Chapter 569
Chapter 569:
“I want Hector out of that room by three o’clock this afternoon,” she said. “And I want to see the apology in print before I drink my morning coffee tomorrow p>
She pushed the door open.
“Now get out of my sight p>
Belle stood trembling in the hallway, her face burning with shame. She turned and walked toward the elevators, pressing her nails into her palms until they broke the skin.
She swore to herself that she would make Isolde pay for this. She would make her bleed.
The afternoon sun beat against the large windows of the Mount Sinai VIP wing.
𝘓𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘰𝘯
The wide, carpeted corridor had become the stage for a tense, silent drama. At one end, near the elevators, Belle Escobar stood rigid, her face a mask of cold fury. She wore oversized black sunglasses to conceal her swollen eyes, watching as two hospital orderlies maneuvered a gurney carefully out of a private room. On it lay Hector Juarez, his face a mottled shade of purple, an oxygen mask fogging with his ragged breaths.
“This is an outrage!” Hector rasped, his voice weak but full of venom. “I am Belle Escobar’s uncle! You cannot move me to the general ward like some charity case p>
Belle kept her head down, her posture rigid with barely contained humiliation. “Uncle Hector, please calm down,” she said, her voice strained to its limits. “It’s only for a few days, until we arrange a transfer to a private facility p>
Hector swiped a trembling hand at a nurse adjusting his IV. “Useless girl! Your mother is locked in a cage, I am being evicted from my sickbed, and you stand there hiding behind your glasses p>
Down the hallway, the elevator doors chimed open.
Isolde stepped out, pushing a sleek modern wheelchair. Her uncle, Saul Briggs, sat in it, a thick woolen blanket draped across his lap against the hospital chill. Saul observed the commotion ahead and reached up to place one frail, trembling hand on Isolde’s arm.
“Izzy,” he said softly, his breathing shallow. “Are you sure this is necessary? Pushing them to the edge like this — it feels cruel p>
Isolde stopped the wheelchair and leaned down to tuck the blanket more securely around his legs.
“Uncle Saul,” she said, her voice gentle but threaded with steel, “when you are dealing with wolves, you have to be the one holding the torch. Room 402 has the best southern exposure in this wing. The sunlight will help your lungs heal. You deserve it p>
She straightened and pushed the wheelchair forward.
The two groups met in the center of the corridor.
Hector saw Saul. His eyes bulged with pure malice. He struggled against his pillows, trying to sit up as the orderlies halted the gurney.
“Briggs!” he rasped. “You bankrupt old fool! You think you can take what’s mine p>
Isolde stepped smoothly in front of the wheelchair, placing herself between her uncle and Hector. She looked down at the man on the gurney with complete, unflinching calm.