Chapter 158 Those Who Killed Beatrice Deserve to Die
"Beatrice is waiting for you at home. Waiting for you to make her honey-glazed ribs."
He spoke softly, rubbing her back in slow circles. His gaze drifted to the dark window, his eyes heavy with sorrow.
Isabella's struggling eased. Her eyes were still vacant, but her lips moved in a faint whisper. "Honey-glazed ribs... Beatrice loves those..."
"That's right." Donny guided her gently by the waist, steering her toward the fold-out bed. "Let's lie down now. When morning comes, we'll go see Beatrice. Okay?"
His voice was barely a whisper, as if afraid to startle her.
Isabella stared at the ceiling. Her eyes refused to close.
Donny pulled the blanket over her and said quietly, "If you don't sleep, Beatrice will see those dark circles under your eyes tomorrow. She'll be upset."
At the thought of Beatrice being upset, Isabella squeezed her eyes shut.
She didn't want to make Beatrice angry again. She wanted to be the sister Beatrice had loved.
Donny watched her with a heavy heart. Her eyelids trembled. She wasn't really asleep.
He stayed beside her, his gaze never leaving her face, afraid that if he looked away, she might drift back toward the window.
Only when her breathing finally evened out did he pull out his phone. He stepped toward the window and made a call.
The line connected. A voice on the other end sounded confused but amused.
"Are you sleepwalking? It's three in the morning."
The voice belonged to John Lewis, his med school roommate—a renowned psychiatrist, currently traveling abroad. It was afternoon where he was, which explained why he answered.
After all, getting a call at this hour was unusual.
John was a doctor too, but psychiatry wasn't like the ER. Emergencies at three a.m. were rare.
Donny's voice was heavy. "When are you coming back?"
John laughed. "What, you miss me? I just got to Ravenport yesterday. I'm staying at least a month."
"Come back tomorrow." Donny's tone was dead serious. "I already booked your ticket."
John thought he was joking—until his phone buzzed with a flight confirmation. His eyes widened.
"Donny, are you serious? I finally get a vacation and you're ruining it?"
"I'll make it up to you. Next time you travel, anywhere you want, however long you want—I'll cover everything."
Silence on the other end. John was clearly weighing the situation. Whatever this was, it had to be serious.
"What's going on?"
"I have a friend. Someone very important to me. She's in bad shape. It can't wait another day. Please."
If Donny hadn't seen Isabella's condition tonight, maybe he could have waited. But what happened earlier was too dangerous. If he hadn't gotten back in time, he didn't want to think about what might have happened.
Even now, his chest felt tight.
For Donny—usually so detached—to say something like this, the person had to matter. A lot.
And her condition had to be critical.
John's tone shifted. "Alright. I'll be back tomorrow. Send me her basic info. I'll review it before I get there."
"Thank you. I'm at the hospital now. I'll send it in the morning."
Donny hung up and let out a long breath. He wasn't a psychiatrist. He didn't know how severe Isabella's condition really was.
And he didn't trust anyone else. Only John.
He hoped he was overreacting. That Isabella's situation wasn't as bad as it seemed.
Outside, the stars faded. The sky turned pale. Donny hadn't slept all night. Dark circles shadowed his eyes.
A sound from the bed woke Isabella. She opened her eyes and saw Donny sitting beside her. She sat up quickly.
"I fell asleep? What about Rodolfo? How is he?"
Donny studied her face. She clearly didn't remember last night.
"Don't worry. Rodolfo's stable. He's going to be fine."
Isabella exhaled in relief. "Good."
Donny watched her carefully. "Isabella, do you remember what happened last night?"
"Last night?" She frowned, thinking. Then shook her head. "I remember staying with Rodolfo. After that... I don't know. I must have fallen asleep."
Her voice was uncertain, with no trace of the panic or desperation from earlier.
Donny leaned forward. "Isabella, are you feeling okay? Physically?"
"I'm fine. I'm healthy. Nothing's wrong."
"Isabella, I have a friend. He's a psychiatrist. I'd like you to talk to him. Just a conversation. Would you do that?"
He didn't say she was sick. He framed it as casual—a chat.
He knew her condition couldn't wait. It would only get worse.
No matter what, he had to get her help.
Isabella shook her head. "Thank you, but I don't need that."
She knew something was wrong with her. She'd known since the day she started seeing her grandmother. And Beatrice.
But she didn't think it was a bad thing. She liked having them around.
Donny had been afraid of this. He softened his voice. "Isabella, I know you haven't moved on. But Beatrice's death—it wasn't your fault."
Isabella shook her head. How could it not be her fault?
She hadn't listened to Beatrice. She'd hidden in the warehouse. The fire had started because of her.
She knew that even without the fire, Beatrice would have died at Juniper's hands.
But she couldn't use that as an excuse.
Juniper was a murderer. So was she. Everyone who caused Beatrice's death deserved to die. Including her.
"No. It was my fault. I killed Beatrice."
Donny gripped her shoulders. "Isabella, your sister loved you more than anything. That's why she gave her life to save you. If she saw you like this, it would break her heart."
"Do you want her up there worrying herself sick over you?"
"She doesn't want to see you suffer. She wants you to be happy."
"She wanted you to marry William so you'd have a good life. Not so you'd punish yourself. Isabella, you have to let go of the past. Let yourself off the hook."
Isabella stared at him, shocked. "You know? You know everything?"
He knew why she'd married William. He knew all the ugly details.
The things she'd tried so hard to hide—he knew them all.
"Isabella, you didn't do anything wrong. You've done everything you could. Your sister would be proud of you. My friend is really easygoing. Will you come meet him? Please?"
Isabella didn't answer. Her phone rang.
She glanced at the screen. William.
She looked up at the window. The sun was rising. But to her, it still felt dark.