Chapter 42 The Curse of Knowing You
William did not just delete Ambrose's contact. He wiped every single number from her phone. And when that still was not enough, he factory-reset the entire device and tossed the useless shell at her feet.
Isabella opened her photo gallery at once.
Every picture of her family—gone.
Deleting contacts was one thing. But he had no right to erase her photos with Beatrice.
William watched her fingers frantically swipe across the screen. Irritated, he yanked her to her feet.
"What? Cannot reach your little college friend now? Getting desperate? What do you think he will say when he sees those videos?"
Isabella did not respond. She kept searching her phone, trying to find any way to recover the photos.
William's patience snapped. He grabbed her by the hair, and that was when he saw it—the rage blazing in her eyes.
She was angry.
She actually dared to be angry at him.
He pulled out his own phone, opened that private video, and shoved it in her face.
"What if I send this to your college friend? Think he will still want to talk to you?"
Isabella did not lunge at him like last time. She just stared at him coldly.
William hated that look—that indifference. The more detached she seemed, the more he wanted to break her. He pressed send. That was when Isabella finally reacted.
"Do not send it to him!"
She could not bear the thought of Ambrose seeing that. The video was vile. Even she could not stand to watch it.
But William ignored her plea. The message went through. The moment she saw "Delivered," Isabella collapsed onto the floor, all the strength draining from her body.
Was she afraid?
No.
It was just one more person who knew how filthy she was.
Ambrose would regret knowing her now, just like William did.
William crouched in front of her, patting her cheek lightly.
"Isabella, knowing you has been nothing but bad luck. The world would be better off without you."
Without her, Beatrice would not have died. Her parents would not be suffering. These people would not be dragged down by her existence.
William was right—she should disappear.
But... what could she do? Beatrice wanted her to live. Wanted her to love William. Wanted her to stay by his side.
William left, leaving her alone. A nurse came in and found her on the floor, quickly helping her back into bed. When she saw blood seeping from Isabella's mouth, she rushed to get a doctor.
The doctor examined her again and found the wounds in her mouth had reopened. All he could do was give her medicated lozenges and tell her not to speak for now.
Isabella lay there quietly. She could almost hear her parents' voices—they were in Juniper's room.
How nice. Her parents were so close.
The next morning, Isabella crept back to Juniper's door. She watched her parents stay by Juniper's side all night. The jealousy was suffocating.
Hearing footsteps, Isabella ducked into the room next door.
The doctor handed Juniper her test results. "Your ankle is fine now. Just take it easy for a while."
Isla still was not convinced. "Doctor, are you sure she is okay? Maybe she should stay one more day for observation?"
Benjamin nodded. "Her ankle is still a little swollen. Could there be lasting damage?"
The doctor smiled. "You really care about her. Do not worry, she is fine. She can go home."
Juniper took both their hands. "Godfather, Godmother, do not be so worried. I am fine. The hospital is boring. I do not want to stay anymore."
Isla said, "Your parents are overseas. Stay with us for now. Let me take care of you."
"Okay, thank you, Godmother." Juniper leaned on her shoulder, every gesture eerily reminiscent of Beatrice.
Isabella followed them from a distance. She saw William waiting at the hospital entrance.
Juniper happily took his arm. He froze for a second but still helped her into the car.
Watching the car disappear, Isabella turned back to handle her own discharge.
The doctor refused at first, but she insisted on leaving. He made her finish that day's IV fluids before she could go. She could not even drink water now. He was afraid she might collapse.
Isabella acted as if she had not heard a word. She just left.
Back at the villa, her phone rang. The screen only showed a number. She did not recognize it.
"Isabella, why did you leave the hospital? The doctor just called me. He said you did not get your IV." It was Thalia's voice.
The doctor was worried about Isabella's mental state and had no choice but to contact her.
Isabella did not respond. Thalia continued urgently, "Do not try to talk. I tried to message you and realized you deleted me. I could not call you. I know you would not do that—William did it, did he not?"
Isabella stayed silent.
Thalia sighed. "The competition is in two days. How are you supposed to compete like this? Go back to the hospital now, or I am coming to get you."
Isabella was touched—someone still cared about her.
She double-tapped the screen, a small gesture of thanks.
Thalia gave her a few more instructions before hanging up, still uneasy. She sent another friend request.
She really did not understand why William was so cruel to Isabella.
Isabella re-added Thalia and told her she was recovering well, not to worry, and that she would go to the hospital later.
But she did not go. She completely forgot about it. She spent the entire day in a daze.
She could not eat or drink. By evening, she was barely holding on, trembling with every step.
The servants saw her condition but did not dare tell William—he had made it clear: unless Isabella was dead, do not contact him.
She made it through the night like that, unable to tell if she had slept or passed out.
She walked to the mirror and opened her mouth. Her tongue was covered in blood blisters, her gums were raw.
Afraid she might collapse, she called a cab to the hospital.
The doctor had a nurse hook her up to an IV and examined her again. He shook his head.
"You are worse than before. Have you been taking your medication?"
Isabella said nothing.
"I have never seen a patient this uncooperative. Do you not feel pain?"
She thought about it—yes, it hurt.
The doctor sighed. "I am prescribing anti-inflammatories. You need to rest for the next two days. If this does not heal, you might never speak again."
Isabella did not care. She barely spoke anyway. Going mute would not matter.
What surprised her was Amara showing up. She walked into the room, took one look at Isabella, and burst into tears, pulling her into a hug.
"Isabella, why are you hurt every time I see you?"
Isabella felt awkward—she always looked her worst in front of Amara.
She gently pushed Amara away and gestured, then grabbed the notepad from the bedside table and wrote: [How did you know I was here?]
Amara looked at her through tear-filled eyes. "I saw your name on the design competition list and thought of you. I called your company and they told me you were in the hospital."