Chapter 14 Beatrice, the Swan They Adored
Isabella braced herself against the doorframe, her gaze drifting to the corner of her desk. A stack of design sketches lay there, the ones she'd stayed up all night finishing.
The pencil lines were clean and alive. Only when she held a pencil did she feel like she still existed.
When she lost herself in her work, Beatrice felt close. Like she was right there beside her. Isabella never felt tired then. Never felt alone.
She stumbled toward the desk, her fingertips brushing the edge of the paper. Blood seeped from her hand, blooming unevenly across the white sketch. The crimson stains almost looked deliberate, like they belonged there—adding color to the design.
Isabella stared at the red. Then she laughed. A hollow, broken sound that made her eyes sting.
Beatrice had always loved red.
She pulled out her phone and typed out her resignation letter to HR. Her fingers moved slowly, each keystroke sending sharp jolts of pain through her hand. But her face remained blank, emotionless.
The moment she hit send, the door swung open. She shoved the sketches into the back of the drawer.
William stood in the doorway, his dark eyes cold as black ice. His gaze swept over her like a blade.
"Take off that turtleneck." His voice was hard. "Beatrice didn't like black."
Isabella froze. She looked up at him, her expression empty.
"Okay."
She slipped off her jacket and dragged the sweater over her head. The bruises on her neck were instantly visible, a vivid reminder of what he'd done to her the night before.
He'd wanted to punish her. To make sure she remembered her place.
He'd expected some kind of reaction when he saw her again. But she acted like nothing had happened.
Good. She was learning. This was exactly what she deserved.
Isabella stood by the closet, waiting for his next command.
William glanced at her. "Wear the green dress. And throw out all the dark clothes in there. Beatrice didn't like them."
Of course. Beatrice had always loved bright, vibrant colors.
Isabella, on the other hand, wore black, white, and gray. The complete opposite of her sister.
People used to say they were from two different worlds.
Beatrice was the swan everyone admired.
Isabella was the sparrow no one noticed.
They were twins, but they'd never been loved the same way. Beatrice had been her light, her only salvation.
But how could that light just go out?
If only Beatrice hadn't tried to save her that day.
If Beatrice had survived instead, everyone would be better off.
Isabella stripped off her clothes, her back turned to him. She was so thin she looked like she might snap in half. The dress hung off her frame like it was draped over a coat hanger.
Once she'd changed, she started packing. The black blazer. The gray hoodie. The blue denim jacket.
If Beatrice didn't like something, Isabella wouldn't allow herself to like it either.
William wasn't just making her dress like Beatrice. He wanted her to talk like her, move like her, even drink her coffee the same way—down to the number of sugars.
When they went downstairs, Isabella's posture wasn't right. William shoved her against the wall.
"You were with her for years. Don't tell me you don't know how she walked."
Beatrice had grown up adored and confident. She'd always held her head high.
Isabella had spent her life in Beatrice's shadow, hunched over, trying to disappear.
She tried to straighten her spine, to lift her chin. But the moment she did, William's hand closed around her throat and yanked her forward.
"You're pathetic," he hissed. "I say one thing and you're already trying to seduce me with her face?"
Isabella stared at him, silent.
She wasn't trying to seduce him.
All she wanted was to feel closer to Beatrice.
"A useless woman like you disgusts me," William spat. "Don't think you can use her face to get my attention. If you try that again, I'll snap your neck."
He released her, and Isabella stumbled backward, barely catching herself.
William glanced toward the kitchen. Isabella understood. She went in and returned a few minutes later with a bowl of plain congee and side dishes.
The moment she set it in front of him, he knocked it over.
"Are you trying to burn me?"
The scalding porridge splashed onto Isabella's hand. She flinched, but her face didn't change. It was like her body reacted on instinct, but she didn't feel the pain.
Isabella cleaned up the mess without a word. Then she smiled—soft, obedient, exactly like Beatrice used to.
"I'll get you another one right away."
When she brought the second bowl, her hands were already swelling. The sight of them irritated him.
William tugged at his tie in frustration and shoved the food away.
"I'm not eating."
He stood. Isabella immediately walked over and reached up on her toes, adjusting his tie the way Beatrice used to.
Her fingertips brushed the cool fabric of his collar. She didn't pull away this time. She just kept her eyes down and smiled gently.
"It's going to rain today. Don't forget your umbrella. Drive carefully. You should eat breakfast when you get to the office—your stomach's been bad. I packed some medicine for you. Keep it in your desk."
Every word was exactly what Beatrice used to say.
William's fury exploded. He felt like something had stung him, sharp and sudden. He grabbed her wrist and flung her away. She crashed into the dining table.
The injury on her lower back—the one that hadn't healed—flared with blinding pain. She nearly blacked out.
"Don't touch me!"
Isabella looked up at him, sweat beading on her forehead. But she kept smiling. That same gentle, warm smile.
Wasn't this what Beatrice looked like? Didn't he want this?
William stared at the emptiness in her eyes, at the way her body trembled even as she forced herself to smile. Rage surged through him.
"You make me sick, Isabella. You think if you act like her, I'll go easy on you?"
Isabella didn't answer. Didn't he like it?
Maybe her smile wasn't right. Maybe she needed to do better.
She widened her smile, showing the precise eight teeth Beatrice once did. That was Beatrice's most radiant smile.
"You should go to work now."
William's anger burned hotter. He flipped the table and stormed out, slamming the door behind him.
Isabella sat there for a long time before she finally stood. It took all her strength to lift the table back up. She cleaned the mess slowly, methodically, until everything looked normal again.
She noticed something strange on her hand. The burn had peeled away a layer of skin.
If William saw it, he'd be angry.
Isabella found the first aid kit and poured iodine over the wound.
Her hand shook, but her face stayed blank.
She used to hate pain. Even the smallest cut would make her cry.
Beatrice had always been the one to comfort her, to bandage her wounds with gentle hands.
But Beatrice wasn't here anymore. No one was here to take care of her.
And somehow, it didn't hurt as much as it used to.
She wrapped the burn herself and went back to her room. Her phone rang.
It was Thalia.
Isabella hesitated, then answered.
"Isabella, are you okay?"
Thalia's voice was full of concern.
"I'm fine. Don't worry about me."
Thalia exhaled in relief. She'd been terrified something had happened when she saw the resignation letter.