Chapter 506

The moment solitude enveloped him, Alexander Montgomery's pent-up rage erupted. Crystal vases shattered against marble floors as he concluded Mr. Jack must be behind everything.

Meanwhile, Liam Blackwood had just arrived in Crestwood with Olivia Sinclair and little Isabelle. Cradling the sleepy child, Liam suggested they find a restaurant first.

But Olivia's appetite had vanished. Alistair Kensington had been located - and inexplicably, he clung to Margaret Sinclair like a lifeline, shadowing her every move.

While Olivia could tolerate Alistair's condition, his sudden devotion to Margaret made her suspect foul play. Had Margaret drugged him? Brainwashed him? Determined for answers, Olivia rushed Alistair to Mercy Hospital for comprehensive tests. The diagnosis remained unchanged - only Alzheimer's, no other abnormalities.

For days, Margaret had been under Liam's surveillance, causing Alistair's agitation to spike. He refused meals, abandoned hobbies. With no alternative, Olivia ordered her team to bring both Alistair and Margaret to Crestwood early. Alistair had already arrived at the villa by now.

Olivia gazed at Isabelle's luminous eyes and gently pinched her rosy cheek. "Would you like to have dinner with Liam tonight?"

The child beamed, wrapping tiny arms around Liam's neck. "Yes, please."

Liam stiffened, discomfort flashing across his features. "Perhaps this isn't wise. We should postpone."

Olivia adjusted Isabelle's dress with steady hands. "Don't overthink it. I misjudged you before. You've proven yourself capable of protecting her."

"She's my entire world," Liam vowed, his arms tightening around the fragile three-year-old. Isabelle was the perfect blend of both parents - Liam's strong jawline softened by Olivia's delicate features, creating an ethereal beauty that took his breath away.

As Liam departed with Isabelle after their farewells, Olivia hurried home to chaos. She thanked fate Isabelle wasn't present to witness the scene.

Winston knelt weeping before Alistair, who leaned heavily on Margaret's arm, poised to leave. The grand parlor resembled a warzone - shattered porcelain littered the Persian rugs, overturned furniture blocking pathways.

Margaret wore triumph rather than concern, chin lifted arrogantly as she urged Alistair toward the exit. Her smirk suggested she viewed the confused old man as nothing more than a chess piece in her schemes.

Olivia helped Winston up with a grim expression. "Explain this."

Wiping tears, the butler choked out, "Your grandfather insists we're torturing him and his 'precious granddaughter.' Even at his worst, he always recognized you before. Now? Nothing."

The words carved through Olivia's heart. Something was terribly wrong, but the answer remained just beyond her grasp.