Chapter 109: Chapter 96: The Scales

Damian Prescott’s so-called “skills” were only ever enough to handle the old, weak, women, and children. Now that he was old himself, he was even more pathetic.

Justin Wyatt snatched the knife from Damian Prescott’s hand, and two bodyguards subdued him in an instant.

Isla Prescott saw Damian Prescott pinned to the ground like a wild beast with a broken back, all of its fight gone. Suddenly, a series of images flashed before her eyes like a macabre slideshow: the clubs he’d grab, the bowls and plates he’d smash, the countless bruises that appeared and faded, the bloody, mangled wounds… It was all finally over!

“You set me up! You dare to set me up!” Damian Prescott glared at Isla Prescott, his eyes venomous. “I’ll fucking kill you!”

“I’m afraid you won’t get the chance to kill me.” Isla Prescott gestured at the ceiling. “This place is full of high-definition cameras. The scene of you raising that knife and trying to stab me was just captured from every conceivable angle. Since you don’t know the law, let me educate you. What you just did is called attempted murder! Next up, you can pack your bags and get ready to rot in prison!”

Isla Prescott hadn’t asked for three days to prepare five million in cash, but to fill her home with cameras. She knew Damian Prescott all too well. With his explosive temper, his hopes being dashed would inevitably turn into humiliated rage. All she had to do was add a little fuel to the fire with her words, and his bloodthirsty nature would be exposed.

Sure enough, when he discovered his dream of instant riches was shattered and the suitcase was filled with joss paper, he raised his knife to take her life.

In Damian Prescott’s eyes, their so-called blood ties were nothing more than a direct line for extorting money from her.

At that moment, Isla Prescott felt as if she had just ripped off a stubborn bandage she’d worn for years. The instant it was peeled away, the pain was bone-deep, followed by a wave of exhilarating relief that went straight to her heart.

After calling the police, Justin Wyatt took Isla Prescott to the hospital.

The cut on Isla Prescott’s arm was quite deep and required twelve stitches.

As Justin Wyatt watched from the side, a single thought echoed in his mind: ’I am so screwed.’

Before his boss had gone abroad, he had repeatedly instructed him to protect Isla Prescott. And now, he had “protected” her right into a hospital bed. How was he supposed to explain this to his boss?

Justin Wyatt was still wrestling with his thoughts when his phone suddenly rang. It was a call from Shane Sterling. Justin Wyatt immediately felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end, like silvergrass crackling with static.

“Young Mr. Shaw,” he answered.

“Where are you?”

Justin Wyatt heard the sound of an airport announcement on Shane Sterling’s end of the line and jolted. “Are you back in Meritopia?”

“Yes.”

“I… Young Mr. Shaw, uh… I happen to have something to report to you.”

“Speak.”

“Miss Prescott… she’s been injured. She’s at the hospital now.”

The oppressive aura of the man on the other end of the line was palpable. “Which hospital?”

—

After Isla Prescott’s stitches were done, the doctor wrapped her arm in a thin layer of gauze. Because the wound was deep, she would need to get an IV drip next to prevent infection.

The anesthetic hadn’t worn off yet, so she didn’t feel any pain for the time being.

“Miss Prescott…” Justin Wyatt began.

Isla Prescott looked up at him. Justin Wyatt’s face was deathly pale, as if he were the one who had just lost all that blood.

“Are you afraid of blood?” Isla Prescott asked.

“No.”

“Then are you afraid of needles?”

“No.”

“If neither of those things bother you, why do you look so awful?”

“I guess I’m… afraid of a person.”

“Afraid of a person? Who?”

“Uh… Young Mr. Shaw is on his way.”

“…”

「Fifteen minutes later, Shane Sterling rushed to the hospital.」

Justin Wyatt had just accompanied Isla Prescott into the infusion room and gotten her IV started.

The moment Shane Sterling walked in, his gaze shot toward Justin Wyatt like a cold arrow. Justin Wyatt felt horribly wronged. “Young Mr. Shaw, it was Miss Prescott who told me to wait outside! She didn’t want me to go in and ruin her plan, so I…”

“Shut up.”

Justin Wyatt quickly reached out and poked Isla Prescott’s shoulder, silently pleading for her to speak up for him.

The small gesture did not escape Shane Sterling’s notice, and it only made him angrier. “What? You think you have too many fingers?”

Justin Wyatt understood his boss’s unspoken threat—that he was going to chop off the finger that had touched Isla Prescott. Terrified, he clenched his hands into fists and forced a laugh. “Not at all, not at all! I’m quite used to having five, quite used to it.”

Shane Sterling jutted his chin toward the door, signaling for him to get out.

Justin Wyatt promptly beat a hasty retreat.

There weren’t many people in the infusion room at this hour. Just a few, all sitting far from each other.

“Is the wound deep?” Shane Sterling leaned over, his eyes fixed on the strip of white gauze on her pale arm. He wanted to touch it but didn’t dare.

’Justin Wyatt had said on the phone that it took twelve stitches.’

’Shane Sterling couldn’t even imagine how much it must have hurt when that knife sliced into her.’

’He was so furious he wanted to tear Justin Wyatt apart, but he hated himself even more. He hated that he still hadn’t broken free of his own burdens, that he couldn’t be by her side when she needed him.’

“I’m okay. Don’t blame Justin Wyatt. I’m the one who told him to stay outside and watch the surveillance feed, and to only come in after I’d bled a little.”

Justin Wyatt had tried to persuade her for three days, but once Isla Prescott made up her mind, wild horses couldn’t drag her away.

“You’re so reckless. Weren’t you afraid that man would actually hurt you?”

“The fact that I dared to set the trap means I was confident I could get away.”

“Confident you could get away? Then how do you explain your injury?”

“I figured if I got injured and shed a little blood, Damian Prescott’s sentence would be much harsher.”

Shane Sterling’s heart ached with a mixture of fear and helplessness.

He said nothing, but a voice in his head kept repeating, ’Now that Damian Prescott is going in, he can never be allowed to get out.’

The main door to the infusion room was open, and a draft blew through, making it a bit chilly.

Shane Sterling took off his own jacket and draped it over Isla Prescott.

“Are you hungry? Do you want something to eat?” he asked.

“I’m not hungry.”

“Put work on hold for a while. I’ll have someone contact the production team to arrange for your leave. You just focus on resting at home.”

“I’d rather ask for leave myself,” Isla Prescott said.

Shane Sterling understood her concerns. He nodded and asked, “Should we let your mother know?”

“No, I don’t want them to worry.” Besides, Jude Dudley had just broken his leg, and Susan Dudley was taking care of him. She didn’t want her mother to be exhausted running back and forth between them.

“But how will you manage on your own?”

“Why wouldn’t I be able to? It’s just a small wound; it’ll heal in a few days.” As she spoke, something suddenly occurred to her. “Oh, right. There’s one more thing I haven’t confirmed.”

“What is it?”

“Who exactly brought Damian Prescott to Meritopia.”

“Just focus on letting your wound heal for now. I’ll have Justin Wyatt look into it.”

“Actually, I already have a pretty good idea.”

“Tell me.”

Isla Prescott shot Shane Sterling a sidelong glance, her tone suddenly turning passive-aggressive. “I’m not sure if I should say…”

Shane Sterling chuckled. “Oh? Then don’t.”

“No way. The more you tell me not to, the more I have to say it. I’m guessing this whole mess is Genevieve Quincy’s handiwork.”

Damian Prescott was clearly lured to Meritopia by someone with an agenda. Other than Genevieve Quincy, Isla Prescott hadn’t made any enemies recently. And if she hadn’t made any enemies, then no one else would go to the trouble of tracking down Damian Prescott and bringing him here just to torment her.

No matter how you looked at it, the answer was always Genevieve Quincy.

“You’re not going to cover for Genevieve Quincy, are you?” Isla Prescott asked, testing the waters.

“I won’t,” Shane Sterling replied without a moment’s hesitation.

“Really?”

He glanced at her, a sweet nothing effortlessly rolling off his tongue. “Of course. My scales will always tip in your favor.”

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