Chapter 176 A Tremor in William's Heart
The memory of Isabella's fury toward Juniper flashed through William's mind, followed by the image of her cowering before him. The contrast ignited something vicious in his chest—something that wanted to break her completely, to watch the light go out.
No. He would not let Isabella die.
This woman had killed the person he loved most. He would keep her by his side forever, to suffer endlessly.
He tore at her clothes, leaving her with nothing to hide behind in front of the mirror.
With every brutal thrust, her body jerked forward. Her breasts swayed violently with the force of his movements.
William's eyes were bloodshot, his breathing ragged. One hand gripped her breast roughly, the other came down hard on her ass, the sharp crack echoing in the small space. He ran his palm up her back, fingers closing around her throat, tilting her chin up.
"You wanted to marry me so badly, didn't you? So you could fuck me?" His voice was a snarl. "Then open your eyes. Watch what I do to you."
Her eyes were squeezed shut. He leaned in, teeth grazing her ear. "Open them. I won't say it twice."
Isabella's eyes fluttered open, vision blurred. She was crying, though she felt no sadness.
William saw her comply and drove into her harder. Her body rocked with the rhythm, her reflection shaking in the glass.
Being with William like this made her sick. Even the version of herself that had once loved him felt disgusting now.
A tear rolled off her cheek and landed on the back of his hand—hot, startling.
William paused, irritation flaring. He yanked her back by the shoulders. "Who are you crying for? You're the one who insisted on marrying me. Remember that. I can do whatever I want to you, whenever I want."
"You owe me this. You owe Beatrice. And you'll spend the rest of your life paying it back."
He used her body to satisfy his basest urges. The vanity wasn't enough. He spun her around, pressed her against the wall, lifted her hips and seated her on his lap.
Isabella's legs gave out several times. He held her up by her ass and kept going until she was completely spent. Only then did he stop, letting her slide to the floor.
Isabella lay there, limp. Used. Discarded.
William didn't look at her. He stripped off his clothes and stepped into the shower. Water splashed onto her from time to time. She stared up at the steam curling under the lights and thought she saw Beatrice reaching for her.
Would Beatrice feel sorry for her if she saw her like this? Beatrice had wanted her to be happy. But without Beatrice, how could she ever be happy?
She didn't know how much time passed before the water stopped. William's voice came, distant and cold.
"Clean yourself up."
William walked out of the bathroom naked. He realized he didn't have any clean clothes at Sunshine Apartment—the set in the bathroom was already dirty. He didn't feel like dealing with it. He just climbed into bed.
Isabella's bed had a faint scent. Different from Beatrice's. Almost... nicer.
What was he thinking?
William wanted to punch himself. How could he even compare this manipulative woman to his Beatrice?
Isabella didn't deserve it.
It had to be the body wash. She must be using the same one as Beatrice. That's why it smelled familiar.
Yes. That had to be it.
The person in the bathroom didn't come out. Isabella was too exhausted. She fell asleep on the cold tile.
William didn't think about her. He didn't notice she never came back to bed.
He was used to sleeping alone. He'd even forgotten he was at Sunshine Apartment. It wasn't until he opened his eyes the next morning that he realized he hadn't gone back to Rosewood Estate.
The intensity of last night had worn him out too. He'd slept deeply, straight through till dawn.
He stretched. The other side of the bed was empty. Isabella wasn't there.
Did she not dare sleep next to him? Had she gone to the couch?
William glanced toward the sofa with displeasure. No one there. Then it hit him. He threw off the covers and bolted into the bathroom.
There she was.
Lying on the floor. Pale as death. Lips tinged purple. Her whole body trembling faintly.
William crouched down. The moment his fingers touched her skin, he jerked back. She was cold—cold as a corpse. He could barely feel her breathing.
His heart lurched. He slapped her face.
"Isabella, wake up!"
Why the hell was she sleeping here? Was she trying to make him feel guilty?
If this was some kind of manipulation, she'd miscalculated. Even if she died right now, William wouldn't feel sorry for her.
She just hadn't finished paying back what she owed him. That's the only reason she couldn't die.
William scooped her up in frustration and carried her to the bed. Then he called Dylan, telling him to bring a change of clothes and arrange for a doctor.
Dylan was caught off guard. It took him a second to realize William was at Sunshine Apartment. He immediately grabbed the family doctor and the clothes and headed over.
This was Dylan's first time coming here. He stood at the door and didn't go in. He handed the clothes to the doctor to pass along.
The doctor stepped inside. One look at Isabella on the bed and he knew something was wrong.
He moved quickly to her side, fingers finding her pulse. His brow furrowed. He touched her forehead. His voice was grave. "Her skin is dangerously cold. I estimate her core body temperature is below ninety-five degrees Fahrenheit. If we delay even a few minutes, her heart and lungs could suffer irreversible damage. We need to warm her now and keep a close watch on her vitals."
He turned to William. "She should be taken to the hospital right away."
William's brow creased. His gaze landed on Isabella's face. A strange, suffocating pressure clamped around his chest. His breathing hitched. The panic was stronger than when he'd first touched her icy skin. Even his fingertips tensed.
But the moment the feeling surfaced, he crushed it down. It was almost laughable.
An act. Another pathetic act.
The same old trick. First she'd slept on the bathroom floor to play the victim. Now she was half-dead, trying to make him soften. Trying to make him forgive her.
She was doing all this to make him care. To make him notice her. Isabella never learned. Always scheming.
He watched the doctor work with cold, detached eyes. His voice was sharp as ice, no emotion whatsoever.
"Don't waste time. Get her on an IV. Just make sure she doesn't die."
A woman like her, trying to manipulate him with a pity play? She'd miscalculated.
William would never feel sorry for her.
The doctor frowned but complied. He wrapped a temperature strip around her wrist. That thin wrist had almost no flesh on it. It felt bony in his hand.
William glanced at it once and looked away. She was a nuisance. And she disgusted him.
He found the doctor's pace irritating. His gaze turned sharp, his tone cutting. "Move faster. If you can save her, save her. If not, stop wasting my time."
Under the pressure, the doctor quickly set up Isabella's IV. The fluid began dripping slowly into her veins.
"You can go now." William turned toward the door, his eyes flicking to the doctor, signaling him to follow.