Chapter 722

Isabella rushed after her mother. "Mother, I swear I didn't know Father and Eleanor were... doing that in there! Please forgive me—I never meant for you to witness such a scene!"

Isabella Lancaster's fingers trembled with cold shock as she struggled to maintain composure. "This isn't your doing, Isabella. Truthfully, I'm not surprised. Eleanor has resided here for years. Their... entanglement was inevitable."

She had long suspected Henry Lancaster's infidelity with Eleanor, but seeing the physical evidence shattered her remaining illusions.

"Mother—"

"I need to leave immediately," Isabella declared, her voice brittle.

The opulent Lancaster estate suddenly felt suffocating—every gilded surface mocking her humiliation.

Watching her mother's retreating figure, the younger Isabella allowed a subtle smirk to play across her lips.

Her mother and Harrison's unexpected arrival tonight had been serendipitous. The timing couldn't have been more perfect!

Meanwhile, Harrison remained frozen at the threshold, her sharp gaze dissecting the compromising scene. Without hesitation, she flung the door wide and marched inside.

"Mr. Lancaster!"

Isabella spun around, eyes widening as Harrison invaded her father's private chambers. Was the woman insane?

She lunged forward. "Have you lost your mind? This is Lancaster property! Your uninvited presence is bad enough, but barging into the master bedroom? Remove yourself at once!"

Isabella attempted to physically eject Harrison, but the intruder deftly sidestepped her, advancing toward the canopied bed.

"Mr. Lancaster!" Harrison's voice cut through the heavy air.

Eleanor observed silently from the disheveled sheets, calculating whether Harrison had finally snapped.

Henry, still groggy from the sedatives, remained oblivious until Harrison's second shout pierced his haze. His bleary eyes focused on Harrison's porcelain features—an icy wake-up call.

"What—how did you—?" Henry stammered, struggling upright.

Harrison's gaze flickered to Eleanor's exposed form. "Do you comprehend what you're doing?"

Only then did Henry realize the woman beneath him wasn't Isabella—but Eleanor. He recoiled as if burned. "What witchcraft is this? Why are you in my bed?"

"I—I can explain—" Eleanor stuttered.

Both women paled. Their carefully orchestrated scene had unraveled spectacularly thanks to Harrison's interference.

Isabella stepped between them. "Enough! Get out before I call security!"

Henry's panicked eyes sought Harrison's. "This isn't what it seems—Eleanor and I—"

Harrison dismissed the sputtering women, addressing only Henry. "Save your explanations for your wife."

His head snapped toward the doorway. "Isabella was here?"

Harrison nodded grimly. "She witnessed everything from the hall. She's already departed."

Henry's face drained of color.

"If you hurry," Harrison added pointedly, "you might still catch her."

Without another word, Henry bolted from the room, shirt still unbuttoned.

"Henry!"

"Father!"

The two women stood frozen, their perfect trap sprung by the one variable they'd never accounted for.

Why did Harrison Whitmore always defy expectations?