Chapter 344

"If you've got solid proof, leak it to the press. Otherwise, keep your mouth shut. As for your mother's heart transplant, you've been handling it yourself. The matching team will contact you directly. Do I look like I have time to micromanage this?"

Nathaniel's icy tone made Isabella flinch. Her lips pressed into a thin line, eyes brimming with wounded pride. "Nathaniel, I wasn't accusing you. I'm just worried... Can you at least ensure Dr. Harrison operates on my mother?"

"Schedule it with him yourself. The Martin Group has its hands full right now."

His chair scraped back as he stood, towering over her. "I've kept my end of our deal, Isabella. But you? You've given me nothing but empty words. How is that fair?"

"Nathaniel, I—"

"I'm trying to remember, I swear!" Her voice cracked. "Every therapy session terrifies me. When I close my eyes, all I see are hands around my throat. It's paralyzing." Tears streaked her cheeks, the perfect picture of fragility.

Nathaniel didn't blink. His expression remained carved from stone.

Samuel cleared his throat by the door. "Sir, the board is waiting."

"Right." Nathaniel adjusted his cufflinks, his gaze pinning Isabella like a specimen. "Remember what I told you. My silence doesn't mean ignorance." The unspoken threat lingered as he strode out, leaving her trembling.

With Nathaniel refusing to intervene, Isabella marched into Dr. Harrison's office alone.

Winifred's pre-op tests revealed alarming results. The previous emergency had weakened her condition. "Transplant postponed until further notice," the doctor declared.

Isabella's nails bit into her palms. This confirmed it—Nathaniel had stolen Beatrice's match. He and Dr. Harrison were conspiring against her.

Rage propelled her through hospital corridors until she burst into Beatrice's private suite.

An elderly woman sat chatting with a younger brunette—Rosalind, the new cook. Both startled at the intrusion.

"Can we help you?" Rosalind stepped forward, blocking the bed.

Ignoring her, Isabella zeroed in on Beatrice. "You." Her voice dripped venom. "How dare you take what belongs to my mother? That heart was ours first!"

Beatrice's gentle face clouded with confusion. "Young lady, I think you're mistaken—"

"Save your lies!" Isabella shoved past Rosalind. "You're practically a corpse already! Why cling to life by stealing from others?"

Rosalind grabbed her arm. "You need to leave. Now."

But Isabella wrenched free, wild-eyed. "I won't let you get away with this!"

Beatrice's frail hands clutched the sheets. "What exactly are you accusing me of?"

The monitor's steady beep underscored the silence.