Chapter 482: Insane Goal

Whitney’s greatest regret after leaving the island was not saying a proper goodbye to Taylor. She had left without parting on better terms, and that choice weighed heavily on her heart. When she first heard the news of his death, sorrow consumed her. Now, knowing he was alive, she refused to let herself carry that kind of regret again.

Taylor leaned forward, his head bowed as his hands tightened slowly around her waist. This time, his voice held nothing back. It was his own, steady and sincere concern. “Take care of yourself, alright? Don’t give me any reason to worry.”

Whitney’s fingers clung to his shirt, trembling as her tears fell unchecked. Her response was barely above a whisper, “I will.”

He released her gently and placed a hand on her face, wiping away the tears. Her small face seemed almost fragile in his palm, the contrast undeniable. His gaze lingered with unspoken grief. “You’ve lost weight again. You need to eat well, stay healthy, and live your life fully.”

Her tears wouldn’t stop. Even as he wiped them away, more streamed down. She looked up at him, her voice breaking. “And what about you?”

“I still have a job to do.” He took a necklace of multicolored threads from his pocket and placed it carefully around her neck. “I made sure to get you this charm. Keep it on. Don’t take it off.”

Through her tears, she managed a small, broken laugh. “You, of all people, believing in something like this?”

“If it means you’ll be safe, then yes. I’ll believe in every god and bow to every statue, no matter where I find one.” His voice softened further. “Whitney, I have to leave.”

“Taylor,” she called, desperation lacing her words. “Don’t you dare die. You owe me your whole life.”

He rested a hand lightly on her head, offering a gentle smile that barely masked his pain. “I’ll remember that.”

Reluctantly, Whitney’s hands let go of his shirt, though her eyes betrayed the worry she felt. Taylor adjusted his coat and walked toward me. His voice lowered as he spoke. “Keep an eye on Alisa.”

Then, with a stethoscope in hand, he stepped toward the door. His tone grew louder, more professional. “Mrs. Bolton, Ms. Sander will need rest over the next few days. Make sure she avoids drafts, sticks to light meals, and doesn’t push herself too hard.”

“Thank you, Dr. Mervin,” I replied. “If we need anything else, I’ll contact you.”

He nodded once. “Of course.”

Without another glance, Taylor picked up his medical bag and left.

I entered Whitney’s room, shutting the door behind me. From the corner of my eye, I caught Alisa standing near the window, her gaze fixed on the scene outside. Whitney pressed her hands and face against the glass, watching Taylor’s figure grow smaller in the distance. He must have felt her eyes on him, but this time, he didn’t turn around.

Alisa’s motives remained shrouded in doubt, yet there was no escaping the feeling that she concealed something. Her silence, especially about the child, spoke volumes. Whitney had followed him relentlessly barefoot from her room to the balcony. The sorrow in her gaze was impossible to miss.

I sighed, my heart heavy with understanding. Twenty years of shared life, whether as lovers, family, or close friends, creates a bond that runs deeper than mere affection. Their relationship reminded me of the fish and the water—two entities whose existence was entwined beyond reason. The fish might dream of freedom, leaping toward the shore to escape the water’s hold. But the instant it landed on dry land gasping for breath, it would learn a painful truth. It wasn’t the water that needed the fish—it was the fish that could not survive without the water.

“Whitney,” I called gently, “don’t forget what he said. Your fever just broke. You need to come back inside.”

She hesitated before nodding. “Okay.”

She returned to her bed and lay down, her fingers absentmindedly tracing the threads of the necklace that now rested against her skin. Her voice was barely above a whisper when she asked, “I’m pathetic, aren’t I? He’s the one who hurt our family, and yet…”

I ran my fingers through her hair, offering some comfort. “That’s not for me to decide. If you looked at it from the Carlyns’ side, we’d be the villains. Instead of dwelling on the past, focus on living in the now. Just live in a way you won’t regret.”

Her eyes brimmed with uncertainty. “He’ll be fine, won’t he?”

I met her gaze firmly. “He will. He’s in the shadows now, while the others are exposed. That gives us the advantage.”

Her expression shifted, a spark of determination replacing her earlier doubts. “Can you book me an appointment with that therapist?”

I tilted my head in puzzled inquiry. “Are you planning to drive him crazy?”

She shook her head. “No. The organization needs proof that the Carlyns are really gone. Luther keeps showing up because he thinks he can use me to lure him out. My illness only makes them believe the news of his demise more. We’ll need to act like we didn’t see him. You make the appointment, and I’ll act like I’m just dealing with grief. We need them to think what we want them to think.”

Her resolve brought a small smile to my lips. “You’re brilliant, Whitney.”

She laughed through her exhaustion. “Sis, is that therapist really as handsome as you said?”

“Absolutely.”

We exchanged a quiet laugh, a small reprieve in the midst of chaos.

After staying with her a little longer, I finally stepped out of the room. Alisa appeared from the hallway, her expression carefully composed. “Aunt Chloe,” she began, her tone laced with concern, “Ms. Sander hasn’t left her room in two days. Is she okay? What’s wrong with her?”

“She’s always been frail,” I said, my tone even. “She got caught in the rain a couple of nights ago, came down with a fever, and it only just broke. She’s still weak and resting in bed.”

“Was it bad? Maybe I should check on her,” Alisa offered, her worry evident.

“You’re pregnant. It’s better if you stay away. Besides, her illness isn’t something you can catch. It’s more about her heart than her health.”

Alisa tilted her head slightly, her curiosity growing. “What do you mean by that?”

“Someone very dear to her passed away. It’s the kind of pain that medicine can’t fix,” I explained.

“No wonder she’s been so quiet lately,” Alisa murmured. “Poor thing. She’s already skin and bones—it must be taking a toll on her.”

As we spoke, Luke walked in. Even though we shared the same house, we rarely exchanged more than a polite nod. The need for propriety kept our interactions brief. Just like now. His gaze met mine for a moment before he spoke. “Aunt Chloe,” he said, his voice stiff.

“You’re back,” I replied with a small nod, then made my way upstairs. Alisa moved toward him, her smile soft and inviting, every bit the picture of a devoted wife. Could her secrecy about the baby really come from loving Luke so deeply? But then, Luke pulled his hand away from hers with a cold, detached reply. “I’m going to my room.”

“Luke…” Her voice barely rose above a whisper, but it carried a note of pleading.

From the top of the stairs, I watched her. She stood alone in the courtyard, looking after him as he walked away. Her small figure seemed weighed down by helplessness, her vulnerability stark in the evening light.

When I returned to my room, Carter had already showered. The clean, faint scent of his body wash lingered in the air as he drew me close. “Is he gone?” he asked.

“Yes,” I said, leaning into him. “He told me to keep an eye on Alisa. I’ve been keeping a close eye on her, but there’s been nothing unusual so far.”

Carter guided me to sit beside him on the bed. “What about Sheila? Could she have noticed something back then?”

I hesitated. If it hadn’t been for Sheila’s connection to Wisteria, the truth might have stayed buried.

“What are you implying, Carter?” I voiced my curiosity.

“I think the organization isn’t just after the Boltons,” he said, his expression grim.

The weight of his words hit me, and a chilling realization dawned. “Are you saying there could be more women like Wisteria? Planted in powerful families, using family ties to gain control?”

“Exactly,” he said. “Take the Hudsons, for example. They’re one of Jaford’s most influential families. What if Alisa was originally intended to infiltrate them but ended up as Plan B?”

I nodded slowly, piecing it together. “So, her real mission might be to replace Wisteria and finish what she couldn’t with the Boltons.”

If this theory was true, then this wasn’t just a ruthless scheme by a few individuals. It was a deliberate, calculated effort by an organization that saw no boundaries.

“Money may only be part of it,” Carter said, his voice grave. “They could be aiming for something much bigger—control over the world’s most powerful families and their resources.”

The enormity of it all made my head spin. Their ambition wasn’t just dangerous—it was utterly unthinkable.