Chapter 192 She Had Long Since Lost the Will to Live
William froze. A high-pitched ringing rang in his ears. He couldn't believe what he was hearing.
How could Isabella not have married him out of love?
She'd been so compliant. Never once defied him. Never questioned a single thing he asked of her.
If it wasn't love, how could she have endured all of it?
Donny must be messing with his head. It had to be.
Donny stared at William's shattered expression with nothing but ice and disgust in his eyes.
He would never forget how William had treated Isabella. And he would never forgive the man who had shoved her into the abyss.
William deserved the harshest punishment imaginable. At the very least, he needed to feel the same pain.
Donny pulled out a thick stack of drawings and slammed them down in front of William.
"Look at these."
The papers scattered across the floor.
Nearly every single one was a portrait of Beatrice. Beatrice smiling. Beatrice playing sports, full of life. Beatrice walking through a garden...
There were drawings of Isabella's grandmother, warm and kind. The cottage where they'd lived. Even the climbing roses in the yard had been rendered in careful detail.
The images were warm. Romantic. Full of sunlight.
Except for the last one.
In that drawing, a girl was curled up in a corner. The style was dark and oppressive. The girl's face was twisted in agony, a knife buried in her chest, blood soaking through her thin clothes.
The figure holding the knife was a shadowy blur—but the presence was crushing, unmistakable.
William only had to glance at it once for his blood to turn to ice.
It was him.
Donny's voice was a needle, each word piercing straight through William's skull.
"She drew these under deep hypnosis. She didn't stay with you because she loved you. She stayed because she was atoning."
"Beatrice's death destroyed her more than anyone. She married you in her sister's place with one thought in her head—to die by your hand."
Donny's voice sharpened. "She stopped wanting to live a long time ago."
William staggered backward, his legs unsteady. He could barely stay upright.
The truth hit him like a sledgehammer.
The woman he'd hated and tortured for years was the same woman who had been quietly donating blood to keep him alive for four years. Who had saved his life.
She had stayed by his side with every intention of dying. Waiting for him to take her life as penance.
Living was agony for her. She only wanted release.
And he'd been blind to all of it. He had snuffed out the last flicker of light she had left.
William covered his mouth. Scalding tears slipped through his fingers.
Regret crashed over him in waves, drowning him, tearing him apart.
He had been wrong. So catastrophically wrong. And there was no way to fix it.
"If you have even a shred of decency left, you'll leave her alone. Otherwise, she's going to die right in front of you."
That was Donny's final warning.
No. William would never leave Isabella. And he wouldn't let her die.
Depression. Dissociative identity disorder. He had money. He had power. He could find the best specialists in the country and get her the treatment she needed.
Inside the hospital room, the faint beeping of monitors was the only sound. Cold. Sterile.
Isabella's long lashes fluttered. Slowly, she opened her eyes.
Her gaze, once hollow and lifeless, now held nothing but confusion.
She turned her head toward the chair beside the bed. Then she smiled. Her voice was soft and tender.
"Amara..."
William's head snapped up. His heart stopped.
She was looking at an empty chair.
But she smiled as though Amara were really sitting there.
She lifted her hand, her fingertips moving as if stroking someone's face. "I knew you wouldn't leave me."
A chill ran through William's entire body.
She was hallucinating.
The medical team arrived quickly. After a series of assessments and tests, the lead doctor set the report down in front of William, his expression grave.
"Mr. Spencer, Ms. Tudor has been diagnosed with severe major depressive disorder with acute stress reaction. She's experiencing significant hallucinations and delusions, along with dissociative identity fragmentation."
"This didn't develop overnight. Our team has discussed her case, and we're recommending deep hypnotherapy to access her underlying trauma."
The doctor paused, then continued. "We've also reviewed her previous medical records. She has a documented history of self-harm and suicidal ideation. There were multiple incidents that were quietly intercepted."
"Her previous hospital room had reinforced safety netting. She was on medication for these tendencies. Did you know any of this?"
William stood frozen. He couldn't speak.
He hadn't known.
He hadn't known any of it.
He had thought Isabella was manipulative. Pathetic. Beneath him.
He had never realized she was on the edge of collapse. Never realized her compliance was her way of waiting for him to destroy her.
He didn't even dare think back to the times they'd been in bed together. The look on her face. That kind of pain...
William clenched his fists so hard his nails bit into his palms. The metallic taste of blood couldn't drown out the agony tearing through his chest.
The specialists recommended she be admitted to the psychiatric intensive care unit for comprehensive treatment. She couldn't be exposed to any further stress.
But William just stared at Isabella on the bed, talking to empty air.
It was only a mental illness. Nothing more. As long as she came back to him. As long as he stayed by her side. As long as he made it up to her, everything would be fine.
"Get the car ready." His voice was hoarse and unyielding. "I'm taking her home."
The doctor immediately stepped forward. "Mr. Spencer, in her current condition, she absolutely cannot leave. If she doesn't receive immediate treatment, I'm afraid—"
"Shut up. She'll be fine." He glared at Dylan. "I told you to get the car. Are you deaf?"
William's eyes were filled with pain and obsession. "She's my wife. Wherever I go, she goes."
He was taking her home.
This time, he would be the one to protect her.
Even if she hated him, he would never let go.
Dylan sighed. He knew his boss's stubborn streak better than anyone. There was no point arguing. He went to prepare the car.
The doctor's protests continued, but William had already bent down and carefully lifted Isabella into his arms.
She was so light, as if the slightest pressure would break her.
The moment he picked her up, Isabella didn't struggle. She just looked up at him, dazed.
She had spent so long at William's side that unconditional obedience had become instinct. But her gaze still drifted to the empty space beside her, and she murmured softly, "Amara, I have to go now. I'll see you next time."
She was talking to a hallucination.
William's heart felt like it was being crushed by an invisible hand. The pain nearly stopped his breathing.
He didn't dare hold her too tightly. He just pulled her close, his voice rough. "We're going home."
Home?
Isabella reacted slightly to the word.
But she didn't have a home.
The cottage had been bulldozed. Her mother didn't want her anymore.
Her eyes reddened, but no tears came. Only dry, hollow despair.
Donny rushed forward, his eyes bloodshot. "William, let her go! She needs treatment now! If you take her away, you're going to kill her!"
William looked up. His eyes were filled with world-ending pain, but also an unshakable obsession.
"I won't hurt her. She's going to get better."