Chapter 618

Isabella's voice shook with barely contained fury. "Be careful what you say!"

Harrison studied Isabella with narrowed eyes, her piercing gaze cutting through the tension. "There's something else. I never prepared the antidote, so how did you miraculously wake up on your own?"

A flicker of unease crossed Isabella's face before she could mask it.

Turning to Henry Lancaster, Harrison continued, "If I were the poisoner, I'd ensure my victim remained unconscious. Yet here she is, awake prematurely. Mr. Lancaster, this entire poisoning incident reeks of deception. You should investigate thoroughly."

Henry's dark eyes bore into Isabella with unsettling intensity.

Beneath his scrutiny, Isabella's pulse quickened. She could almost feel him peeling back her layers of lies. Feigning weakness, she clutched her forehead. "Father, I feel faint."

"Rest now," Henry murmured, tucking the blankets around her before ushering everyone into the hallway. Once the door closed, he fixed Harrison with a searching look. "What's your assessment of this poisoning?"

Harrison met his gaze steadily. "I suspect self-poisoning." Henry's jaw tightened.

"My theory? She attempted to frame me but miscalculated the dosage," Harrison continued. "Now she's awake before her staged recovery timeline."

Silence stretched between them, Henry's expression unreadable.

Harrison's sharp eyes never wavered. "Frankly, she doesn't share your intellect, Mr. Lancaster. The incompetence is staggering. And her mother—what was she like? Because clearly Isabella didn't inherit her brains from you."

At the mention of Isabella Delacroix, Henry's posture shifted almost imperceptibly, his aristocratic features hardening.

"No," he said icily. "Her mother was exceptionally cunning."

Harrison arched an eyebrow. Interesting. So the stupidity was entirely Isabella's own creation.

"You have my word—I'll get to the truth," Henry stated with finality.

Harrison nodded. "I appreciate that, Mr. Lancaster."

She turned on her heel and left without another word.

Inside the bedroom, Isabella sat rigidly against the headboard, her face a mask of cold fury.

Victoria perched nervously beside her, reaching for her hand. "Are you feeling better?"

Isabella jerked away as if burned. "Don't touch me!"

Victoria recoiled. "What's wrong?"

"Wrong?" Isabella hissed. "Our entire plan has collapsed! I poison myself to frame Harrison, you're supposed to convince Father to exile her, and instead you bungle it so badly I wake up early! Everything's ruined!"

The scheme had been simple: Isabella would fake poisoning, Victoria would pin it on Harrison, and Henry would finally rid them of the pregnant threat carrying Nathaniel's heir. That child was a disaster waiting to happen.

"Listen to me!" Victoria's voice cracked with frustration. "I tried everything! But your father only trusts Harrison. Both he and Nathaniel are under her spell!"

Isabella's face darkened. That her fiancé favored Harrison was infuriating enough—but her own father taking that woman's side? Unthinkable.

What black magic had Harrison woven around them?

"And why," Isabella spat, "did you administer the antidote prematurely?"

Victoria's expression turned grave. "Because Theodore is in trouble."