himself. If he keeps this up, it'll definitely shorten his lifespan."

"Okay."

"Can I go now?" Daniel gestured towards the door.

Isabella nodded. "Yes."

Remembering how George had risked his life to save her, Isabella decided to let the argument go. She went to the kitchen to make him some nourishing soup.

When George woke up, he looked pale and weak. John and Patricia hovered anxiously by his bedside.

"George, you can't work yourself to death," Patricia said, her voice a mix of concern and exasperation. "I told your uncle to take on more at the company. You need to stay home and recover." George was the only Spencer son; the entire Spencer Group rested on his shoulders. The car accident, the near drowning, the gunshot wound – it had all taken a serious toll.

George didn't reply, just closed his eyes.

Isabella entered the room quietly, carrying the soup. Patricia and John glanced at her. John took the soup from her hands.

"Mom, let George have some soup," Isabella said softly, trying not to disturb him. But he opened his eyes anyway.

His gaze landed directly on Isabella's face. She quickly looked away and quietly slipped out of the room.

After a quick shower, Isabella left for school. She couldn't focus all morning.

Elodie nudged her after she'd zoned out several times. "What's up with you?"

Isabella mumbled, "Nothing."

"You're totally spaced out. Something's going on." Elodie paused. "Did George find out about the gift from his cousin? Did you two have a fight?"