Chapter 432 Continue
The sound of rushing water filled the room as Quentin wrung out a towel and came over to wipe Isabella's face.
She lay there, stiff as a board, pretending to sleep while the warm, damp towel traced her brows, cheeks, and finally her lips.
Disgust churned in her gut.
'Just bear with it,' Isabella thought. 'Quentin'll leave once he's done cleaning."'
But instead, she felt a sudden tug at her collar, followed by a release.
It took her a moment to realize what was happening—Quentin was unbuttoning her hospital gown, his actions smooth and methodical as he continued downward.
The key detail was that she was only wearing this one piece of clothing.
'What is he doing?' She thought.
Isabella's mind was screaming with alarm.
Just as Quentin reached for the third button, she could no longer pretend.
She raised her hand to push Quentin's hand away, opened her eyes, and clutched the open neckline tightly.
Quentin looked at Isabella and spoke calmly, "Awake?"
Wrapping the blanket tightly around herself, Isabella stared at him without speaking, her mind racing.
She knew escape was futile, and fighting would only get her sedated again, so she stayed calm.
Pulling up a chair, Quentin sat beside the bed, watching her intently before asking softly, "Lova?"
Isabella swallowed hard and didn't respond.
Quentin frowned and reached out to touch her hair.
Isabella recoiled in disgust, licked her dry lips, and spoke calmly, "How long are you going to keep me here?"
"Lova, I'm not keeping you here. You just had surgery and need to recover," he said soothingly.
Isabella didn't listen to a word Quentin said.
"I promise you, once you're recovered, I'll let you go immediately. Wherever you want to go, I'll take you," he continued, his voice softening.
Isabella didn't want to see Quentin's hypocritical, self-deceiving face, so she turned her gaze away.
"Quentin," she started, her voice cold and flat, "even with Lova's heart, I'm not her. I'm Isabella. You can't make me into someone I'm not."
Did Quentin think that putting Lova's heart in her body meant she would live on as Lova? Ridiculous!
Quentin didn't care and insisted, "Lova, I know you're angry with me. Don't worry; I'll make you remember everything."
Closing her eyes, Isabella felt a wave of hopelessness.
Quentin wasn't content with losing his mind alone; he had to drag others down to hell with him.
She could never understand Quentin's behavior for the rest of her life.
There was nothing more to say, nothing that would penetrate his self-deception.
Quentin seemed unfazed by her silence, staying with her for over an hour.
Before leaving, he watched as the nurse administered a sedative to Isabella, ensuring she couldn't attempt another escape.
That night, Quentin returned, but he wasn't alone.
Another man accompanied him—a face Isabella vaguely recognized despite the fog of her drug-induced haze.
Isabella's eyes tracked Bradley as she racked her brain, trying to remember where she'd seen him before.
"Lova, do you recognize him?" Quentin asked, strolling closer.
Isabella stared at Bradley but still couldn't place him.
Quentin continued, "He's a student of mine. You recommended him to me back then, remember?"
Isabella was speechless.
Quentin was spouting nonsense.
She didn't even bother to respond.
Bradley stepped forward, his voice measured and slow. "Ms. Black, I'm Bradley."
Isabella frowned, repeating the name, "Bradley."
The name hit her like a jolt—Bradley, Marvin's student, the one who treated Seb with hypnosis?
But now Bradley was here, as Quentin's student?
Isabella's eyes flickered.
Even if she was confused, she should have guessed the implications by now.
So, they had been part of Quentin's plan all along!
Isabella gritted her teeth and turned to Bradley, "How is Seb? Have you been treating him under Quentin's orders?"
Bradley didn't dare answer and looked at Quentin.
Quentin's face darkened, displeasure flickering in his eyes, but he held it in.
He turned and instructed Bradley, "Get ready to start."
Bradley nodded, "Yes, Mr. Black."
Before leaving, he glanced at Isabella.
When he returned, he was wearing a white coat, his demeanor now clinical.
"Begin," Quentin commanded.
"Yes," Bradley nodded.
He first went to the window and drew all the curtains, then turned off several lights in the room.
The room dimmed, and Isabella felt a growing sense of dread.
Watching Bradley approach, her voice trembled, "What are you going to do?"
Bradley didn't respond, checking the medical tray before expelling air from the syringe and injecting its contents into her arm.
She knew they were definitely going to do something to her!
But she had no idea what the process would be.
Isabella's terror spiked as she fought to push him away, but it was too quick—a second later, the syringe was empty.
She took a deep breath as she yanked the needle out, blood splattering violently.
She threw the needle aside, ready to fight back, but Quentin lunged, pinning her to the bed.
"Restrain her!" he barked.
Bradley hesitated but complied, securing her with restraints as Isabella screamed and struggled.
"Let me go; let me go!" she shouted.
Tears streamed down her face, mixing with the blood pooling on the floor.
Quentin glanced at Isabella, then at her bleeding hand, frowning deeply.
Then he personally cleaned her hand methodically.
Bradley faltered, "Teacher, she's very agitated. Maybe we should stop."
Quentin threw the blood-soaked cotton ball into the trash, his expression indifferent, "Continue!"
Bradley called in a nurse to reinsert the needle into Isabella's other hand.
But Isabella wouldn't cooperate as she pressed her hand firmly against the blanket.
The nurse's gentle persuasion had no effect.
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