Chapter 4 The Relatives of the Tudor Family
"Brandon, what were you about to say? What happened between Jonathan and me?"
"Give me your hand." Jonathan pulled open a compartment in the armrest, retrieving an elegant first aid kit that made Isabella freeze in surprise.
Without ceremony, he grasped her injured arm and cradled it carefully. He'd never encountered a girl who cared so little for her own wellbeing, and it infuriated him.
The memory of her words at the cliff's edge made his anger burn even hotter—she hadn't been joking or flirting with him that day. She'd genuinely been seeking death.
Had these years truly been so unbearable for Isabella?
"Jonathan, be gentle! She's the sister I just got back!" Brandon finally noticed the severity of Isabella's scratches.
"Is this how the people who took you in always treated you?" Brandon's lips pressed into a thin line.
On his way to the television station, he'd thoroughly investigated the Thornton Family, but found no details about abuse.
He'd assumed Isabella's search for her real family stemmed from the Thorntons' kindness, not cruelty.
"Not before. We only had our final break today." Isabella shook her head, choosing not to reveal the Thorntons' true nature.
She had no evidence—they'd confessed their schemes, but she'd been too emotional to record anything.
Without proof, she feared Brandon would think her ungrateful. After all, the Thorntons had raised her for eighteen years. Setting aside their recent betrayals, she'd attended elite schools, dressed as well as Stella, and the Thornton parents had performed their loving act convincingly in public.
Seeing Isabella's silence, both Jonathan and Brandon's expressions grew grave.
Jonathan chimed in, "She's had it rough, and she's not telling the whole truth. You two head home—I'm leaving."
The car had stopped at a three-way intersection, and Jonathan swung his long legs out without waiting for Brandon's response, sliding into the second vehicle.
"Hey! Jonathan! What's that supposed to mean? Explain yourself! And this is your car! Where are you going?"
"Keep it for your sister!"
"She doesn't need it! I can afford to buy her one!"
Jonathan's convoy quickly separated from the procession and disappeared around the corner.
"Isabella, was he telling the truth just now?"
"About what?"
Isabella had been watching Jonathan's departure through the rear window, blushing slightly at his parting words. The man was insufferably domineering.
"Nothing. Jonathan talks nonsense. I've had a good life. So, Brandon, are we heading home now?"
"Yes! We're almost there. Isabella, let me tell you—Mom and Dad nicknamed me 'Sunny' and you 'Bunny.' Our parents are each other's first and only spouses, and they only had us two children! You weren't abandoned either. Our whole family loves you desperately!
"When Tudor Manor caught fire years ago, you were stolen from us. Mom and Dad searched every orphanage, including overseas ones, testing DNA samples everywhere! Even in the world's worst human trafficking regions, Father put out word that anyone who dared harm you would pay a devastating price!
"When I saw you on television seeking your family, I recognized you instantly! The Tudor Family currently ranks second in Eltheron—meaning we're very wealthy. Isabella, ask me anything you want to know!
"By the way, our family patriarch is our father Raymond. Grandfather lives at Royal Peaks Manor for his health, but Grandmother stays at Tudor Manor with Mother. Even though they share the same manor, there is often a sense of tension in the air."
Isabella pursed her lips thoughtfully. If family members couldn't get along, she wouldn't force herself to endure it—after all, she had a supremely wealthy and capable mentor in Cascadia.
"I understand, Brandon. You all love me and want me home. Don't worry, I won't overthink things." Isabella's reassurance visibly relieved Brandon.
He'd read about other children who'd returned to their birth families facing various difficulties, but he didn't want his sister harboring any resentment. Complete honesty seemed best.
Soon, Tudor Manor came into view with a crowd gathered at the entrance. Leading them stood a tall, distinguished middle-aged man in an impeccably tailored suit—handsome and even more charismatic than Brandon.
Isabella felt her eyes grow misty involuntarily.
The moment their car stopped, two bodyguards swiftly opened the doors. The man strode forward with long steps, and Isabella nearly collided with his chest as his arms opened slightly, then hesitated in mid-air when he saw her uncertain expression.
"Bunny, I'm your father!" His rich, warm voice instantly brought tears to Isabella's eyes.
Without pretense, she stepped into his embrace. His hands trembled slightly as he exhaled deeply, relief flooding through him. Having her back was enough—she looked so thin, she must have suffered terribly all these years!
If he ever discovered who had stolen Bunny away, he'd ensure their entire family knew no peace.
Isabella felt the word "father" stick in her throat, unable to voice it.
Raymond patted her shoulder gently. "It's alright, sweetheart. Take your time."
Isabella discreetly wiped away a tear.
"Oh my! This is our Bunny! Oh, she's beautiful!" Behind Raymond, a man in a floral shirt with features more delicate than most women's beamed at her.
"Bunny! I'm your Uncle Larry Tudor!" Larry pushed past Raymond, reaching for a hug.
This time Isabella didn't move forward. After receiving Raymond's sharp glare, Larry withdrew his hands without embarrassment.
"Bunny, come quickly! Let me introduce everyone—your father's too slow, and I can't wait! This is your Uncle Kyle Tudor, he's an architectural designer!"
A slightly overweight man with a neat beard smiled warmly at Isabella.
"This is your Uncle Zachary Tudor—he's an international film director!"
A man in a traditional suit nodded at Isabella, though his face remained expressionless.
"Standing next to them are Kyle's wife, Grace Hernandez, and Zachary's wife, Lily Martin. I'm still unmarried. Quick, your grandmother's waiting inside!"
"Hey, Uncle! What about me? Aren't you going to introduce me? And my mother!" A girl with a princess-style haircut and elaborate clothing stood beside a quiet woman, pouting at Larry.
Larry smiled awkwardly, about to make introductions when Raymond drew Isabella toward the mansion with his arm around her shoulders.
The girl and the quiet woman froze in stunned silence. Brandon nodded politely to them before following his sister inside.
The mansion's interior was vast, featuring red medieval velvet sofas where a silver-haired elderly woman sat, slowly working a string of sapphire prayer beads through her fingers.
"This is Grandmother," Brandon whispered.
"Grandmother." Isabella spoke softly.
Yvette glanced at Isabella and sighed. "Good that you're back. Make sure you explain to your mother later—I had nothing to do with it."
With that shocking statement, she rose to leave, ignoring everyone's reactions.
The girl quickly moved to Yvette's side, linking arms with the elderly woman before smugly addressing Isabella, "Your grandmother waited all morning for you, and you haven't even offered her something to drink. How rude!"
"Exactly! No manners at all."
Well, well. Apparently there was already a scheming little princess and her sidekick waiting to put Isabella in her place the moment she arrived home.
Isabella now noticed that among the crowd of people who'd greeted her, there was also a slightly overweight girl with darker skin standing on Yvette's other side, echoing the princess-haired girl's criticism.
"And you are?" she asked.
"This is Laura Stewart! I'm Hazel Tudor."
Isabella looked up at Hazel with curiosity. She'd seen Grace earlier—the woman appeared to be under thirty, so how could her daughter be seventeen or eighteen? More puzzling still, mother and daughter shared no resemblance whatsoever.
But it wasn't her concern. Isabella responded coolly, "I see."
Hazel snorted, "What do you mean 'I see'? How can you be so cold? We've been waiting at home all day for you! Shouldn't you greet us warmly?"
Hazel's attitude made her dislike for Isabella crystal clear.