Chapter 193 He Hated It So Much He Wanted to End Himself
He wouldn't hurt Isabella again. He would heal her his own way.
He had been stupid. Cruel. But from now on, he would protect her. Spend the rest of his life atoning. Use his life to keep her safe.
Donny was shaking with rage. He tried to push forward, but Dylan and the security guards held him back.
"Don't take her! Don't you dare take her!"
William didn't even glance back. He carried Isabella out of the room, step by step, into the elevator, disappearing from Donny's line of sight.
"William... you're going to regret this!"
Donny's voice echoed down the corridor, but it couldn't stop the man whose obsession had turned to madness.
Inside the car, silence.
Isabella leaned against William's chest, talking softly to the empty air beside her. Sometimes she smiled. Sometimes she murmured reassurances, as if Amara were really there.
"Amara, don't be scared. Everything's going to be okay."
"They keep saying you're dead. I don't believe them. You're right here."
William looked down at her, his chest aching with every word.
He finally understood. All those moments he had thought she was being strange or distant—she had been barely holding herself together.
She hadn't stayed with him out of love. She had stayed to atone. To wait for death.
And he had given her exactly what she wanted. He had pushed her to the edge.
Her baby was gone.
Her best friend had died in front of her.
Her mind had shattered.
William closed his eyes. Tears fell onto Isabella's hair.
The heat of them made her notice. She immediately pulled away from him, sitting up straight, staring at him with wide, frightened eyes.
"Mr. Spencer, why are you crying? Did I do something wrong?"
She was afraid William was angry. Afraid he would hurt the people around her again.
William looked at her careful, fearful expression, his heart breaking. He gently gripped her shoulders.
"Isabella, you don't have to be afraid of me. I won't hurt you anymore."
Isabella stared at him blankly. No emotion in her eyes.
How had he never noticed before? She had never looked at him with love. Not once.
He pulled her gently back into his arms, but her body was ice-cold. No matter how tightly he held her, she wouldn't warm up.
When they arrived back at Rosewood Estate, William carried her straight to the master bedroom and laid her down on the soft bed.
But the moment he let go, Isabella immediately lay back and started unbuttoning her clothes.
The practiced motion stabbed straight through William's chest.
As she began to slip off her shirt, he grabbed her hands.
"What are you doing?"
Isabella looked at him, confused. "Don't you want to?"
Every time he had put her on the bed before, it had been for sex. Isabella remembered.
He had been crying earlier. That meant he was angry.
When he got angry, he punished her. She had promised her sister she would marry him. That meant obeying him.
William shook his head. His trembling fingers helped her button her shirt back up. He pulled her into his arms, holding her tight.
"I don't want that. Isabella, I'm sorry. Can you forgive me?"
Isabella lifted her hand hesitantly and patted his head, mimicking the way her sister used to comfort her.
"It's okay. It's okay. Don't cry anymore, or your eyes will get all puffy."
The tone was exactly like Beatrice's. William's entire body went rigid.
This wasn't what he wanted.
He hated himself. Hated himself so much he wanted to end his own life.
He didn't know how long passed before exhaustion finally overtook him. He had been awake for two days straight. He fell asleep holding her.
When he opened his eyes again, he was alone in the bed.
Panic shot through him. He bolted upright and ran out of the room barefoot, racing down the stairs. When he heard sounds coming from the kitchen, he rushed over and found Isabella cooking.
Relief flooded through him.
But then he saw what she was making. A pot of hard-boiled eggs. Scrambled eggs with cream. An omelet with tomatoes.
His heart sank.
He remembered the scene all too clearly. Forcing Isabella to eat eggs.
He had known she didn't like them. But he had made her live like Beatrice anyway.
She was cooking and laughing softly, talking to someone beside her, completely lost in her own world.
"Isabella."
William couldn't help but call out to her. She turned around and smiled at him—Beatrice's smile.
"You're awake. I made breakfast."
"What did you make?"
"Eggs. They're my sister's favorite. You used to ask for them all the time. Don't you remember?"
Isabella's tone was calm. No anger. Just a gentle reminder.
He didn't need reminding. The pain was already unbearable.
He strode forward and grabbed her hand. "Don't make these anymore. You don't have to eat them ever again."
"Why not?" Isabella looked genuinely curious.
William's throat tightened. "Because you don't like them. Your sister did."
Isabella pulled her hand away and said earnestly, "What my sister liked, I like too. And I really do like eating these now. Look, I can finish all of it."
She picked up a spoon, about to take a bite. William knocked it out of her hand. The spoon clattered to the floor.
Isabella immediately dropped to the ground, curling up with her arms over her head.
"No, please, no..."
William's heart shattered. He slapped himself hard across the face. She couldn't handle stress. How could he have scared her like that?
He took a deep breath and crouched down, gently touching her shoulder.
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I just... I know what you actually like. You love strawberries. You love cheesecake. You love pasta with cream sauce. You hate eggs. You've always hated them."
It was only after he said it that he realized—he knew all of Isabella's preferences. He had always known.
How had he ignored them?
Isabella shook her head, muttering under her breath. "I only eat what my sister liked. I only do what my sister wanted me to do."
William gritted his teeth and grabbed her hand, forcing her to look at him.
"Isabella, look at me. From now on, you're going to be yourself. I don't need you to live like anyone else."
Isabella looked panicked. She turned her head toward the hallucination of Amara in her mind.
"Amara, I really do like eggs."
The imaginary Amara smiled gently at her. "I know. Eggs are delicious."
Isabella nodded, reassured. "See? He doesn't understand. Amara, only you really know me."
William felt helpless. He raised his voice. "Amara is dead. Stop lying to yourself."
Isabella looked at the smiling Amara in front of her, then back at William, confused. "Amara's right here. Can't you see her? Why are you saying she's dead? Are you trying to hurt her too?"
Then, as if struck by a sudden realization, Isabella jerked her hand away from William. She reached out as if grabbing someone's hand.
"Amara, we have to run! He's going to hurt you! I need to get you somewhere safe!"
She couldn't let her best friend get hurt. Amara was all she had left. No one could hurt her.
William chased after her as she ran toward the door, her hand outstretched, clutching at empty air.
How had it come to this?