Chapter 39 She Is the Murderer
When Isabella woke, she was still on the cold floor. She pushed herself up, every muscle screaming, and stumbled to the door. The ballroom was in total darkness, empty.
She staggered toward the exit. The security guard at the door froze when he saw her—hair wild, eyes hollow, like a figure from a nightmare.
"Miss, how did you—do you need me to call you a car?"
She did not answer. She walked past him into the street and disappeared into the dark.
She did not know how long she walked. When she finally reached the villa, she kicked off her heels and saw blood caked on her heels. She felt utterly numb.
In the bathroom, she turned on the shower, squeezed toothpaste onto her brush, and scrubbed until her mouth filled with a metallic taste. Only then did she stop.
William's words kept cutting her over and over. She had not killed her sister with her own hands, but Beatrice had died saving her. That made her guilty all the same.
The fever had not broken. She did not dry her hair. She crawled into bed and fell into a heavy, aching sleep. Her body curled in on itself, shaking through the night.
The phone woke her. It was already ten in the morning. She pressed the answer button, her voice barely more than a rasp.
"Ms. Wesley..."
Thalia's chest tightened at the sound. "Isabella, are you sick? I noticed you were not at the office. I wanted to check in."
"Sorry. I am not feeling well."
"I will approve your leave. Have you been to the hospital?"
Isabella did not want her to worry. "I took some medicine."
"Good. I am calling to remind you—the competition is in three days. How is your prep going?"
Isabella had forgotten. Thalia had signed her up for the design competition weeks ago. With everything that had happened, it had slipped her mind completely.
"I am sorry, Ms. Wesley. I do not think I can go."
"Why not? You have been looking forward to this. With your talent, you could win."
Isabella's throat tightened. At least someone still remembered her dreams. "I am not interested anymore."
Thalia did not believe her. She could hear the strain behind every word, like each syllable was dragged out of her. "You do not sound okay. Send me your address. I will come see you."
"No... I will prepare these next few days." It was the only way to keep her away.
Thalia sighed. "Rest up and take care of yourself. Isabella, do not let me down."
Isabella murmured something and hung up. She was sorry. She probably would let her down.
Her fever climbed higher. Her throat burned. She had not eaten all day, but she was not hungry—just dizzy.
That night, the housekeeper noticed she had not come out of her room once. Usually, she would at least come out for water or food. This time, nothing.
William had told them not to bother with her daily needs, but the housekeeper was worried. She pushed the door open.
The room was dark, curtains drawn tight. She flipped on the light. Isabella was lying in bed, motionless.
"Ms. Tudor?"
No response. The housekeeper moved closer. Isabella's face was pale, dried blood at the corners of her mouth. She rushed over.
Isabella's body was ice cold, but there was still a faint pulse. The housekeeper called an ambulance and reported to William.
His voice was flat. "If she is not dead, do not bother me."
She was still breathing, was she not? What was there to report?
His grip tightened on the folder in his hand, bending the edges. A strange irritation gnawed at his chest. The voices in the meeting room grated on him.
"Shut up!" He slammed the folder onto the table. Everyone went silent.
Dylan looked confused. "Mr. Spencer, is there a problem with the proposal?"
They had been discussing the new project on the west side. Everything had been fine until he took that call. Was it Isabella again?
William's voice was ice. "Meeting is over. We will pick this up later."
He needed to see for himself—see how death looked on her.
Isabella's eyes cracked open. The smell of disinfectant filled her nose. She was in a hospital again.
A familiar figure sat beside her. When her vision cleared, she saw Thalia.
"Ms..." Her voice was gone. Thalia's eyes filled with tears.
"Do not talk." Her voice shook. "The doctor said your entire mouth is ulcerated. Your throat is inflamed. How did this happen?"
Isabella was not surprised her condition was bad. She was more surprised Thalia was here.
Thalia read the question in her eyes and sighed. "I called to give you some design ideas. Your housekeeper answered and said you were in the hospital. I came right away."
She had known something was wrong, but she had not expected this.
Isabella tried to speak, but Thalia gently pressed a finger to her lips and handed her a phone, pointing to the notepad and pen on the bedside table.
"Do not talk. Text me or write it down. The doctor said if this does not heal properly, your voice could be permanently damaged. At worst, you could lose it completely."
Isabella did not care if she lost her voice. She did not care about much anymore.
Thalia saw the emptiness in her expression, and tears slipped down her cheeks. "You were not supposed to end up like this. You are too weak to eat right now. I ordered the best IV nutrition the hospital has. You will need it for a week straight. Do not miss a day."
Isabella's eyes softened in gratitude. Thalia was the only one who cared now.
"I have to get back to the office. I will come see you tomorrow." Thalia stood, hesitating at the door. "Remember—do not talk."
Isabella nodded. As Thalia closed the door, she glanced down the hallway and froze. Two familiar figures stood there—her parents.
Did they know she was here? Had they come to see her?
A flicker of hope stirred in her chest. She started to get out of bed, then heard Isla's voice.
"Which room is Juniper in? I am going out of my mind."
"Just ahead. Let us hurry."