Chapter 3The "Prized" Son

She dared to threaten me with my own mother?

My mom had a massive stroke three years ago and had been in a coma ever since. For three years, every time I came to visit her, Isabella insisted on keeping her distance, claiming it was to “avoid conflicts of interest.”

Was it to avoid conflicts of interest, or to keep her disgusting affair with Jim a secret?

She had played her part so well. No wonder she was always rushing me out, assuring me Mom was stable and I had nothing to worry about.

“Isabella,” I said, my voice dangerously low. “Who gave you the nerve to lay a hand on me?”

Her expression flickered. She turned to the gawking crowd. “I apologize for the scene. This is my husband’s cousin, Ethan. He’s been under a lot of stress… his mental state is not very stable. He often has… delusions.”

With just a few words, she branded me a lunatic.

I pushed myself to my feet, and started walking toward her, one slow step at a time.

Jim flinched, shrinking behind her. “Stay away! Isabella, I think he’s really lost it…”

Isabella stood her ground, shielding Jim. “Ethan! What more do you want?”

“Isabella.” I stopped in front of her. “What was that you just said? That I’m mentally unstable? That I have delusions?”

She must have thought I was about to back down. Her expression softened slightly. “Ethan, I know you’re not thinking clearly, but you hurt my son…”

The sharp crack of my hand across her face cut her off. Before she could recover, I drove my foot into her knee.

She crumpled to the floor.

“You ungrateful, backstabbing bitch!”

The room exploded into chaos. Humiliated, Isabella’s face twisted with rage.

“Have you lost your mind, Ethan?! My husband is sleep-deprived from taking care of our child, and you’re here causing trouble!” Her voice rose to a shriek. “Do you want your mother to die?”

I met her glare without flinching. “Threatening me with my mother? Is that all you’ve got, Isabella?”

“Fine,” she snarled, her face contorted. “You want to see what I’ve got? I’ll show you.” She whipped out her phone and dialed a number. “Bring the patient from ICU bed three to my office. Now.”

That was my mother’s bed.

Isabella… she wouldn’t. She couldn’t.

Rage, pure and blinding, consumed me. “I dare you! Isabella, if you touch my mother, you can get the hell out of this hospital!”

She laughed, a harsh, ugly sound. “Get out? Ethan, who do you think you are?”

“I own this hospital! That’s who!”