Chapter 44 He Developed a Desire to Kill Ambrose
William noticed her gaze drifting toward the window, as if she had completely detached from what he was doing to her.
She had the audacity to drift away.
His hand clamped around her jaw, forcing her to look at him.
Isabella's eyes were vacant, her expression hollow, no spark of reaction.
He leaned down and crushed his mouth to hers, ignoring the raw sores inside her mouth, biting down on the tip of her tongue. Pain lanced through her, sharp enough to bring tears flooding instantly.
His movements grew faster, harder, until her body finally betrayed her with a reaction.
Her eyes focused on the man in front of her, the reality of his presence and the violation sinking in. Her stomach twisted violently.
She wanted to vomit, the urge so strong it nearly suffocated her.
Her palms pressed against his chest, desperate to push him away.
William was satisfied with her resistance. He lifted her legs high, folding her body almost in half, leaving her completely exposed in his line of sight.
His fingers slid inside her, and her body trembled uncontrollably.
He twisted them, then added another finger, working her until slick fluid coated his hand. He smeared it across her face with deliberate cruelty.
"Your body is a hell of a lot more honest than your mouth."
No... it was not.
William entered her again, the car jolting with each thrust.
The driver's hands tightened around the wheel, his throat bobbing, sweat breaking across his forehead.
Even without hearing Isabella's moans, the rhythm of it was enough to make anyone uneasy.
She did not know how long it lasted before her mind blurred completely. When William finally pulled out, his movements were calm, almost businesslike, as if nothing had happened. He straightened his suit, zipped up.
The air in the car was thick with a sharp, invasive scent. William reached into his bag, pulled out a small bottle, and tossed it toward her.
"Swallow it."
Isabella picked up the pill and saw it was birth control.
Every time he finished, he made her take it.
She did not hesitate. She swallowed it with the metallic taste of blood still in her mouth.
She would never carry his child. Never.
"Stop the car."
Her eyes widened. They were in the busiest part of the city—why stop here?
"You have five seconds. After that, I open the door."
She was naked. Even if she grabbed her clothes, she would not have time.
She stared at him in shock, catching the curve of his mocking smile.
"Five."
"Four."
She scrambled into her shirt, her pants still halfway up.
"One."
The door yanked open. She clutched at her pants, but he shoved her out.
Isabella hit the pavement hard, the noise of the street swallowing her humiliation. Heads turned.
She forced herself to stay composed, pushing through the pain to stand. She zipped her pants, buttoned her shirt, smoothed her tangled hair.
A stranger offered her a coat. She nodded, murmured thanks.
She did not know how long she walked before she reached the villa. Opening the door, she found William waiting in the living room.
He glanced at his watch, displeasure darkening his face.
"Pathetic. Three hours just to get back."
Isabella stood frozen.
He gestured for her to come closer.
She obeyed. He pulled her face toward him, tilting her chin.
"You know Ambrose is asking around about you? What do you think I should do? He is starting to piss me off."
A cold fear surged through her chest. She knew exactly what that meant—anyone who annoyed him could vanish at any moment.
William's tone carried the weight of lethal intent.
He patted her cheek lightly. "So? You take care of it, or I do?"
If he acted, Ambrose would not survive.
She knew his methods. Her voice came out strained. "I will do it."
William's hand landed on her thigh, giving it a sharp squeeze.
"Do not disappoint me."
She nodded through the pain. It was the only way to cut Ambrose out of her life completely.
William hoisted her over his shoulder, carried her upstairs, and threw her onto the bed.
Seeing her still wearing that detached expression, he ripped off his tie, stripped her again, and pressed down on her.
Isabella's mind drifted, her body barely registering the movements. The dizziness was relentless, the room spinning, nausea clawing at her.
When she opened her eyes again, daylight streamed in. She did not know when she had blacked out—only that her body felt crushed, bruised in every inch.
Her phone buzzed with messages—Thalia and Amara offering words of encouragement.
Today was the competition. They were cheering for her.
Not wanting to disappoint the few who cared, Isabella decided she would go. Winning did not matter anymore.
In the bathroom mirror, her skin was a canvas of bruises—new marks layered over old, not a single patch untouched.
At the venue, Thalia waved excitedly.
"Isabella, I was worried you would not come."
"Thank you for supporting me, Ms. Wesley." Her voice was barely audible, but Thalia caught it.
Thalia hugged her. "No thanks needed. I just want your talent to be seen. Go on—do your best."
Isabella nodded, moving with the crowd into the main hall.
Amara spotted her, smiling warmly.
Someone was happy to see her. The thought sent a flicker of warmth through her chest.
The contest began. Isabella gripped her pen, but her mind was a void. She felt incapable of creating anything with a soul.
Halfway through, most competitors had their drafts. She was still staring at an empty page.
Amara noticed, worry tightening her chest. She found an excuse to approach.
A cup of hot milk landed on Isabella's desk. She looked up to see Amara smiling at her.
"Isabella, to me, you are genuine, warm, and full of strength. You are the most beautiful, most alive designer I have ever met. I believe you can create something breathtaking."
Isabella's throat tightened. She stared at her.
Amara pointed toward the window. "Look—the sun is up, light is pouring in. Capture that sunlight for me."
She knew Isabella had lost her drive. She had to give her a reason, even if it was just for her.
Finally, Isabella's pen moved. Amara turned away, relief mixing with tears she could not hold back.
Back at the judges' table, someone asked, "Amara, why are you crying?"
She looked at Isabella, eyes red. "Because I see myself in her—back when I was standing at the edge of my own abyss—and I want to pull her back."
The timer ticked down. The final bell rang. Everyone stopped—except Isabella.
A referee moved to halt her, but Amara blocked them.
Standing behind Isabella, she saw the trance she had entered and signaled for silence.
Isabella poured sunlight into her designs, sketching a series of warm, radiant jewelry pieces.
The crowd around her grew, until she was surrounded completely.