Isabella pressed her lips together, but Cynthia couldn't hold back her anxiety. "Mr. Lane, you can't let her fool you. She's faking it, I swear."

"Let it go."

Isabella gently took Cynthia's hand, offering a calm smile. "It's fine, Andrew. Why don't you take her to the hospital? We'll head back for now."

Andrew's eyes softened a little. He reached out to ruffle Isabella's hair. "I'll come back and check on you later."

Isabella nodded. "Alright."

"Mr. Lane, no, you can't take her!" Cynthia's voice rose, shrill and agitated. "We can take her ourselves. You don't need to go."

Cynthia's outburst was so piercing that it cut through the fog in Emily's mind for a moment. She blinked, clarity returning as she caught snippets of their conversation. With a soft, disdainful click of her tongue, she shook off Andrew's hand and stepped back.

Bracing herself against the wall, Emily steadied her breathing and said, "Don't bother. I can go on my own."

Andrew's brow furrowed as he caught her wrist. "What are you playing at?"

Emily closed her eyes and yanked her hand free. "I can handle it myself."

She didn't look at him again, just pushed off the wall and took a few shaky steps away.

Andrew's voice came from behind, cold and unyielding. “Who drugged you?"

Emily paused but didn't turn around. "You already know, don't you?"

His tone was icy. "Impossible."

She let out a short, bitter laugh. “You saw it with your own eyes."

"So what?"

"It doesn't matter."

Cynthia listened in total confusion, unable to make sense of any of it. But Isabella felt a sudden tightness in her chest-a gnawing sense of dread.

Emily lowered her head, her voice barely above a whisper. "It doesn't really matter. You never believed me anyway. I'm used to it."

She let the words hang in the air and started to walk away, but Andrew caught her wrist again.

"Emily," he said, "so you're done pretending now?"

Emily frowned slightly. She understood what he meant-how lately, she'd been keeping her distance, keeping things cold. Now, she was letting her guard down, and Andrew saw it as her giving up the act.

She muttered quietly, “This is pointless."

Andrew's voice was heavy with disappointment. "You're still holding a grudge, Emily? Five years, and you still haven't grown up?"

She suddenly pulled away, turning to face him with fierce determination. “Andrew, you saw who handed me that drink. You saw it with your own eyes. Are you really going to pretend you didn't?"

His expression darkened. "Emily, let's just get you to the hospital."

Her tone was glacial. "I'll go by myself."

Isabella's heart dropped. The drink? She didn't have to think hard it was her who'd just given Emily that glass of water.

Panic rising, Isabella rushed to explain. "Emily, you must be mistaken. There was nothing wrong with that water. Maybe you had something else—"

"It doesn't matter," Emily cut her off with a scornful laugh. "After all, that's exactly what Andrew said."

Isabella glanced at Andrew, searching for support. He looked calm, but his lips were pressed into a tight, thin line, betraying his frustration.

She hurried over. "Really, you've got it all wrong."

"No need to waste your breath," Andrew said curtly.

Isabella swallowed, words stuck in her throat, as Andrew strode over to Emily and seized her wrist.

"Come on. We're going."

Emily fought him, struggling with every ounce of strength she could muster despite the drugs clouding her system. "Don't touch me."