Chapter 713

Henry Lancaster crashed onto the hardwood floor with a resounding thud, his muscular frame hitting the ground with unexpected force.

Isabella Lancaster stood frozen in the doorway, her manicured nails digging into her palms as she witnessed the unbelievable scene. The formidable CEO of Lancaster Enterprises, the man who commanded boardrooms with a single glance, had just been unceremoniously kicked off the bed by his wife, Isabella.

A snort escaped her before she could stop it.

Henry pushed himself up, dusting off his tailored suit with deliberate movements. His stormy gaze flicked between the two women—one smirking, the other glaring. "Something amusing, Harrison?"

Harrison pressed her lips together, shoulders shaking. "My apologies—it's just—" Another laugh bubbled up. "I didn't expect to see you... dethroned."

Henry's jaw tightened.

Isabella smoothed the silk sheets beneath her fingers, offering Harrison a polite nod. "Dr. Whitmore, thank you for coming."

Harrison stepped forward, her demeanor shifting to professional warmth. "Please, call me Harrison. Formalities are unnecessary between us."

Isabella inclined her head. "Harrison, then."

"Let me check your pulse."

Isabella extended her wrist. The moment Harrison's fingers made contact, her expression darkened.

Henry stiffened. "What is it?"

Harrison's voice was grave. "Has Isabella ever been poisoned?"

Henry nodded sharply. "Yes. During her pregnancy with Eleanor."

Isabella added, "I fell into a coma the day she was born. The doctors couldn't identify the toxin."

Harrison exhaled slowly. "Isabella, you weren't just poisoned. You were cursed. This is the Frostholm Curse."

"The Frostholm Curse?" Henry and Isabella echoed in unison.

Harrison's grip on Isabella's wrist tightened. "One of the deadliest curses known. It latches onto its victim like a parasite. Do you know who did this to you?"

Isabella's eyes flashed toward Henry. "Isn't it obvious? Your precious Eleanor!"

Henry's voice turned icy. "Impossible. Eleanor wouldn't—"

"Of course, you'd defend her!" Isabella snapped. "To you, she's a saint, and I'm just the woman who stole the Lancaster name. Well, she can have it back!"

Henry's expression darkened. "You're being irrational."

"Enough!" Harrison cut in sharply. "Arguing won't help."

She studied them both—Henry's clenched fists, Isabella's defiant glare—and sighed. "I can break the curse."

Isabella's breath hitched. "You can?"

Henry stepped closer. "How?"

Harrison met his gaze steadily. "There's only one way. I need your cardiogen—an essence extracted directly from your heart."

Isabella recoiled. "You're saying... to save me, Henry has to die?"

Harrison nodded solemnly. "The Frostholm Curse demands a life for a life. Henry, are you willing to sacrifice yourself for hers?"

Isabella's voice cracked. "No!"

Henry didn't hesitate. "Yes."

Their responses overlapped—one desperate, one resolute.

Isabella stared at him, her chest heaving. "You can't—"

Henry cupped her face, his thumb brushing her cheek. "I already decided. Take it."

Harrison watched, her expression unreadable. "Once I begin, there's no turning back."

Henry didn't look away from Isabella. "Do it."