But now, Emma was colder than ever—utterly unmoved, refusing even to grant her father a final visit before his "death."

So be it. If she could be this ruthless, she could hardly blame him for what he was about to do.

When it came to scheming, every last member of the Windsor family had a talent for it.

Baillie, after discussing it with Rosetta, arranged for Adkins to leave the hospital and return home once he’d shown the slightest sign of recovery.

If you’re going to put on a show, you might as well go all in.

He knew Emma wasn’t easily fooled, so he had to take a risk—Adkins would pretend to be at death’s door, too sick for treatment, sent home to “wait for the end.”

Besides, the plan could only work perfectly within the house, where Baillie could control every detail and make sure suspicion never landed on him.

As soon as Adkins was settled back at Windsor Mansion, Baillie hired a woman whose build, hairstyle, and posture closely resembled Ivy’s. He filmed her from behind as she walked up the stairs.

He shot the video in secret, then sent it to Emma.

“Emma, Dad’s last wish is to see everyone together, just once. Look, Ivy’s already come home. Don’t you want to see Dad one final time before it’s too late?”

Emma was at the Carter estate, locked in yet another standoff with Sheridan—another round, another win for her.

When she saw the video Baillie had sent, her eyes went wide. She immediately called him.

“Ivy’s really come back?” she demanded, excitement and suspicion mingling in her voice.

“Yes. I think she just wants to watch the drama unfold,” Baillie replied, keeping his tone cool and measured. “After all, she’s always hated us. Now that she knows Dad’s on his way out, she’s probably delighted.”

Emma was burning for revenge against Ivy. She knew the Carters had cut her off from the outside world; even with all her money, she couldn’t pay anyone to run errands for her now.

Baillie’s offer was a rare chance—one she couldn’t let slip through her fingers.

She didn’t even bother to scrutinize the woman in the video.

“Fine, I’m coming home now. Ivy doesn’t know I’ll be there, does she?” Emma asked, her voice trembling with anticipation.

“I haven’t mentioned you,” Baillie lied smoothly. Then, playing the part of the concerned son, he added, “Emma, Dad just wants to see everyone together one last time. Whatever grudges you have, can you set them aside for today?”

Emma snorted inwardly.

Set them aside? Not a chance.

If it weren’t for her vendetta against Ivy, she wouldn’t care if the entire Windsor family dropped dead—she wouldn’t shed a single tear.

Still, she played along. “I know. I’ll do my best to grant Dad’s final wish.”

She hung up, dropped Sheridan without a second glance, and rushed for the door.

The guards blocking her exit refused to budge, so she called Langston, sobbing and begging—her father was dying, all she wanted was a chance to say goodbye, for the family to be together one last time.

Her tears sounded heartbreakingly real, and since Langston had heard about Adkins’s failing health, his resolve softened and he agreed.

Emma barely paused for breath as she sped back to Windsor Mansion.

There wasn’t a single car in the driveway—a detail that surprised her, but her thirst for revenge overrode any caution. She hurried inside, desperate to find Ivy.

But the living room was eerily quiet and completely empty.

As Emma stood there, confused, Rosetta’s voice called down from the upstairs landing. “Emma, you’re back?”

Emma snapped her head up. Rosetta’s expression was cold, unreadable. Emma started to blurt, “Ivy–“

She caught herself, lowered her tone, and changed course. “Where’s Dad? How is he?”

Chapter 630

“He’s in his room. Come up and see him,” Rosetta replied, her nerves barely hidden by the distance.

Emma suspected nothing. She strode to the staircase and hurried upstairs, heading straight for the master bedroom.

Rosetta watched her enter, then quietly slipped away to the bathroom, where she filled a glass with water.

In the bedroom, Adkins was propped up in bed, face sunken and sallow, eyelids heavy—he looked ready to give up the ghost at any moment.

Emma barely glanced at him, didn’t even bother with a “Dad,” her eyes darting around the room.

But Ivy was nowhere to be found.

Her gaze locked onto Baillie, standing nearby. Her tone was sharp, impatient. “Where’s Ivy?”

Baillie replied calmly, “She’s already left.”

“What? Why didn’t you tell me?” Emma’s anger flared. She spun on her heel. “You lied to me! Every last one of you Windsors is rotten to the core! Go to hell!”

She stormed out, determined to chase Ivy down.

Baillie followed at a measured pace, trying to reason with her. “You’re already here. At least say a few words to Dad. Who knows if you’ll ever get another chance?”

“Screw you! The whole Windsor family can rot! My biggest regret in life is ever coming here. You think I should be grateful? I’d rather have stayed poor and honest than be your scapegoat, your sacrificial pawn!”

Emma raged, voice echoing down the hall as she stormed toward the stairs.

She never noticed the slick pool of oil at the top. In her fury, she charged ahead, her foot hit the slick, and suddenly she was airborne—legs shooting out from under her, arms flailing in a futile attempt to grab something, anything.

“Aaahhh!”

Her scream cut through the house as she tumbled down the spiral staircase, banging against every step, her body helplessly spinning until she crashed hard onto the marble floor below.

Baillie stepped past the oil stain, calm and unhurried, and descended the stairs to where Emma lay, half-conscious and writhing in pain.

Emma’s mind went dark for a moment. When she finally opened her eyes, the first thing she felt was a hot, sticky trickle pooling beneath her….