Chapter 142 Slipping Beyond His Reach
William stormed back into his office, fury still burning under his skin. Isabella had come there for one reason only—to get under his skin.
"Pass the word down. Isabella is not to set foot in this building again. If security can't keep one woman out, replace every last one of them."
Dylan nodded. "Understood. I'll take care of it right away."
He'd noticed something shifting in William lately. Ever since Isabella's accident with the explosion, his attitude had softened—just slightly. He tolerated her now in ways he hadn't before. He hadn't stopped her from going back to rebuild the cottage. He hadn't objected to her taking the job.
Maybe they could live under the same roof without tearing each other apart. Maybe Isabella wouldn't have to keep getting hurt.
Isabella returned to Rosewood Estate. The commute from here to Thalia's office was brutal—four hours round trip. She couldn't keep living in William's house, not when it felt like a cage. She needed to rent an apartment closer to work, save time on the road, and take on more projects.
Money was tight. Most of her savings had to go toward rebuilding the cottage. She couldn't afford anything fancy—just something clean and livable.
She opened a rental app and started scrolling. She spent over an hour browsing listings, calling landlords, only to find half the photos online were pure fiction. The apartments looked nothing like their descriptions.
Just as she was about to give up, one listing caught her eye. The layout was decent, the price reasonable, and best of all, it was just over a mile from Thalia's office—a ten-minute walk. Perfect.
She called the agent immediately and scheduled a viewing for three that afternoon.
The agent was a young woman who greeted her with a smile and handed her a bottle of water. "Ms. Tudor, you're lucky. The landlord's incredibly picky. This place has been sitting empty for two months because he won't rent to just anyone."
The elevator rose smoothly and stopped on the fifteenth floor. The moment the agent unlocked the door, a cross-breeze swept through, carrying sunlight and the faint scent of trees from below. It was like breaking the surface after being underwater.
Isabella stepped inside, her bare feet pressing against the solid hardwood floors. The living room had floor-to-ceiling windows dressed only in sheer white curtains. When the breeze stirred them, light danced across the walls in soft, shifting patterns.
She fell for it instantly. The natural light was perfect. The ventilation was excellent. The space was open and airy, with a separate kitchen and a balcony. And the rent—eight hundred dollars a month—was almost unheard of in this city.
She hesitated. "This is convenient and cheap. Is there something wrong with it? Otherwise… why would it be this affordable?"
The agent laughed, a little ruefully. "You have no idea how demanding the landlord is. He won't rent to men. He won't rent to couples. Only single women who keep things clean. It's cheap, sure, but the conditions scare people off."
She pulled out a sheet of paper. "Everything in here is top-of-the-line. The landlord requires ten times the replacement cost if anything gets damaged. Most people hear that and walk away."
Isabella looked around. The furniture and decor were immaculate—clearly expensive.
"Look, you seem like a tidy person, and you're on your own. But if you can't accept these terms, I can show you other places. Save us both the headache later."
Isabella didn't hesitate. "I can accept it. I'll treat this place like it's my own."
The agent handed her the contract. "All the terms are here. If everything looks good, sign it and you can move in tomorrow."
Isabella read through carefully. Everything checked out. She felt, quietly, that her grandmother and sister were watching over her from above.
She signed a six-month lease.
The agent asked why she didn't just sign for two years. Isabella only smiled faintly and didn't answer.
She didn't know if she'd still be alive by then.
The apartment was spotless—not even a speck of dust. She could move in tonight if she wanted. It would make the commute to work tomorrow so much easier.
The agent watched her disappear into the subway station, then turned and pulled out her phone. Her tone shifted, respectful and careful. "Mr. Spencer, it's done. I rented the apartment to Ms. Tudor, just like you asked."
Thomas let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. He'd been worried she'd sense something off and refuse to take it. She was still so trusting, so willing to believe people. If someone with bad intentions set a trap for her, what would she do?
"How long did she rent it for?"
"Ms. Tudor only signed for six months. I tried to talk her into two years, but she just smiled and didn't say anything."
Thomas frowned. When he'd found out she was looking for a place, he'd immediately bought this apartment—close to Thalia's office, safe, clean. He couldn't contact her directly, so he'd gone through the agent.
At least it had worked.
But why only six months? Anyone who found a place this nice and this cheap would rent it for at least a year.
What was she thinking? Thomas was genuinely worried.
"Keep an eye on her for me. And that waterfront property I was looking at—I'll come by tomorrow to sign."
"Thank you, Mr. Spencer. If you need anything else, just let us know."
Thomas hung up and let out a heavy sigh.
His grandfather had him locked down at home now. He still had his phone, his computer—but he couldn't leave the house.
He kept tabs on Isabella however he could. This was all he could do for her. He just hoped that going back to work would help her find herself again.
That evening, William returned to Rosewood Estate and walked into the living room. Isabella wasn't there. The kitchen was quiet. He loosened his tie and headed upstairs. The bedroom was empty too.
She wasn't coming home tonight. Where the hell had she gone?
He hated seeing her. But now that she wasn't here, something gnawed at him—a hollow, restless feeling, like something that had been holding him together was starting to crack.
He came back downstairs, his voice sharp. "Where's Isabella?"
The butler answered carefully. "She came back this afternoon, packed a few things, and said she was moving out."
Moving out? What did she think Rosewood Estate was—some kind of hotel? Come and go as she pleased?
People would kill for a chance to live here, and she was walking away.
Ungrateful woman.
"If she comes back, don't let her in."
The butler's brow furrowed slightly. He wanted to say that when Isabella left, she hadn't looked like she planned on coming back.
To everyone else, Rosewood Estate was a palace. To her, it was probably just a beautiful cage.
No matter how comfortable a cage was, it was still a cage.
"Understood, sir. Will you be having dinner?"
"No."
William bit out the word and turned back toward the stairs. The bedroom had been cleaned, sprayed with air freshener to cover any trace of her scent.
He walked into the bathroom. His mind flashed back to last night—her on her knees, barely conscious, begging him to stop. And him pressing her against the wall anyway, forcing her to take it.
Why the hell was he thinking about that now?
William slammed his fist into the mirror. The glass splintered into a spiderweb of cracks. Blood ran down the cracks, vivid against the shattered glass.
What he hated most was that his control was slipping.