Chapter 568

"You've done well caring for Isabella all these years while restraining yourself. I've barely tolerated your presence, but now... After what happened to Theodore, I'm convinced this is entirely your fault!"

Margaret unleashed a torrent of harsh words, berating Victoria without mercy.

Victoria's face drained of color. So this was Margaret's true opinion—she'd always looked down on her!

Rage boiled in Victoria's veins. She despised Theodore, loathed Margaret, hated everyone who'd ever wronged her!

She'd once loved Theodore desperately, scheming her way into the Whitmore family in her obsession. Yet after decades, she'd never truly belonged. The bitter truth stung—they'd always seen her as beneath them.

Turning away, Victoria let tears fall as she choked out, "I failed to protect Theodore. This is all my fault. But rest assured, no matter his condition, I'll remain by his side."

Margaret scoffed. "That's the bare minimum! Isabella is the heiress of the Lancaster fortune. You're not even her birth mother. Without the Whitmores, you're nothing!"

With that final blow, Margaret stormed out.

As the door clicked shut, Victoria slowly rose. She wiped her tears with mechanical precision, her expression chillingly blank.

Her icy gaze fell upon Theodore's comatose form. It didn't matter now. With him vegetative, the power was hers to wield.

As for that meddling old woman... Victoria would handle Margaret soon enough.

The Whitmores remained blissfully unaware Isabella was her biological daughter. They'd never suspect how thoroughly she'd manipulated them all.

The entire family danced on her strings.

A satisfied smirk curled Victoria's lips as dark laughter bubbled up.

Outside the hospital room, Margaret's maid hesitated. "Madam, having seen Mr. Theodore, shall we return now?"

Margaret's cane struck the floor. "Have they secured a specialist? I refuse to accept my son will remain comatose!"

The maid lowered her voice. "Mrs. Victoria engaged a renowned neurologist, but the brain damage... The doctors say chances of recovery are slim."

"Nonsense!" Margaret's grip tightened on her cane. "Incompetent fools! They couldn't save my boy. There must be another way. I'll move heaven and earth to wake him!"

The maid hesitated. "Perhaps... we could approach Dr. Sinclair?"

Margaret froze. "Harrison?"

"Exactly. The miracle doctor. If anyone can help Mr. Theodore, it's her."

Hope flickered in Margaret's eyes. Of course—Harrison remained their best chance.

"But given our strained relations..."

"For Mr. Theodore's sake, wouldn't it be worth trying?"

Margaret squared her shoulders. She'd swallow her pride if it meant saving her son.

Yet unease prickled her instincts. Theodore's accident seemed... convenient. The timing too perfect.

She'd uncover the truth, no matter the cost.

"Prepare the car. We're leaving immediately to find Harrison."

"At once, madam."

Margaret's jaw set. Harrison represented Theodore's only hope.

But the pieces didn't fit. How had her robust son collapsed so abruptly? That head injury seemed... manufactured.

She'd peel back every layer until the truth shone clear.

"Have the driver ready. We depart for Harrison's clinic within the hour," Margaret commanded.

"Very good, madam."