Chapter 116

Harrison noticed Arabella lounging on the plush sofa, her laughter ringing through the room as she stirred up mischief. The atmosphere was electric with amusement.

Arabella flashed a playful grin. "Nathaniel, Isabella, since everyone's in such high spirits, let me share a joke."

Isabella leaned forward, eyes sparkling with curiosity. "What joke?"

Arabella's smirk widened. "It's about Harrison!"

Just beyond the doorway, Harrison froze. Her stomach twisted uncomfortably. This wasn't how she wanted to be included—especially not with Nathaniel and Isabella sharing such a joyful moment.

Earlier, she'd convinced herself she didn't belong in their glittering world. Yet here was someone determined to thrust her into it anyway.

Arabella continued, voice dripping with amusement. "Today was Harrison's first day at Willowridge University, and she's already legendary!"

Sebastian sneered. "Her? Really?"

Arabella giggled. "Oh yes. They're calling her the 'Sleeping Goddess.' She slept through every single class!"

The room exploded with laughter.

Sebastian roared with mirth. "Now I understand why Nathaniel enrolled her at Willowridge. He wanted to provide us with daily entertainment! Comedy gold!"

The entire group joined in, their mocking laughter washing over Harrison. Isabella looked particularly delighted, her smug satisfaction radiating.

Harrison clenched her fists. If their happiness came at her expense, so be it.

Inside the opulent room, Nathaniel remained stone-faced. Isabella's antics had mildly amused him earlier, but this "joke" about Harrison sent a chill through him.

His arm, which had been draped casually over Isabella's chair, withdrew abruptly.

With sudden intensity, he turned toward the doorway, his piercing gaze scanning the threshold.

But it was empty.

Harrison and Rosalind had already slipped away.

Nathaniel rose abruptly, his expression stormy, and strode toward the exit.

Isabella blinked in confusion. "Nathaniel? Where are you going?"

"Bathroom," he replied curtly.

Entering a private lounge, Nathaniel pulled out his phone and dialed.

Alistair's voice answered. "Nathaniel?"

Standing before the floor-to-ceiling windows, Nathaniel's jaw tightened. "Alistair, how did Harrison perform today?"

He'd gone straight to the source.

Alistair hesitated. "Not... ideal. She slept through all her classes."

Nathaniel's aristocratic features twisted in irritation. "I sent her to university to learn, not to sleep through lectures! Alistair, why didn't you intervene?"

Alistair recalled Harrison's earlier words.

"You're Alistair Whitmore? Fine, go ahead with your lecture."

A dry chuckle escaped him. "Why don't you deal with her?"

Nathaniel's expression darkened. "She's your student. That makes it your responsibility."

Unfazed, Alistair countered, "And she's your wife. Shouldn't you handle her?"

Nathaniel ended the call with a sharp click.

Back in his study, Alistair stood motionless, listening to the dead tone.

"Unbelievable. The audacity of these two."

His thoughts circled back to Harrison. He wasn’t intimidated—he was her professor, after all. Tomorrow, he’d put her in her place.

Ding.

His phone chimed.

A message from his most revered mentor, Dr. Sinclair, appeared. Just yesterday, the renowned physician had meticulously reviewed his surgical proposal, marking it with precise red annotations.

Alistair’s eyes gleamed as he scanned the notes, admiration swelling in his chest. "Brilliant. Absolutely brilliant."

With deep reverence, he recorded a voice reply.

"Thank you, Dr. Sinclair."