Chapter 567

Victoria and the medical team hurried out with Theodore.

Harrison frowned. Why were Victoria and Theodore here? To monitor her while she prepared Isabella's antidote?

She knew Theodore had always treated Isabella like his most prized possession, so that explanation made sense.

Yet something about Victoria felt off. Harrison couldn't shake the suspicion that her mother was hiding something.

Henry turned to her. "Are you alright?"

Harrison opened her mouth to respond, but before she could speak, Nathaniel's tall frame blocked her view entirely.

He leveled a cool gaze at Henry. "She's fine."

Henry remained silent.

So did Harrison. She sank into a chair. "You two can leave. I need to focus on the antidote."

Nathaniel glanced at Henry. "Uncle Henry, Harrison asked you to go."

"She seems to be asking you as well," Henry countered.

Nathaniel nodded. "Fine. Let's go together."

"Agreed."

Henry strode out first, Nathaniel following and shutting the door firmly behind them.

Alone, Harrison exhaled and picked up the vial of blood she'd drawn from Henry earlier. She began mixing the antidote with practiced precision.

Meanwhile, Margaret had been asleep when the commotion startled her awake.

"What's happening?" she demanded of the maid.

The maid wrung her hands. "Madam, Mr. Theodore had an accident. He's unconscious at the hospital!"

Margaret froze. "What? Ready the car—I'm leaving now!"

Though she had two sons—Theodore and Frederick—Theodore was her favorite. The moment she heard of his condition, she rushed to the hospital.

Thirty minutes later, she burst into the hospital room to find Theodore motionless on the bed.

"Theodore! What happened? You were perfectly fine at dinner!"

Victoria stood beside the bed, her expression icy as she stared at Theodore's still form. Then, forcing tears, she choked out, "He hit his head. The doctors say the brain damage is severe... he might never wake up."

Margaret recoiled. "Never wake up? What are you saying?"

Victoria's voice trembled with feigned grief. "It means... he could remain in a vegetative state."

Margaret's knees buckled. Her beloved son—reduced to this?

"Don't distress yourself—" Victoria began.

Margaret's palm cracked across her face.

The slap snapped Victoria's head to the side, a red mark blooming on her cheek.

Margaret jabbed a finger at her, voice shaking with fury.

"Is this how you care for my son? How did he get injured?"

She leaned in, eyes blazing.

"Let me make one thing clear—with my son's status, he never should have married you! If Isabella hadn't favored you as a child and begged for you to be her mother, Theodore would never have chosen you, and I would never have allowed this farce of a marriage!"