Isabella helped Sophia Mitchell to her feet, her tone steady. "Stand up. We should talk this through."

Tears shimmered in Sophia Mitchell's eyes as she gazed at Isabella with desperate hope. "Miss Scott, I'll donate my bone marrow for Liam. But please, speak to Mr. Blackwood for me. Ask him not to blacklist me from the industry."

Isabella froze at her words. She instinctively pulled her hands back.

"Blacklist you?" Isabella frowned slightly. "What are you talking about?"

Sophia Mitchell hesitated, caught off guard by Isabella's reaction. She bit her lip, unsure whether to say more.

After a moment of silence, Sophia Mitchell seemed to resolve herself. Her voice trembled as she spoke. "Please, Miss Scott, you know what Mr. Blackwood can do. I'm just a designer, and being shut out is my worst nightmare. If he decides to ruin me, my career is over."

As she continued to plead, her voice grew even more strained.

Isabella clenched her fists. Was Ethan behind this?

She replayed the memory of Ethan's cold, detached expression in her mind.

Had he ever shown her a shred of affection?

The idea of him offering help seemed absurd.

The sharp smell of disinfectant filled her senses.

"Isabella, are you ready?"

Daniel's voice gently pulled her from her thoughts.

He was dressed in sterile scrubs and a mask, only his kind eyes visible through the protective gear.

"Yes, I'm ready," Isabella replied, forcing a weak smile.

Daniel nodded toward Sophia Mitchell. "Let's go."

Sophia Mitchell cast a grateful look Isabella's way before a nurse led her out.

Close behind, Liam was also wheeled away.

Isabella remained standing, her gaze fixed on the now empty doorway, her mind tangled in confusion and doubt.

She couldn't understand it. Why would Ethan ever help her?

She shook her head, trying to dismiss the ridiculous thought. To Ethan, she was nothing but a nuisance—an obstacle he wished would disappear.

How could someone who held only contempt and indifference possibly reach out to assist her?

Isabella's slender fingers clutched the hem of her coat, her knuckles turning white from the pressure.

The red surgical light outside the operating room blazed like a warning, stinging Isabella's eyes.

Restlessly, she paced the corridor, her anxiety growing with each step. Visions of Liam's delicate, pale face haunted her—how bravely he had whispered, "Mom, don't cry," trying to comfort her despite his own fear.

The memory tightened around her heart, making each breath a struggle against the overwhelming sorrow.

She wished this cruel reality would fade into a bad dream, yearning to wake up to Liam's lively laughter, to see him running around, his small hand gripping hers, his sweet face full of mischief.

Time dragged on, marked by the intermittent flicker of the corridor lights.

Finally, the operating room doors swung open, and a doctor emerged, clad in green scrubs. He removed his mask, revealing a tired but reassuring smile. "The surgery was a success," he announced.

Relief washed over Isabella like a soothing balm. Her heart, which had been on the verge of despair, found stability. Exhausted, she leaned against the cool wall for support, her voice a fragile whisper. "Thank you... thank you, doctor..."