How was it that everything lined up so perfectly-Emily Blair was drugged, and Andrew Lane just happened to witness it?

It was all a little too convenient. Convenient enough to land her right in the spotlight as the prime suspect.

She could hardly defend herself.

In the past, no matter what happened, Andrew Lane had always been unwaveringly on her side.

But this time, he hadn't rushed to her defense.

For the first time, Isabella Austin felt the bitter sting of being wrongfully accused.

She even started to wonder if this was all some elaborate trap set by Emily Blair. Otherwise, how could everything fit together so seamlessly?

Emily Blair sat propped up against the headboard, her gaze cool and indifferent, her face unreadable.

When Isabella finished speaking, Emily's lips curled into a faint, ironic smile. She slipped her hand from Isabella's grasp.

"I believe you," Emily said quietly, her tone sharp. "That's why I know you're the one who drugged me."

Isabella's voice shot up in panic. "It wasn't me!"

She pushed herself up from the edge of the bed, taking a shaky breath. "Emily, if you don't believe me, we can get to the bottom of this. I'll prove I'm innocent.”

Emily bowed her head, letting out a soft, mocking laugh. "There's no point. I already know nothing will come of it."

Isabella frowned. "Emily, what is that supposed to mean?"

Emily kept her gaze low, listening as footsteps approached. She saw the polished black shoes of Andrew Lane appear at the edge of her vision.

Then his voice came from above, steady and authoritative. "Emily Blair, you have no evidence that Isabella drugged you."

Emily raised her eyes to meet his dark, intense, impossible to read. She gave a sardonic smile. "Mr. Lane, didn't I just see you send someone to analyze the water I drank? By now, you should have the results, shouldn't you?"

Isabella's face registered shock.

Andrew's eyes narrowed, just a fraction.

Suddenly, the quiet of the hospital room was broken by the cheerful trilling of a default ringtone.

Andrew Lane's phone was ringing.

Emily fell silent, her face closing off as she turned away from them, gazing out at the night beyond the window.

Through the glass, she watched Andrew answer his phone.

The voice on the other end was muffled, indistinct. Emily couldn't make out the words.

A moment later, Andrew lowered the phone.

Isabella asked softly, "Andrew, is it work? If you're busy, you can go. I'll stay here."

"No," he replied, curt and to the point.

All at once, Emily caught his reflection in the window—his eyes meeting hers in the glass.

Sensing his gaze, she turned to look at him.

Andrew's voice was calm, betraying nothing. "The results are in. The water did contain a stimulant."

As his words hung in the air, Isabella's eyes widened, her face draining of color. She stammered, “That's impossible. I didn't put anything in it, I swear. It wasn't me.”

Her breath came in shallow bursts. Then she caught herself, voice rising in desperation: “Maybe it was the bartender. He's the only other one who touched that glass. He handed it to me himself."

She hurried forward, clutching Andrew's hand, her pale face turned up to him, pleading. "Andrew, please, you have to believe me. I didn't do this. You have to believe me."

Andrew's face was unreadable. No one could tell what he was thinking.

Isabella's heart was pounding so hard she thought it might burst.

She felt so wronged.

So incredibly wronged.

She hadn't done this.

Emily lowered her gaze, quietly tracing the creases in the blanket with her eyes.