Indeed, the moment Ruth Upperton was sent to the hospital, she appeared here promptly, hidden in an unnoticed corner.
At this moment.
The night was in full swing.
The world was like a sleeping beast.
Faint sounds of snoring were gradually spreading...
Isabella Lindsey moved swiftly, climbing and darting, lightly landing into Ruth Upperton's isolation ward from outside the window.
She was unconsciously trapped in sleep, motionless, seemingly dead.
Isabella Lindsey took three silent steps forward, standing at her bedside, looking down, meeting her gaze.
A face of pallor with countless wrinkles.
Deep-set eyes.
Cracked lips.
None of the haughty demeanor of a wealthy lady could be seen; instead, there was the desolation and pitiable demeanor of a person close to death.
Suddenly.
She extended her long arm, opening her palm, where a nine-colored glazed pill lay.
