Chapter 4 You Should Have Died Long Ago
Isla pulled her coat tighter around her shoulders and shot Isabella a glare sharp enough to cut.
"She's nothing but a cheap little thief who stole her own sister's fiancé."
The words landed like stones. Isabella took two steps back. Without Beatrice, this place no longer felt like home—more like enemy territory.
Isla's impatience flared. She set down her bowl of soup with a clatter and fixed Isabella with a stare that burned.
"What are you doing back here? Haven't we been humiliated enough?"
Isabella placed the bag of fruit by the door, her head bowed, voice hoarse and uneven. "I came to see you, Mom…"
She didn't finish. Isla's arm wrapped around the young woman beside her, her face softening instantly.
"Juniper, don't bother with her. I made your favorite today, just for you."
Juniper Miller leaned into Isla's embrace, coaxing a laugh from her that was warm and unrestrained. The two of them talked as if Isabella were invisible. She moved quietly toward the table, intending to help.
A plate slipped from her hands and shattered on the floor. The sound was sharp, final. Isla's head snapped toward her.
"Can't you do anything right? That plate was a gift from Beatrice."
The push came hard and sudden, sending Isabella stumbling back. Her throat tightened like a fist had lodged inside it.
It wasn't Beatrice's gift—it was hers. But she didn't say a word. She crouched down, gathering the shards. Juniper's voice floated above her.
"Godmother, be careful. Did you hurt your hand?"
Isla chuckled. "I'm fine. You're the thoughtful one. If it weren't for you these past few weeks, I might have joined Beatrice beneath the cold earth… She was too foolish, giving her life to a faithless predator."
A sliver of porcelain sliced into Isabella's palm. Blood welled instantly, warm against the cold of her skin. She tightened her grip around the shards, numb to the sting. Pain blurred her vision, but her lips curved faintly.
Maybe pain was the only thing that could quiet her mind, the only way to keep the guilt from swallowing her whole. She had killed Beatrice. She deserved the insults, the cruelty. She deserved to live inside this cage.
When the last shard was gone, she washed her hands, wiped them dry with a stained rag, and stepped into the dining room. The meal was over. The table was littered with greasy plates and half-eaten food, the air thick with an unpleasant, clinging smell.
Benjamin's voice was hesitant. "Don't take it to heart. Your mother… she just can't let it go."
He paused, then added, "That's your cousin Juniper. Your aunt had a difficult birth, so she's been raised here, alongside Beatrice. She was away studying abroad when you came back before—that's why you haven't met her. I hope you two can get along."
Isabella's smile was mechanical, her eyes flat. "Dad, if it makes Mom happy, I'd die willingly."
Benjamin blinked, startled, but said only, "Eat something. I'll have the maid clean up later."
Juniper stepped forward, her tone bright. "Godfather, the maid's off today. Why don't I wash the dishes?"
She didn't move toward the kitchen. Instead, she turned her smile toward Isabella. From the couch, Isla's voice cut through the room.
"Juniper doesn't need to wash dishes. Let Isabella do it. Just because she married into the Spencer family doesn't mean she can come here acting superior.
"Isabella, there's a pile of laundry in the washroom. Do that too. And clean the floors while you're at it."
Isabella kept her head down and went to the kitchen. She washed the dishes, scrubbed the floors, then moved to the laundry. By the time she sat down, her muscles ached.
Juniper's voice broke the silence. "Godmother, I have good news. I got a job yesterday—William hired me as his personal secretary."
Benjamin looked pleased. "That's perfect. Isabella, say something nice to William. Maybe he'll give Juniper an easier workload."
The name hit Isabella like a drop into still water, sending ripples through her chest. She looked at Juniper, her stomach sinking. Juniper looked so much like Beatrice—same clothes, same mannerisms. William would notice her. He always noticed.
Juniper reached for Isabella's hand, her smile sweet but her grip tightening until her nails bit into flesh. "Isabella, does William have any dislikes or preferences? I want to take good care of him."
"This position wasn't mine at first… but William insisted I take it."
Her nails dug deeper. Pain shot up Isabella's arm. She jerked her hand away.
Juniper stumbled back, catching Isla's hand. "Godmother, it's my fault. I shouldn't have mentioned William. I forgot—she stole Beatrice's fiancé. She probably doesn't want to hear his name."
Isla rose in a flash, her palm cracking against Isabella's cheek. She grabbed her arm, digging in with her nails. "Will you only be satisfied when you've destroyed everyone? Juniper just asked you a question, and you hit her? You cold-blooded wretch!"
Isabella curled in on herself, tears spilling. "No, Mom, I didn't—"
Her tears only seemed to fuel Isla's rage. A kick landed hard against her leg. "Apologize to Juniper!"
Isabella looked to Benjamin, desperate. His eyes held nothing but disappointment. "You've become vicious. For a man, you'd throw away your family. Apologize, and we'll forget this."
Her heart sank, drifting down like a dead leaf. She rose unsteadily, bowed to Juniper. "I'm sorry."
She left the house quickly, stepping into the white expanse beyond the door. Her thin sweater dress hugged her frame, offering no protection from the cold. Snow gathered on her shoulders as she walked, her heart breaking into smaller and smaller pieces.
"Where do you live? You're dressed so lightly. You'll get sick."
A scarf settled around her neck. She turned to see an elderly woman, hair silvered with age. The woman began unbuttoning her coat. "It's freezing. If you don't mind, come sit by my fireplace. You'll be warm in no time."
Isabella caught the woman's hands, stopping her. Her voice was rough. "Thank you… but no."
She smiled faintly. The warmth in her chest was unfamiliar. Since Beatrice's death, no one had cared for her. Not really. Everyone else had only looked at her with contempt, with hatred. Some had tried to strike her.
Tears slid down her cheeks. She squeezed the woman's hand, her voice trembling. "Thank you. I shouldn't be alive."
She didn't deserve warmth. She didn't deserve kindness. She was meant to live inside the cold, to pay for her sins forever.
The woman brushed her tears away gently. "Everything passes, child. You're a good person. Don't punish yourself this way. Come home with me. Get warm."
A shadow fell across them. William approached, a black umbrella cutting through the snow. Flakes clung to his dark trousers, melting into damp patches.
"You should have died a long time ago."