Isabel, who was always in a dull and expressionless state, finally let out a small smile when she was out of Hancock's sight.
She recalled the events that unfolded after the dinner party last evening.
Isabel, who had been sent back to her room, stood by her window looking at the scene in the garden below. She watched as her brother, Henry, ran into the bell tower. Previously, the butler, who supported her interest in painting, ntioned that there once existed a studio in the bell tower.
Mr. Proche, in his younger years, was a sowhat famous painter. His excursion for outdoor sketching allowed him to avoid the self-inflicted doom that befell the Prossi family. His painting skills were exceptional and when he first joined the Nihelet Family, before being labeled as a madman, he set up a little studio in the bell tower.
As ti went by, Owen fell gravely ill, Isabel was suspected of being possessed by a demon, the youngest daughter Sherlock had a congenital heart disease, and Lady Nihelet, due to shock, fell into hysteria. Besides, Mr. Proche's increasingly outrageous behavior around the mansion in his attempts to investigate the murderer, further tainted his reputation, and he gradually stopped painting.
The old butler of the Nihelet family seed happy about her interest in painting. Therefore, he candidly shared these old secrets with Isabel. Perhaps he felt that Isabel, being still young, wouldn't understand or rember these matters, and thus, kept nothing hidden.
But besides Isabel, Henry was also present. He followed Isabel around like a noiso infestation, circled her surroundings, and took away everything that was hers.
But this ti, Isabel intentionally let it happen. She knew that Henry would surely rush into the tower. Whether Isabel had anything, or was about to have sothing, Henry always sought to snatch it away from her.
Isabel knew the reason – Henry didn't truly belong to the Nihelet family, but he believed he should have.
As expected, Henry stord into the studio. Isabel knew that the little devil wouldn't bother learning sothing new; he would only try to steal what was already there. She saw Henry steal a painting and offer it as a treasure to Doctor Schiller. Unfortunately, for him, Doctor Schiller saw through his deceit.
Isabel knew she had to act quickly. Whenever Henry lost his temper, he always vented his anger on her, pushing her to the ground, leaving all sorts of injuries on her body, forcing her to rest in bed, unable to do anything.
While Henry, enraged, went on a rampage, ruining the stolen painting, Isabel sneaked into the bell tower. She didn't paint or look at any pieces; she went straight to the toolbox, found a sharpened pencil that had yet to be used.
Then she deliberately stood by the window, letting Henry see her silhouette. In his crazed state, Henry would assu that Isabel was trying to paint, trying to obtain sothing, and he had to imdiately intervene and seize it from her.
So, the young boy, filled with anger, charged into the studio, intending to teach Isabel a lesson like he usually would.
As usual, Isabel was knocked down by the infuriated Henry. But this ti, before she fell, she grabbed Henry's arm, bringing him down with her.
Isabel quickly scrambled up and pushed over the easel nearby, allowing it to crash onto Henry. When Henry's vision was obscured, and his body pinned down, Isabel grasped the pencil tightly, plunging it into his heart.
Isabel pulled out the pencil swiftly; Henry struggled for a mont before his breath slipped away. Isabel removed the easel off him, dragged his corpse towards the window.
"You plan on throwing him off, do you?" A voice rang out from the entrance of the studio.
Upon raising her head, Isabel noticed a large silhouette appearing from the doorway. Clutching the pencil tightly, she fixed her gaze on the shadow, only to realize that it was Doctor Schiller who had erged from the darkness.
Isabel seed to breathe a sigh of relief, her face turned pale as tears welled up within her eyes. Schiller walked over, knelt in front of her, and wiped away her tears.
However, just when Isabel tried to fling herself into his arms, Schiller gently pushed her away and said, "Your usual tricks won't work on , miss, you're still holding a weapon."
Schiller lowered his gaze, continued wiping Isabel's tears, and said, "Next ti, rember to sob a bit when you're crying. Otherwise, it feels too fake."
Isabel's eyes widened slightly, as she took a step back, still staring intently at Schiller.
"You're trying to fra for Henry's murder, or seeking to gain my sympathy so I would admit to it? Miss, your manipulation tactics need improvent."
Isabel remained silent, her lips firmly pressed together.
"You know what your father and uncle are up to, you've seen what they've done to Owen, yet you didn't stop them nor did you go and tell anyone, and now, you're helping them."
"I'm not helping them," Isabel responded with a raspy voice, "I'm protecting myself!"
"You think that if you pose as being possessed by the devil, they wouldn't dare harm you? Miss, that's a tad too naive of you," Schiller sighed, continuing, "The reason why you weren't treated like the eldest son lies in the fact they were considering your mother, they were afraid she would make a scene."
ntioning her mother, Isabel lowered her eyes, clutching the pencil while saying, "She also knew what they were doing. She told her people, and as a result, they all died. She's a foolish woman."
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