Chapter 16 Beatrice's Diary
Isabella lifted her head. The look she gave William was something he'd never seen before—pure disgust, cold as a blade. It was so unfamiliar it made his chest tighten.
"Don't touch me."
Her voice was quiet, but the finality in it was absolute.
Only now did she understand. William didn't see her as Beatrice's replacement. He just wanted to break her.
If that was the case, she'd rather die than let him control her anymore.
William hadn't expected her to fight back. Hadn't expected her to shake off his hand in front of everyone.
"Isabella, do you have a death wish?"
When he was angry, she was supposed to bow her head and apologize.
But the nausea in her stomach surged harder. She didn't even look at him. She spun around and stumbled toward the exit, her legs barely holding her up.
The cold air hit her face, but it couldn't ease the suffocating pain in her chest.
Isabella didn't get far before William's security guards blocked her path.
William was right behind her, seething with fury. He grabbed her wrist and twisted it hard, like he wanted to snap the bone.
"Isabella, you've got some nerve."
His voice was sharp, cutting into her like shards of ice.
Isabella trembled from the pain, but she bit down hard and met his gaze.
"You're not mourning Beatrice. You just like watching me suffer."
William yanked her close, his face inches from hers.
"You're right. I do like watching you suffer. If it weren't for you, Beatrice wouldn't be dead. Do you know how she died? Do you know what the autopsy report said?"
Tears streamed down Isabella's face. She shook her head frantically.
"Stop… please stop…"
William grabbed a fistful of her hair and pulled her head back, his mouth right next to her ear.
"Beatrice's throat was full of blood. She screamed until her vocal cords tore. If she hadn't tried to save you, she'd still be alive."
Beatrice shouldn't have suffered like that.
It should have been her.
It should have been Isabella who died, not her sister.
"Isabella, listen to me. Since you're the one who survived, you're going to accept everything I give you."
She survived. She had to obey Beatrice's last wishes.
Beatrice had told her to marry William. To take care of him.
Maybe if she did everything he asked, Beatrice could finally rest in peace.
Dylan pulled the car around. William opened the door and shoved Isabella inside as if she were nothing more than refuse.
Her forehead slammed into the window. She didn't make a sound. Her eyes were empty, staring straight ahead like a broken doll.
William drove her back to the estate, dragging her by the wrist all the way to the bedroom.
When he finally let go, there were dark red marks circling her wrist.
He went to the study and came back with a faded journal. He threw it at her feet.
It was Isabella's journal—the one she'd hidden in the back of her closet. She didn't know when he'd found it.
"Pick it up," he ordered. "Read it to me."
Isabella's body went rigid. It felt like invisible hands were closing around her throat. Her face, already pale, turned ghostly.
Every page of that journal was filled with Beatrice's love for life, her dreams for the future, and her deep affection for William.
Those words were the most fragile part of Isabella's heart. She hadn't opened that journal since Beatrice died. She couldn't. If she did, every memory she'd buried would come flooding back.
"I won't," Isabella whispered, biting down on her lip until she tasted blood.
William laughed, cold and humorless. He crouched down and grabbed her chin, forcing her to look at him.
"You won't?" His voice was slow, deliberate, like he was savoring every word. "Then I guess you don't want the locket back."
Isabella's pupils contracted.
The locket was all she had left of her grandmother. It was the last thing tying her to this world.
William saw the panic in her eyes. His lips curved into a cruel smile.
"If you don't read, I'll have someone grind it into dust and flush it down the drain."
"No!"
"Read it to my satisfaction, and I'll give you the pieces back."
Isabella felt the last of her strength drain away. She bent down and picked up the journal. The cover was soft pink—Beatrice's favorite color. Now it felt like it was searing her palms.
She opened it. The handwriting was neat and elegant, just like Beatrice.
"Today was beautiful. I took Isabella to a photo shoot. She's such a talented artist. I know she'll be famous one day. My little sister is amazing…"
"William gave me sunflowers today. He said I'm the only one he sees…"
Isabella's voice was barely audible, hoarse and broken. Every word felt like a knife cutting into her.
William sat on the couch, a cigarette between his fingers. The ember glowed and dimmed in the dark.
He watched her tears fall without a shred of pity. She'd killed the woman he loved. This was her punishment.
Outside, clouds swallowed the moon. The only sound in the room was Isabella's shaky voice, interrupted occasionally by William's impatient prompts.
Isabella didn't know how long she read. Her throat felt like it had been scraped raw. It hurt to speak.
Her eyelids grew heavier. Her body grew colder. But she didn't dare stop.
If she stopped, William would destroy the locket for good.
She read the journal over and over, until the sky turned pale with dawn. William, who'd been dozing, finally opened his eyes. He hadn't expected her to actually read all night.
Hearing her wrecked voice, he felt no sympathy. She was just putting on a show, trying to make him feel sorry for her.
"Enough." He tossed the broken locket onto the floor in front of her.
Isabella stared at it. The locket was even more shattered now. Her already broken heart cracked further.
She looked up at William. There was nothing in her eyes. No anger. No resentment. Not even a flicker of light.
Isabella collapsed to her knees, her fingers trembling as she tried to gather the pieces.
William hated that blank look on her face. He kicked the chair next to him, and it crashed to the floor. Isabella flinched, and two pieces slipped from her fingers, rolling to a stop at William's feet.
"Pick them up." He looked down at her, his shoe pressing onto one of the fragments. It cracked under his weight.
"Don't… William, please don't step on it…"
If it broke any more, she'd never be able to put it back together. Isabella crawled forward on her knees. She had no pride left. No dignity. She just wanted her grandmother's locket back.
William lifted his foot and stepped on her hand. His gaze was icy.
"Isabella, if you think this is going to make me feel sorry for you, you're deluding yourself."
Isabella closed her fingers around the broken pieces. She didn't make a sound. But the emptiness in her eyes was replaced by something darker—something bloodshot, stripped bare.