Chapter 175 The Lowest You Can Sink
Donny could not wrap his head around it. William had forced Isabella to do something that humiliating in front of everyone.
No decent person would do that.
Isabella was his wife, for God's sake. Doing that did not just trample her dignity—it destroyed his own.
Sure, those people would not say anything to his face. But did he not realize? When they laughed at Isabella, they were laughing at him too.
And that Juniper woman. She had said she did not blame Isabella. She had even told William not to bully her. But that smile never left her face. Beneath all that surface sweetness was something cold, cruel, and humiliating.
Donny was almost certain now. Isabella's condition had everything to do with that woman.
She had been pushed to the edge before she ran back here, crying like that. She must have completely broken down.
But less than ten minutes later, Isabella's eyes snapped open. The dazed look vanished, replaced by panic. She shot to her feet and stumbled.
"No. I have to go. I need to get back."
William's warning echoed in her head. If he came home and she was not there, he would go after the cottage.
Hermione looked worried. "Isabella, it is so late. Stay tonight. Go back tomorrow."
Isabella shook her head. She had only just managed to calm William down. She could not risk making him angry again. If she did, she would lose everything.
Donny heard the commotion and burst through the door. Isabella was already braced against the wall, trying to leave.
"Isabella, you are in no shape to go anywhere. Rest tonight. I will drive you tomorrow."
"I cannot wait!" Her voice was sharp and trembling with urgency. "If he gets home and I am not there, he will be furious. And when he is furious, he takes it out on the cottage. I cannot let Grandma lose her home."
She was terrified. Every second she stayed felt like a gamble. All her compromises, all her endurance—it could all crumble to nothing. One bad mood from William and he would destroy the only thing she had left.
That cottage was Grandma's roots. It was her last thread of hope. She could not afford to lose it.
Donny knew there was no stopping her. "Fine. I will drive you. You will not find a cab out here anyway."
Isabella realized he was right. This was the outskirts. Leaving was not easy.
She did not hesitate. "Thank you."
Donny helped her into the car. Isabella buckled her seatbelt, eyes fixed straight ahead, willing the distance to disappear.
"Isabella, are you okay?"
She nodded. "I am fine. Do not worry about me."
She had thought about dying. But she would not die.
She had not finished what she had promised Beatrice. Anneliese's cottage was not rebuilt yet. She could not die.
"You have to remember to take your medication."
"I will."
Donny gripped the steering wheel. After a moment's hesitation, he asked, "Isabella, can I ask you something? Why did you try to strangle Juniper? You said you wanted to kill her. Did she do something to hurt you?"
At the mention of that name, Isabella's pupils dilated. Hatred flared in her eyes.
She hated the woman who had killed her sister. Hated how she manipulated everyone around her.
Hated that she was powerless to stop her.
When Isabella did not answer, Donny did not push. He just drove faster.
Isabella had him drop her off early, like always—not at the apartment building, but at the subway station. She would take the train the rest of the way herself.
Donny watched her weak, hurried figure disappear. He immediately messaged John, telling him everything about Juniper.
They were not just investigating Isabella's childhood anymore. They needed to look into Juniper too.
By the time Isabella reached Sunshine Apartment, the sky was pitch black. The apartment was dark. No lights on. The cold emptiness was almost a relief.
She slipped off her shoes quietly. The moment she stepped inside, the lights blazed on.
William leaned against the wall, a cigarette pinched between his fingers. He lit it lazily, tilted his head back, exhaled a slow curl of smoke. Then he turned to look at her.
His face was ice. His eyes bore into her with a bone-deep chill.
Isabella's heart skipped. She went rigid.
He had been here the entire time.
William did not speak. He just stared. His gaze swept over the dust on her pants, the mud on her shoes, the faint smell of earth and grass clinging to her. His mouth twisted into a mocking smile.
"Went back to the town again?"
Isabella kept her head down, fingers twisting the hem of her shirt. She did not dare make a sound.
"What is out there that is so important? Important enough to keep running back?" William crushed the cigarette under his heel and stepped closer. His tall frame loomed over her, casting her in shadow.
"All for that broken-down cottage. You threw away your dignity. You did that disgusting thing in front of everyone. Isabella, you make me sick."
Every word cut into her like a blade.
But Isabella did not feel pain. Did not feel sad. She did not care about William's insults. As long as she could protect the cottage, nothing else mattered.
When she did not respond, William's anger flared hotter. He grabbed her wrist, his grip brutal, as if he wanted to crush the bone.
Isabella gasped. The injured hand screamed in pain.
"Not going to say anything?" He laughed coldly and dragged her toward the bathroom. "Since you love groveling so much, since you love degrading yourself, I will show you just how pathetic you really are."
He flipped on the bathroom light. The harsh white glare made Isabella's face look even paler. William shoved her against the vanity. She slammed into the cold surface, her forehead throbbing, vision swimming.
William gripped her jaw from behind, forcing her head up. Their reflections stared back from the mirror, his body pressed against hers. His voice was a cold whisper against her ear, dripping with contempt.
"Isabella, remember this. You are the one who had to marry me. You are the one who refuses to divorce me, who insists on staying. If you want to stay in the Spencer family so badly, then you had better be ready to pay the price."
His hands moved roughly, yanking at her clothes. He forced her forward, bending her over the sink. The cold porcelain bit into her skin.
Isabella braced herself against the wall, trying to keep from being slammed into the mirror.
William saw her lose balance. He did not let up. He pushed harder, until her body collided with the glass. A muffled sound escaped her throat.
She could only use one hand to steady herself. Her whole body was rigid.
And he fed on that—the tension, the resistance, the way her body fought him even as he took what he wanted.