Chapter 250
“Isolde was right to leave,” Beatrice continued, turning back to Victoria. “If she came here, she would only have to listen to your screaming and watch this pathetic theatrical performance. Why should she subject herself to that?”
Victoria gasped, clutching her chest. “She is his wife! It is her duty to be by his side!”
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“Duty is a two-way street, Victoria,” Beatrice snapped. “Tell me — has your son fulfilled his duties as a husband these past five years?”
Before Victoria could argue, the red light above the surgical doors clicked off.
A surgeon in green scrubs walked out, pulling off his mask. Victoria rushed forward. “Doctor! My son!”
“Mr. Lancaster is stable,” the doctor said, holding up a reassuring hand. “He suffered three fractured ribs and a mild concussion. We have plated the ribs. He is out of danger, but he will be in significant pain for a few weeks.”
A collective sigh of relief washed over the hallway.
𝘑o𝗶n 𝗈𝗎r с𝗈𝗺𝗺𝗎n𝘪𝗍y oո 𝗀а𝗅n𝗈𝘷𝖾𝗹s.c𝘰𝗆
A few minutes later, Grayson was wheeled out on a hospital bed, groggy from the anesthesia, an oxygen tube resting under his nose. Victoria hovered over him, weeping. “My boy… my poor boy.”
Beatrice stood at the foot of the bed and looked at her grandson’s pale face, letting out a heavy, disappointed sigh. She turned to her butler.
“Call Isolde. Tell her the surgery was a success. And tell her she does not need to come here and deal with this circus.”
Miles away, in the quiet Tribeca apartment, Isolde stood at the stove, stirring a pot of chicken noodle soup for Effie.
Her phone rang on the counter. She saw the Lancaster estate number, picked it up, and put it on speaker. “Yes?”
“Young Madam,” the butler’s voice came through respectfully. “The Matriarch asked me to inform you that Mr. Lancaster’s surgery was successful. He is out of danger.”
Isolde’s hand paused on the wooden spoon. She stared at the boiling broth for a long moment.
“I understand,” she said, her voice completely flat. “Thank Grandmother for me.”
The butler hesitated. “Will you… will you be coming to visit him?”
“No,” Isolde said, turning off the burner. “He does not need me there. There is someone else who is much more eager to play the role of the devoted caretaker.”
She hung up the phone and picked up a bowl, ladling the hot soup into it. The shoulders that had been locked tight with tension for the last four hours finally dropped. He wasn’t dead. Her conscience was clear.
Back in the hospital room, the anesthesia began to wear off.
Grayson’s eyelids fluttered. The pain in his chest was a blinding, suffocating weight. He slowly opened his eyes, the blurry ceiling tiles coming into focus, then turned his head toward the chair beside his bed — expecting to see the familiar, quiet presence that had always been there when he was sick.
He blinked, his vision clearing.
Belle was sitting in the chair, holding his hand, smiling tearfully.
Grayson stared at her. A wave of profound, crushing disappointment washed over him.
Grayson stared at the woman sitting beside his hospital bed.
.