Chapter 109 See Him One Last Time
The news brought Isabella unexpected comfort. She even hoped Ambrose would erase her from his memory completely—that he would never remember her existence again.
Only then could he start fresh, free from the chains she had wrapped around him.
"That's good," she whispered.
Thomas's expression darkened. He had planned to strategize with Ambrose about their next move, but with his memory gone, those plans were at a standstill.
He could not extract Isabella on his own—not against William's resources. They would have to start from scratch.
"The Mellon family is sending him abroad for treatment tomorrow morning. I doubt they will ever let him come back." Thomas paused, studying her face. "Do you want to see him? One last time?"
Tears welled in Isabella's eyes as she shook her head. "No. As long as he's okay, that's enough."
Better that he forget her entirely. That way, he could follow the path he was meant to take.
Thomas squeezed her shoulder gently. "Isabella, I can't stay long. I'll visit when I can, but you have to take care of yourself."
He couldn't bear seeing her like this—a hollow shell, going through the motions. He wanted her to live like a person again, with blood in her veins and light in her eyes.
He wanted to see her smile again, even if just once.
The way she looked now broke his heart.
"I will. You be careful too."
For his sake, Isabella forced her lips into something resembling a smile. To Thomas, it looked worse than tears.
He made a silent vow: whatever the cost—even his life—he would set her free.
After Thomas left, the last flicker of light in Isabella's eyes went with him.
In the early hours before dawn, sleep eluded her completely. Knowing Ambrose would leave in the morning made her chest ache. She couldn't let him go without seeing him one last time, even from a distance.
She crept to the VIP wing where Ambrose was staying. Guards still flanked his door, though Manuel was nowhere in sight.
She couldn't get close. Couldn't figure out how to catch even a glimpse of him.
She considered walking past casually, but what if someone inside saw her? What if Ambrose saw her and remembered something? That would shatter everything she hoped for.
She needed him to forget her. Forever.
She paced the corridor for what felt like hours, unable to take that final step. Maybe she could just stand here until morning, wait for him to emerge from his room. At least then she would see him one last time.
"Ms. Tudor!"
Isabella spun around, startled. Manuel stood behind her with a nurse at his side. She felt like a thief caught red-handed.
"I'm sorry…" The words tumbled out. "I know I promised, but please believe me—I wasn't going to go in. I just wanted to wait here until morning."
Manuel had been watching her for a while now. She had been standing in that corridor for nearly two hours.
It was her devotion that moved him to approach her.
He released a heavy sigh. "Go see him. One last time."
Isabella stared at him, certain she had misheard.
"You're… letting me in?"
Manuel nodded, turning to the nurse. "It's time to change his IV anyway. Get her a nurse's uniform."
Tears spilled down Isabella's cheeks. She had never expected this—not from Manuel, who had every reason to keep them apart. This was his only grandson. He couldn't risk anything going wrong.
Yet here he was, making it possible.
She bowed deeply. "Thank you. Thank you so much."
Manuel's voice was weary. "Wear the mask. Make sure he doesn't see your face if he wakes. After this, you keep your word—you disappear from his life, and I'll make sure he never comes back."
Isabella nodded through her tears. "Yes. I promise. I'll never appear again."
Manuel waved her toward the nurse. "Go."
He didn't want them to meet, but neither of them had done anything wrong. Fate had dealt them this hand. He wouldn't make Isabella suffer more than she already had. This was his gift to them both—a final moment, so she could let go.
The nurse helped Isabella change and taught her how to switch out the IV bag. Once she was confident Isabella understood, she handed her the tray.
Isabella's hands trembled. Her legs felt like lead.
She stood outside the door, drawing a deep breath, then pushed it open.
Ambrose lay still in the bed, his face pale, his breathing shallow. He looked fragile in a way that made her heart clench.
She approached slowly. Even in sleep, his brow was furrowed. He didn't look peaceful.
'Ambrose,' she thought, 'please heal. Don't remember my name. You're too bright for my shadow, too vital for my ruin. I know you worry—don't. I'll survive. But I can't forgive myself for the pain I've brought you, for the blood you've spilled because of me. I'm sorry… endlessly sorry.'
The apologies repeated in her mind like a prayer as tears soaked through her mask.
A soft cough came from outside—Manuel's signal.
They couldn't risk anything going wrong. Not now.
Isabella's hands shook as she changed the IV bag, following the nurse's instructions exactly. She looked at him one last time, then turned to leave.
"Miss…"
Ambrose's voice stopped her cold. Her body went rigid. Outside, Manuel held his breath.
Ambrose never woke at night. That was why Manuel had felt safe letting her in. But tonight, of all nights, he was awake. And speaking.
Isabella kept her back to him, forcing her voice steady. "Yes, sir?"
Ambrose exhaled slowly. "I'm thirsty. Could you get me some water?"
Isabella's eyes went to the pitcher on the table. She drew another steadying breath. She couldn't slip up now—not after Manuel had given her this chance.
She poured a glass of lukewarm water, composed herself, and returned to the bedside.
Ambrose's injuries were too severe for him to sit up alone.
Isabella slid her arm behind him carefully, supporting his weight as she brought the glass to his lips.
He drank twice, then relaxed slightly. "Thank you."
"You're welcome."
Her voice was barely a whisper. She eased him back onto the pillow, set down the glass, and walked quickly toward the door.
Ambrose watched her retreating figure. Something about her felt familiar. For a moment, he might have believed he saw tears in her eyes.
But exhaustion pulled at him like a riptide. His eyelids grew heavy. By morning, he might believe the whole encounter had been nothing but a dream.
Isabella stumbled out of the room and collapsed against the wall, gasping for air.
Facing Ambrose had felt suffocating. Every second, she had been terrified he would recognize her.
But she had done it. She hadn't given herself away.