Chapter 50: Never stopped caring
Upon returning to his estate, Quinn was seething with anger. He stormed toward Izabelle’s door, his fist raised to knock, but Mia’s scornful words echoed in his mind. Gritting his teeth, he hesitated, then let his hand fall. Confronting Izabelle directly, if Mia’s accusations were true, would be the wrong move. He needed a better approach.
Clenching his fists, he stepped back and mind-linked his most trusted companion. ’Quietly round up Izabelle’s underlings and bring them to the dungeon. Make sure no one notices.’ His voice was low, commanding.
The urgency burned within him. If he delayed, his patience might snap, and he would be forced to take drastic action against his foster mother. If everything Mia had revealed turned out to be true, no one involved in the betrayal would escape his wrath, not even his foster mother. Looking back now, the entire situation had been far too convenient, as though someone had orchestrated every piece of it to fall neatly into place.
Why had he been so blind? How had he allowed the cruelty of his biological mother to cloud his judgment and shape his insecurities?
A sharp call broke his thoughts. "Your Grace," Ray, his closest companion, greeted him at the dungeon entrance, pushing open the door to reveal Izabelle’s trembling subordinates.
Quinn entered silently, his sharp gaze sweeping over the terrified servants. He took a seat opposite them, his expression unreadable. The quiet intensity in his eyes was more terrifying than any raised voice. Each one of them sat chained, their heads bowed in fear, unable to meet his gaze.
"Stall Izabelle," Quinn commanded curtly. Ray nodded and signaled some of his men to leave, keeping only a handful behind for assistance.
Leaning forward slightly, Quinn’s voice was calm yet chilling. "I don’t have time to waste. You will tell me everything about the misunderstandings between me and Belle, and leave nothing out."
The room fell into uneasy silence. The subordinates exchanged nervous glances, unwilling to speak. Quinn’s patience thinned, and with a snap of his fingers, the guards began whipping them. Cries of pain filled the prison room, echoing off the cold stone walls.
"Wait! Please, Your Grace! I will confess!" One of the maids cried out, her voice cracking as she raised a trembling hand. She was a familiar figure to him, often seen by Izabelle’s side. She had to be her personal maid.
"Speak," Quinn said, his tone unyielding.