Chapter 196 William’s Chest Aches Violently
William kept Isabella steady, determined to shield her from any more shocks. He turned to the doctor, his voice cold and unwavering. “Use the best medicine, the most advanced equipment, bring in every top specialist you can find. No matter the cost, we save his life.”
“Yes, Mr. Spencer.”
The doctor hurried back into the emergency room. Footsteps echoed down the corridor, quick and uneven.
Isla came rushing in, tears streaking her face. Her gaze darted from the emergency room door to Isabella’s tear-stained cheeks, and years of pent-up resentment burst.
The slap landed hard, sharp enough to ring in the air.
Isabella’s head snapped sideways, her cheek flushing red instantly. She didn’t move, didn’t even seem to feel it.
Isla lifted her hand again, but William caught her wrist. He hadn’t reacted fast enough to stop the first blow, and now his attention was locked on Isabella.
“Are you okay?”
Isabella didn’t answer, her eyes fixed vacant on the floor.
William let go of Isla’s hand, his voice firm. “Mrs. Tudor, this isn’t Isabella’s fault. Don’t touch her again.”
Isla stared, stunned that William—who had always made life difficult for Isabella—was defending her.
“William, have you completely turned your back on Beatrice?”
He didn’t respond. He wasn’t going to let anyone hurt her again.
Isla’s voice broke into a scream. “She’s cursed! She killed Beatrice, and now she’s killing her own father. Isabella, why don’t you just die? Why keep living and destroying everyone?”
“I didn’t hurt Dad…” Isabella’s tears spilled over.
She would die a hundred times before letting anything happen to Benjamin.
“If not you, then who?” Isla sobbed. “He was fine when he left the house. Why did something happen right when he was calling you?”
The words hit like a hammer.
Yes… Benjamin’s accident happened while he was calling her.
It was her fault.
If not for her, Beatrice wouldn’t have died.
If not for her, the cottage wouldn’t have burned.
If not for her, Benjamin wouldn’t be lying in that room.
Everyone suffered because of her.
Isabella sank to her knees, staring at the emergency room door, tears streaming. “Dad… if you don’t make it, I’ll go with you. I’ll die with you.”
William’s chest tightened. He pulled her up quickly. “Don’t say that. Your dad will live.” He shot Isla a warning glare. “Mrs. Tudor, stop talking. Isabella’s not in a good state.”
Isla sneered. “She should die now. She’s a curse. Sooner or later, she’ll drag you down too.”
Isabella nodded faintly. Isla was right.
She was a curse. Everyone around her ended badly.
Her gaze drifted toward the window, as if she could see Beatrice standing there.
Beatrice had come.
“Beatrice… you’re here. You blame me, too, don’t you? It’s my fault. Please… take me with you.”
She lunged toward the window, but William caught her, locking her in his arms.
“Let me go… let me follow Beatrice. I need to find her. Please, let me go to Beatrice.”
“No!” William’s voice cracked with pain. He tightened his hold, but it felt like she was slipping away. “Get a doctor, now.”
A doctor rushed in and injected a sedative. Isabella’s struggles slowed, her body going limp in William’s arms.
William ordered Isla restrained, then carried Isabella to the psychiatric ward.
From around the corner, Juniper had been watching everything.
Her nerves were tighter than anyone’s—terrified Benjamin might survive.
Making sure no one saw her, she smoothed her hair, hiding the glint of malice in her eyes, replacing it with a mask of worry as she clicked down the hall in her heels.
Isla sat hunched in a chair, wiping at her tears. Seeing Juniper felt like finding an anchor. “Juniper… why are you here?”
Juniper hurried to her side, resting a hand gently on Isla’s shoulder, her eyes reddened as tears fell. “Godmother, I heard about Godfather’s accident and came as fast as I could. How is he?”
Isla’s voice trembled. “The doctor issued a critical notice. It’s bad…”
“He’ll be fine.” Juniper hugged her, soft and reassuring. “Godfather’s such a good man… nothing will happen to him. Don’t cry.”
Her tone was warm, almost identical to how she’d spoken to Beatrice—perfectly composed.
Isla, still brimming with rage, clutched Juniper’s hand. “It’s all, Isabella. That cursed girl. Beatrice’s death wasn’t enough—now Benjamin’s in trouble too.”
Juniper lowered her gaze, words laced with quiet poison. “Godmother, don’t say that… Isabella didn’t mean it. But… Godfather was fine when he left, and then had an accident while calling her. It’s too much of a coincidence. Anyone would feel uneasy.”
She sighed, feigning reluctance. “I’ve heard Isabella’s mental state hasn’t been good. Always saying strange things. Maybe her unstable emotions… dragged Godfather down. I hate to even think it, but I’m worried.”
Juniper had seen Isabella’s breakdown earlier. William had taken her to the psychiatric ward—something was clearly wrong.
Isla’s fury only deepened. She deserved to die.
In the ward, William stood over the sleeping Isabella, tears still clinging to her lashes. His chest hurt.
He turned to Dylan at the door. “Investigate every detail of the accident. I want the most accurate report.”
Dylan left immediately.
Half an hour later, he returned with footage. “Mr. Spencer, the driver’s a chronic gambler and drunk. Multiple DUIs. That day, he drank himself unconscious with friends, then drove a scrapped, unlicensed car. Surveillance shows it was an accident—no sign of tampering.”
William’s brow furrowed. The evidence was flawless. On paper, it was just another drunk-driving tragedy.
But the unease in his gut wouldn’t leave.
It felt too coincidental… too wrong.
By afternoon, Isabella stirred awake. She sat up abruptly, throwing off the covers, but dizziness forced her back.
“Dad… I need to see Dad…”
William started to speak, but she reached toward the figure beside her bed. “Amara… how’s my dad? He’ll be okay, right?”
She was seeing Amara again.