Chapter 20 – The Unraveling Truth
Isabel’s POV:
Emerson stared at me, his brows furrowed. He was thinking of my words as if he were wrestling with a difficult problem. His eyes were intense, almost desperate.
“You won’t die… I won’t let you die. Never. I’ll be with you,” he declared. His voice was unsteady, but filled with an unexpected determination.
I looked at him in disbelief. This couldn’t be real. “You’re drunk. Alcohol makes you lose your mind,” I said, shaking my head. “Didn’t you forget you already have Lilith and Liam?”
His expression shifted to one of pain. He murmured, almost to himself, “Oh… yeah… I have them.”
I felt a flicker of hope die within me. “Do you still think you want me?” I asked, not expecting a genuine answer.
“I…” He started to speak, but then his knees buckled. He almost fell.
I caught him and guided him to the bed. He groaned and collapsed onto it. He quickly slipped into unconsciousness. As I watched him sleep, I felt a mixture of sorrow and confusion. What did he truly want from me? Was it the alcohol talking, or was there a part of him that still cared?
My mind was a whirlwind of thoughts. Emerson’s confessions echoed in my head, stirring memories of better times. Times when we were happy. When I believed we could conquer anything together. But those days felt like a lifetime ago. Now, our relationship was a twisted mess of betrayal, pain and unspoken feelings.
I barely slept that night. I tossed and turned with my mind racing.
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The next morning, I woke up feeling terrible. My stomach churned violently. I rushed to the bathroom to vomit. It was a side effect of the chemotherapy, but it felt like my body was punishing me for the turmoil of the previous night.
“Are you okay, Ma’am?” the maid called from outside the door, her voice filled with concern. “Do you want me to call Mr. Emerson?”
“No, don’t worry. He’s sleeping. I’ll be fine. Thank you,” I said, trying to sound reassuring. I couldn’t let her draw more attention to me.
After gathering myself, I instructed her to take care of Emerson. I left the house and called a taxi. I had to face another round of chemotherapy. Robert would be worried if I didn’t show up.
As soon as I arrived at the hospital, Robert approached me. His green eyes were filled with concern. “Isabel, why are you late? I was worried,” he said, his eyes full of concern.
“Sorry, Robert. I got up late. I’m here now,” I replied, trying to sound casual.
“Are you not feeling well?” His voice was gentle but insistent.
“No, I’m fine. Don’t worry,” I lied. I didn’t want to burden him with
more issues.
“I have good news, Isa,” he said as we walked towards the treatment
room.
Robert told me about a new breakthrough in brain tumor treatment by an authoritative doctor. His optimism was contagious. I felt a glimmer of hope despite my exhaustion.
“That’s amazing. Thank you, Robert. I promise I won’t give up,” I told him. His face lit up with a bright smile.
After the chemo session, my phone rang. It was Emerson. “You stayed with me last night, right?” he asked, his tone cold.
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I hesitated, trying to gauge his mood. “What makes you think it was me? Didn’t you bring your new lover home?” I said, attempting to deflect.
“Do you think I’m gullible? There was no one else but you and me in my villa. The maid told me,” he said, his voice sharp.
- Panic set in. What else did the maid tell him? How much did he know?
I tried to keep my voice steady. “Why are you calling, Emerson?”
There was a long silence on the other end of the line. Then, Emerson spoke in a solemn voice, “Are you sick, Isa?”
I felt a wave of dread wash over me. How much longer could I keep this secret? And what would happen if Emerson found out the truth? The stakes were higher than ever. I couldn’t let him find out. Things would just get more messy with him meddling in my personal life.
“Why would you think that? I’m perfectly fine,” I lied again, trying to sound convincing.
How did he find out? Did the maid tell him about my vomiting? I wondered. My mind raced, trying to come up with an explanation.
“Your hair is all over the bathroom, Isa! Don’t tell me you have a habit of cutting your own hair in unusual places,” Emerson snapped. “Tell me the truth. You’d better not play tricks!”
His words hit me like a punch to the gut. I had cleaned up the hair I lost on the bed, but forgot about the bathroom. I should’ve been
more careful. Would he piece it all together?
13
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