Chapter 5 The Conspiratorial Alliance
Early the next morning, a shrill scream echoed through the Beaumont mansion.
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It came from a maid who usually took care of Aurora. Her pockmarked face had apparently startled Aurora so badly that the girl almost fainted. The maid was immediately dismissed.
Isla, awakened by the scream, stared at the ceiling for several seconds, her expression as calm as if she hadn’t slept a wink.
Downstairs, the Beaumont family was fussing over Aurora, comforting her about the incident.
Not a single gaze fell on Isla.
Aurora, however, lit up the moment she saw her. “Isla?”
Isla descended the stairs with her usual serene composure, giving Aurora not a single glance.
Aurora immediately forced a disappointed, forlorn expression.
The Beaumont family’s eyes darkened as they looked at Isla.
Hedy brought over a glass of milk and placed it in front of Isla.
She glanced at it—but didn’t touch it.
Everyone’s attention hovered subtly over her.
After finishing breakfast, Isla simply left.
That glass of milk remained untouched.
The Beaumont family frowned. “Did she notice something?”
Aurora put on an innocent look, but her words were deadly. “Mom, Dad, what are you talking about? Isla doesn’t like milk–why give her a glass? She’s probably upset, thinking you don’t care about her.”
Julian and Cora froze for a moment.
After all these years, they knew nothing about Isla’s preferences. But Aurora’s reminder brought it sharply back to mind.
Cora smiled softly, “It’s nothing. Aurora, go upstairs first. We have something to discuss.”
Though this conversation concerned their daughter, she didn’t want her naive, pure child to be
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Aurora nodded obediently. As she turned, no one noticed the faint smirk curling at the corner of her lips.
Isla came back, but what was the point? She was still just a substitute.
Once Aurora left, Julian and Cora’s expressions darkened. Cora glared at Hedy. “What were you thinking, giving her milk?”
Hedy paled, stammering, “I–I’m sorry, Mrs. and Mr. Beaumont. I–I didn’t realize.”
Julian waved a hand dismissively. “Forget it. This isn’t the only way. Considering what happened three years ago, Isla doesn’t trust us now. Let’s find someone to help manage this, so she doesn’t go around spreading grievances.”
Suddenly, a sly smile crossed Julian’s face.
*****
Later, Isla sat across from her longtime friend at a dimly lit bar. “Freya, how’s your family?” Isla asked, frowning as she watched Freya Kingsley quietly nursing her drink.
Freya had been Isla’s closest friend since childhood–the only one Aurora never managed to manipulate. She had always stood by Isla’s side.
Three years ago, if not for Freya stepping up, Isla probably would have been crushed by her family’s cold indifference.
Freya was the only person abroad that Isla had genuinely worried about.
But since Isla had left, Freya’s family had suffered. Bankruptcy, a car accident, and mounting debts, leaving her to earn money for her parents‘ treatment.
The once carefree girl had grown weary and haggard.
Isla had always planned to help her.
Freya glanced at her, a flicker of surprise crossing her eyes, then let out a bitter smile. “Still the same always relying on medication.”
She added, “But look at you–you’re fully recovered. I didn’t expect that.”
Isla finally offered the first genuine smile since returning home. “It’s thanks to you that I even got a second chance at life.”
Freya was silent for a moment before handing her a glass of liquor. “Have a drink with me.”
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Isla hesitated, then accepted it.
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She didn’t notice the single tear sliding down Freya’s check in the shadows.
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Her vision blurred slightly, but she shook her head. She wasn’t the type to get drunk after one glass, though her tolerance wasn’t great.
Suddenly, an idea flashed in her mind, and her eyes hardened.
Before she lost consciousness, she had faintly heard a trembling, guilty voice whispering, “Forgive me.”
When she came to, Isla found herself in an unfamiliar place.
It was a simple, square–shaped room–not particularly well–furnished, more like a rental apartment.
She was lying on an old wooden sofa in the living room.
Isla propped herself up, her mind still lingering on the bar.
That was right—Freya had drugged her.
Yet, strangely, despite the betrayals she had suffered, she felt no anger, no sadness—just an eerie calm.
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But where was she? Her thoughts were interrupted by a voice outside the door.
“The Beaumont family really know how to play their cards. They sent her here for you. Hmph, to prevent Aurora from marrying you, they’ll stop at nothing–even scheming against their own daughter. Well, it’s all the same; she’s their daughter. Doesn’t matter who it is. Once you marry her, your father’s lawyer will finally have to loosen up.”
It was a middle–aged woman’s voice.
The door opened.
Isla’s gaze met that of a tall man standing in the doorway.
Both of them froze for a moment.
He looked to be around twenty–five or twenty–six. Dressed casually, he carried an air of aristocratic elegance. Even Isla, who had seen her fair share of handsome men, couldn’t help but be taken aback by his striking presence.
Standing beside him was a plump, middle–aged woman, wrinkling her nose in disgust, unwilling to look at Isla any longer.
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“You’ve seen the girl; I’ll leave now,” she said, sneering. “Isla, right? From this moment, you are Rowan’s wife. I hope you can face reality and stop causing trouble for us.”
With that, she left without another glance, as if staying any longer would taint the room.
Isla remained silent.
She had already anticipated the connection between the Beaumont family and the Ellsworth family, and she knew her parents had a reason for bringing her back.
Yet, she hadn’t expected Freya–the one person who had always stood firmly by her side–to betray her.
Even so, she had long prepared for the worst. Despite fully understanding her current predicament, her expression remained calm, almost unnervingly so.
After all, witnessing her family allow a car to almost kill her and then orchestrate such schemes it wasn’t entirely surprising.
She studied the man in front of her. Strangely, he seemed familiar.
Rowan regarded the girl sitting on the sofa with icy, penetrating eyes.
“You’re Aurora’s sister?” he asked, his voice cold and deep.
A shiver ran down Isla’s spine.
Rowan’s lips were tightly pressed, his expression severe, almost terrifying. His eyes were deep, like an abyss, and the sheer aura he radiated was suffocating.
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