Isidore, having watched Eloise being pulled away by Lucienne, barely had time to strike his pose before receiving a call from Sylvana. "The master is dead, and Milo is furious." His face changed, and he immediately arranged the fastest means of transport to get to Mr. Ravenscroft's manor.
There were people from Milo moving around the mansion, and Isidore immediately understood—Milo had come today to force his father to hand over control.
Mr. Ravenscroft, unable to bring himself to kill the beast, had ultimately been killed by it. Isidore let out a cold laugh in his mind and strode in with calm determination. By Mr. Ravenscroft's bedside, chaos reigned—equipment and instruments were smashed to pieces, and medicine bottles and cups were scattered across the floor.
Milo was sobbing, clutching his head next to Mr. Ravenscroft's body, but he wasn't mourning his father. Instead, he was crying for himself: "He actually left everything to that little bastard! He left everything to that little bastard!"
Isidore was slightly surprised. He had always thought Cyrus was just an illegitimate son who wasn't valued by Mr. Ravenscroft. He never expected that in the end, Mr. Ravenscroft would choose to leave everything to him. Was it because he still had some affection for his youngest son, or was it because he didn't trust Milo? It was likely the latter. It seemed that Mr. Ravenscroft's paternal love for Milo wasn't enough to completely blind his worldly eyes.
Milo lifted his head, his eyes full of bloody hatred as he glared at him. "Damn, you're ruthless." Isidore looked at Mr. Ravenscroft's face, which was wrinkled and bulging with veins, and with a touch of sadness, he twisted his mouth into a smile: "Not as ruthless as you." Milo charged toward him like a wild beast, staring at him with bloodthirsty eyes: "Where is that little bastard, Cyrus?"
Isidore frowned at the proximity and, with an unruffled demeanor, took two steps back and sat down. "At this time, he should be sleeping. But what's the point of finding him? With Mr. Ravenscroft's meticulous way of doing things, if you kill him or imprison him, you'll get nothing." As if struck by his words, Milo clutched his head and let out two pained howls, resembling a madman.
After a while, he straightened up, a strange smile hanging on his face. "But you can help me. You're more familiar with the ins and outs of these businesses than I am. Once my father is gone, those people will listen to you! Together, we can strip that little brat of everything he has, take it all bit by bit. It doesn't matter how long it takes; only you can do it!"
He opened his arms to Isidore. "Come on, Isidore, keep being my family's dog!" Isidore said nothing: "Go get treated. How could I possibly help you do your dirty work?"
Milo glared at him with deep resentment, his face turning beet red, but then he twisted his anger into a smile. "I know you're not afraid of threats, but this person might just make you change your mind." He gave a few orders to someone, then turned back to Isidore, watching him with a twisted, almost deranged smile.
Soon, Isidore saw a familiar face—one he had parted with only shortly before, under unpleasant circumstances. He glanced at her, then quickly looked away. "Who is she? I don't know her." Eloise was roughly shoved to the ground, and at his words, she erupted angrily. "Isidore, you..." Milo smiled confidently, his voice dripping with menace. "Take a good look. If you truly don't recognize her, I'll kill her."
Isidore looked at her carefully and said indifferently, "I really don't know her." Seeing the madman drawing a gun, Eloise rushed forward and grabbed the pants at Isidore's knee, "Isidore! Mr. Kingswell! Isidory! Isel! You can't just pretend you don't know me after out bed meeting!"
"Let go," Isidore spoke coldly, bending down. "Heh, don't you have any dignity?" Eloise froze. She had just been paid back in kind!
Milo looked at her with a twisted curiosity. "So, you do recognize her after all, don't you?" Isidore tugged at the corner of his mouth. "A fleeting encounter, nothing more." "Oh, then go ahead and kill her." Milo, this madman, was decisive. He pointed the gun straight at Eloise's temple and began counting down. When the countdown reached the last two numbers, Isidore slowly spoke up, "Put down the gun. I'll cooperate with you."
Milo laughed loudly, "I didn't expect you to be someone who values loyalty." He wiped the smile off his face and his eyes turned sharp, "But, I'm not at ease." He opened a black password box on the bedside table and took out a light green syringe, filling it with liquid. "This drug needs regular detoxification every month. If I inject it into her, you'd better cooperate with me, or she'll die."
"Milo," Isidore spoke to the madman with an unprecedented seriousness, "If you dare inject her with this untested drug, I will never cooperate with you again. I told you." He knew that Milo had a peculiar temper and could not bear to be provoked; one must never leave him no way out. Thus, he unexpectedly extended his arm.
Milo stared at him for a long while, his gaze shifting to the muscular arm. His nostrils flared, and with a twisted smile, he said, "Good, good! This is even better. In the end, none of you can escape from the palm of my hand!" He plunged the thick, silver-white needle into Isidore's vein, pushing the entire dose of the potion in without a drop left.
"Take them to my villa halfway up the mountain and keep them under close watch!" Milo waved his hand. Isidore made no resistance. Once outside, he raised his hand, signaling for his men to disregard him. In the car, Eloise sat, her expression vacant.
Isidore seemed to be speaking to her, but it was more like he was talking to himself, "Those who think they're clever are often the most foolish."
Milo's villa was heavily guarded, with surveillance cameras everywhere at the entrance, even the passing of a fly leaving a trace. Eloise was anxious, her mind in turmoil, but Isidore remained as calm as if he were returning to his own home. After all, the internal struggles of underworld families were, in the end, his area of expertise.
Eloise decided to set aside their personal grievances for now and sought his advice, "What should we do next?" Isidore seemed to be still in a quarrel with her, lazily stifling a yawn. His expression, though not exactly soft, conveyed little more than, "I'm tired. I'm going to sleep."
"Hey…" Eloise was surprised that he gave up so easily, and more puzzled when he walked toward the smallest and most inconspicuous room in the corner. Isidore raised a meaningful smile, "Milo is a pervert. This is his palace for pleasure. Given how reckless he is, other rooms could have been used countless times to entertain women."
Eloise shuddered in disgust, yet she dared not remain outside alone. She quickly ran over and squeezed through the crack in the door just before he could close it.
