Chapter 15 Strings Without a Soul
Thalia stared at the resignation letter on her screen, her brow furrowing.
"Isabella, I don't buy this. Something happened, didn't it? Did William force you to quit?"
The image of Isabella fleeing that private room last night was seared into Thalia's mind. She could not shake it.
Right now, Isabella looked like she was standing on the edge of a cliff. One misstep, and she would plunge into the abyss.
The only time she seemed even remotely alive was when she was working.
Thalia could not just stand by and watch her drown. She had to try.
On the other end of the line, Isabella's fingers tightened around her phone until her knuckles turned bone-white. She was silent for a few seconds before she finally spoke, her voice so soft it was almost inaudible.
"No one forced me. It was my decision."
"You're lying!" Thalia's voice rose. "I already signed you up for the design competition. That was your dream, Isabella. You can't give up on it."
The design competition?
Isabella's lashes fluttered. For a split second, something flickered in her eyes—a broken glimmer of light. Then it was gone, swallowed by emptiness.
Beatrice was gone. Dreams meant nothing anymore.
"Ms. Wesley, thank you for your kindness." She took a deep breath, her tone flat and lifeless. "But I really need to resign."
William would never let her work. There was no point in resisting. It was easier to give in.
There was a pause on the other end. Then Thalia sighed.
"Fine. If you're that set on it, I won't push you. But I'm not approving your resignation yet. Take two weeks off. Think it over. Isabella, you're the most talented person I've ever worked with. Don't throw that away."
She hesitated, then added, "I believe your sister is watching over you. And I think she'd want you to follow your dreams."
Thalia hung up. Isabella stayed frozen, the phone still pressed to her ear.
She looked out the window. There was no light in her eyes.
That evening, William called.
Isabella answered. His voice came through the speaker, cold and commanding.
"Get dressed. Someone's coming to pick you up."
"Where are we going?"
"Charity auction."
His tone left no room for argument. Isabella did not protest. She went straight to the closet. All the dark clothes were gone. Only a few brightly colored dresses remained.
She chose the red one—Beatrice's favorite. In the mirror, the dress hung off her frame like fabric draped over a shadow. She looked like a child playing dress-up in her mother's clothes.
Since Beatrice died, Isabella had stopped eating regularly. Days passed without food until dizziness reminded her.
She could not sleep either. The clothes kept getting looser.
The bright red against her pale skin looked jarringly out of place.
She did not look anything like Beatrice.
Isabella applied makeup with mechanical precision and went downstairs. William's assistant, Dylan, was already waiting.
The auction hall was dazzling—chandeliers spilling light, designer gowns, champagne flutes catching the glow.
Isabella followed William like a marionette pulled by invisible strings.
Eyes tracked her across the room. The whispers were not subtle.
"Why is she here? And in red, no less. She's got some nerve."
"Right? She got her own sister killed, climbed into her brother-in-law's bed, and now she's acting like she belongs here. Disgusting."
"I heard Mr. Spencer only keeps her around because she looks like Beatrice. Poor thing."
"Poor? She's living in Beatrice's place. She's probably thrilled."
"Being in the same room as her makes me sick."
The insults came from every direction. Isabella's face did not change. She had heard it all before.
Then the auctioneer announced the next item, and Isabella's pupils dilated.
"Next up, we have a gold locket. Exquisite craftsmanship, warm luster. The surface is engraved with magnolia blossoms—a symbol of grace and blessing. A true collector's piece."
The spotlight hit the display case. The locket gleamed softly under the glass. The delicate engraving was her grandmother's own design, drawn by her hand and crafted to her exact specifications.
It was the only thing her grandmother had left her.
Isabella's breath caught. How was it here?
Her heart clenched. Without thinking, she grabbed William's sleeve, her fingers white from the force of her grip. For the first time, there was something in her eyes—desperation.
Last time, it had been the watch. She had never forgiven herself for losing it.
This locket was all she had left of her grandmother. She had to get it back.
William raised an eyebrow, a hint of amusement in his eyes. "What?"
"William." Her voice shook. "That locket—it's important to me. Please... could you bid on it? For me?"
William looked down at her. His eyes were dark, empty, like staring into a void.
He peeled her fingers off his sleeve, one by one. His voice was cold, cruel.
"Bid on it for you? Who the hell do you think you are?"
Isabella swallowed the pain rising in her chest. "It really matters to me. If you get it, I'll do anything you want. Please."
William's lips curled. "No."
Isabella froze. A cold weight settled in her chest.
The bidding started. William raised his paddle immediately, his movements sharp and decisive. He did not give anyone else a chance. The price climbed higher and higher until the room fell silent.
He won.
For a moment, warmth flickered in Isabella's chest. Maybe he did care, just a little.
The gavel came down. Isabella's lips curved into a rare smile.
But William did not walk toward the display case. Instead, he turned to Juniper across the room. His voice softened.
"Juniper, do you like that locket? It's yours."
Isabella's face went rigid. She stared at him, disbelief etched across her features.
William did not even glance at her. His tone was indifferent. "Isabella, don't forget your place. This is your punishment for disobeying me last time."
Punishment.
Always punishment.
Juniper's face lit up. She stood and hurried over, looping her arm through his.
"William, I love it. You're so good to me."
"Then go get it."
Isabella stared at him. The emptiness in her eyes was replaced by something worse—despair.
Juniper practically skipped to the display case, giddy with excitement. She reached for the locket, her fingers closing around it.
Then it slipped.
The locket hit the marble floor with a sharp, metallic crack.
Isabella's body jerked as if struck. That was not just a piece of jewelry—it was the last thread holding her together. Now it was shattered. Irreparable.
William's brow furrowed. His voice was sharp. "You can't even hold onto something properly?"
Juniper's smile faltered. "I was just so excited... it slipped."
William turned to Isabella.
Even with layers of blush, her face was ghostly pale. Her eyes locked on the broken locket. She did not cry. Did not scream.
Her silence made William's irritation spike. His jaw tightened. He reached for her arm, his tone impatient.
"Stop staring at it. We're leaving."
The moment his fingers touched her, Isabella recoiled like she had been burned. She clapped a hand over her mouth, nausea surging up her throat.