Chapter 209: Undercurrent
At 4 AM, Donny's car stopped at the villa entrance.
He didn't turn off the engine. The headlights pierced through the darkness, white beams cutting straight across to the iron gate.
He sat in the driver's seat, eyes fixed on the gate, shut tight, his knuckles white from gripping the steering wheel.
He'd been here countless times.
It was as if he wished he lived just beyond the gate.
That night, he stood at the entrance, Dylan blocking his way, saying, "Mr. Spencer isn't seeing anyone."
He backed off.
Because he knew what Isabella wanted—"I want to stay by his side."
But now, he was back.
He couldn't let it go.
William was sick, very sick.
He was destroying Isabella's dignity.
A car drove out from the villa.
Donny caught sight of boxes with medical solution labels through the car window.
"Damn it!"
His fist slammed hard against the steering wheel.
Pushing open the car door, he pressed the doorbell, unwilling to give up.
No movement from inside for a long time.
Donny pressed again.
Footsteps approached, and the door opened a crack.
Dylan stood inside, wearing a thin jacket, his face darker than the night, eyes more bloodshot than the day before, as though he hadn't slept a minute.
"Mr. Dickson."
His voice was soft, tinged with exhaustion.
Donny looked at him.
"Let me in."
Dylan didn't move.
"Mr. Spencer gave orders—"
"I know." Donny interrupted. "No outsiders allowed in."
Dylan fell silent.
Donny stared at him.
"Dylan, how many years have you worked for him?"
Dylan paused.
"Eight years."
"Eight years," Donny repeated. "Have you ever seen him like this?"
Dylan said nothing.
Donny stepped forward.
"What's he doing in there? Holding Isabella's body, preserving it with chemicals, using the AC to keep the room at minus four degrees Fahrenheit—is that love?"
Dylan's throat moved.
"Mr. Dickson..."
"When she was alive, what did he give her?" Donny's voice was low but sharp as a blade. "Cold looks, neglect, impatience. Now that she's dead, he's playing the devoted lover."
Dylan gripped the door handle tighter.
His knuckles turned white.
"You think so too, don't you?" Donny looked at him. "You've worked for him eight years, Isabella lived under your watch for three years. You saw all the hurt she went through, didn't you?"
Dylan said nothing.
But his hand on the door handle trembled slightly.
Slight. Brief. A flicker.
Donny saw it.
He stepped back.
"I won't make this hard for you." He said. "I know you can't make this call. But pass along a message for me."
Dylan looked up.
Donny's eyes were bloodshot, laden with emotions he could barely contain.
"Tell him I'm not here to take her away. I didn't fight for her when she was alive, I won't fight for her now that she's dead." His voice was hoarse. "I just... want to let her go with dignity."
The night wind blew past.
So cold.
Dylan stood at the door, not moving for a long time.
Donny's words were like a judging blade.
They made him, an outsider, feel a trace of guilt.
"I know Juniper came tonight."
"What exactly is William trying to do? Hasn't he tortured Isabella enough?"
Dylan thought of those empty eyes.
"Mr. Dickson, you've got it wrong."
"Mr. Spencer..."
"Mr. Spencer isn't that kind of person."
"He... he's very regretful too."
"Ms. Tudor is dead, the pain in his heart is no less than that of anyone else who cared about Ms. Tudor."
Donny could barely contain the impulse in his heart.
"Pain?"
"Regret?"
"What's the point of saying all this now?"
"I just want Isabella to leave with dignity, to make the real truth public."
Dylan pulled something from his pocket.
It was the latest progress from his all-night work.
Two photos.
The first was Zack's body.
The second was a man's profile.
That utterly cold-blooded man—Lester.
Of course, Donny recognized him.
Dylan spoke.
"Lester and Juniper are the ones who hurt Ms. Tudor the most."
"Give me a bit more time, I'm close to finding him."
"When the time comes, Mr. Spencer will definitely give Ms. Tudor justice."
Donny pushed the photos away.
"Doesn't William have to pay a price too?"
Donny was angry, but in the end, he compromised.
If Isabella were alive, would she really do something to hurt him?
A smell of chemicals drifted from inside the door, hanging in the air.
Faint music from a dance tune could also be heard.
Before opening the car door, he paused.
"When you find out where Lester is, tell me."
The car door closed, the engine rumbling low.
The headlights cut through the darkness, vanishing down the street of villas.
Dylan stood there, watching the car drive away.
For a long time.
Until his hands went numb from the cold.
He looked down at the two photos in his hand.
One dead man.
One profile.
He gripped them tight and turned to walk into the villa.
Second floor.
William stood by the window.
The curtain was pulled open just a crack, just enough to see the gate.
The car's taillights had just disappeared into the night.
The conversation downstairs had entered his ears word for word.
"Dignity?"
The word crawled into his mind like an insect.
He clutched his head and knelt on the floor, his vision dimming in waves, a dizziness that lingered.
He pulled at his own hair, trying to rip the word "dignity" from his mind.
He knelt beside Isabella, holding her hand and asking over and over.
"Was I really wrong to keep you by my side?"
"But before, you only wanted to stay by my side."
"I'm not wrong."
"Right, I'm not wrong."
"I'm fulfilling your wish."
He knew why Donny had come.
Donny still couldn't let her go.
He came to fight him for Isabella.
No way, no one could separate them.
Not Donny, not Ambrose.
No one.
Another hour passed, and William tilted his head, still holding Isabella's hand.
"Who says you're dead? How could someone dead be as beautiful as you?"
He stroked her cheek, as if confessing.
The knocking outside the door had continued for three hours without stopping.
But it couldn't disturb his time with her.
"Not Dylan either."
"Right now is our private time."
The room was still freezing, the chemical smell heavy and acrid.
At least those cooling devices were finally turned off.
William was satisfied with his current life.
The room had been cleaned up nicely, warm enough for a honeymoon.
Until the phone on the nightstand lit up with a message from Juniper.
"Mr. Spencer, what are you doing?"
William looked at the screen and smiled.
"You want to be the lady of the house, right?"
"You want to stay by my side like Isabella, too."
"Of course I won't let you go."
William laughed softly, and as he laughed, something wet slipped from his eyes.
He remembered when Isabella first came to this house.
He remembered his insistence at the funeral, remembered her cooking for him.
Those memories sharpened.