Chapter 141 In the Shape of Beatrice
The butler heard sounds coming from the kitchen and walked over to investigate. Isabella stood at the stove, busy with her cooking.
Every so often, she turned her head, smiling faintly as if speaking to someone beside her. The sight was quietly unsettling.
The range hood roared, drowning out her words.
"Of course I'm not as good as Beatrice. She was the best cook in the world."
"But I won't have time to cook tomorrow. I have to go to work."
The butler approached, his voice tinged with concern. "Ms. Tudor, do you need any help?"
Isabella stopped what she was doing and turned to face him, offering a faint smile. "Thank you, but I can manage."
The butler noticed she'd already finished two dishes. "We have professional chefs on staff, you know. If there's something you'd like to eat, you can always ask them. You don't need to do this yourself."
Isabella shook her head. "It's fine. This is for William. He likes these dishes."
She cooked them exactly the way Beatrice would. As if Beatrice were still here.
Just moments ago, she'd even heard Beatrice's voice in her head, telling her she was doing well.
The butler's expression softened when he realized the food was for William. She seemed more at ease—less withdrawn—but something still felt off.
Then again, maybe they'd shared a room last night and things were improving between them. That would be good. He didn't like seeing William so alone. Since Isabella had moved in, William had been coming home far more often.
"Take your time, then. I'll have the driver take you to the office when you're ready."
Isabella nodded. "Thank you."
As the butler left, he glanced back from the doorway. She was talking to the empty air again. Could it be some kind of hallucination left over from her injury?
Isabella packed the food into an insulated lunch box, and the driver dropped her off in front of the Spencer Group building.
She appeared to have put aside the humiliation of her last visit. She walked in calmly—only to be stopped immediately by the receptionists.
"Hold it right there. Who do we have here? Oh, it's the one who got her sister killed and crawled into her sister's lover's bed. Mr. Spencer already told you—you're not allowed in here."
"Right. How do you still have the nerve to show your face? And you brought a lunch box? You think Mr. Spencer's going to eat anything you made?"
"Last time you brought food, he threw it straight in the trash. And now you're back? Are you trying to make him sick?"
"Just looking at you is bad luck. Get out!"
The two receptionists took turns mocking her, their voices dripping with contempt. They didn't see her as a person at all.
After all, William had made it clear—they could treat Isabella however they wanted. No one would defend her.
In the past, she would have stood there silently and endured it. But this time, she walked straight up to the desk and stared them down.
"Are you finished? If you are, open the security gate. I'm going up."
The receptionists hadn't expected her to talk back. One of them laughed. "Who do you think you are? Why should we listen to you? You're just Mrs. Spencer in name only!"
Isabella didn't get angry. She simply held their gaze, calm and steady. Oddly, both women wavered under her stare, an inexplicable unease settling over them.
She'd changed.
Before, no matter how much they mocked her, she never responded.
Now she was pushing back. Had things improved between her and William? Did she finally have some leverage?
"I said, open the gate. This is your last chance."
The receptionists exchanged uncertain glances. If she really had won William's favor, blocking her could backfire badly.
"You've got some nerve." A cold voice sliced through the lobby. "Coming to my company to throw your weight around."
William had just returned from a meeting. The moment he stepped into the building, he'd heard her exchange with the front desk.
He was surprised. The Isabella he knew had always been passive, never fighting back. Now she was standing her ground.
The receptionists immediately perked up at the sound of his voice.
"Mr. Spencer, Ms. Tudor insisted on going upstairs. She even threatened us."
Isabella ignored their complaints and walked straight over to William, wearing the smile she'd rehearsed in the mirror that morning.
"William, you haven't eaten yet, have you? I made some of your favorite dishes."
William's jaw tightened. "I told you not to smile at me like that. It's disgusting."
Isabella acted as if she hadn't heard him. She held up the lunch box. "Garlic butter shrimp and pan-seared steak. And your favorite salad."
William frowned. It was as if she couldn't take a hint.
Fine. If words wouldn't work, he'd make his point another way.
He took the lunch box from her hands and threw it directly into the trash bin beside the desk. The receptionists covered their mouths, stifling laughter.
"See? I told you. And she had the nerve to threaten us earlier."
"So embarrassing. If I were her, I'd crawl into a hole and die."
Isabella watched the food disappear into the trash. Her face showed no disappointment—only a kind of resigned acceptance. She murmured something under her breath, as if speaking to someone who wasn't there.
William's frown deepened. "What are you saying?"
Isabella looked up at him, still smiling. "Just remember to eat something. Don't let yourself go hungry."
That phrase… it sounded exactly like something Beatrice would say.
For a split second, he could almost see Beatrice in her expression.
He shook his head sharply, furious with himself. How could he see even a trace of his perfect, untouchable Beatrice in this woman?
"Get out."
He didn't want to look at her anymore. Especially not like this.
Isabella nodded as if nothing had happened and turned to leave.
William stared after her, irritation simmering in his chest. He'd just humiliated her in front of everyone, and she acted like it didn't even matter.
Damn it. What bothered him most was that he cared.
After she left, William turned his attention to the two receptionists. They smiled nervously, trying to curry favor.
"Since when did Spencer Group employees have such poor judgment?"
Both women froze. Dylan immediately stepped forward.
"You're both fired. Go to HR and process your termination paperwork."
The receptionists looked stunned. They had no idea what they'd done wrong. William didn't care about Isabella, did he? He'd just thrown her food in the trash in front of everyone.
"Mr. Spencer, if we did something wrong, please tell us. We'll fix it."
Dylan understood exactly why William was angry. He hated Isabella, yes—but that didn't mean anyone else got to humiliate his wife.
His voice was ice. "Right now, you're just being let go. If you make Mr. Spencer any angrier, it won't stop at termination. Understand? Then go."
The women still didn't understand, but one look at William's dark expression told them not to push it. They left without another word.