Chapter 6 When the Devil Answered the Door
The cold was no longer just on her skin. It had seeped into her blood, crawling through her veins, digging into every bone until her body felt like a block of ice. Isabella's vision blurred, the lights above smearing into ghostly doubles.
The only thing that remained sharp was Beatrice's face—soft, kind, exactly as she remembered.
'Beatrice… wait for me,' she thought.
The dorsal fins sliced through the waves, their ridged lines catching the glint of the deck lights, gleaming like the blades of death itself.
Isabella let her eyes drift shut. Soon, she would see her sister. Soon, she would see her grandmother.
But just as the shark's teeth were about to tear into her flesh, an arm shot out from the side, gripping the back of her collar with brutal force. The pull was sudden, dragging her toward a speedboat cutting through the dark water.
Gasps erupted from the crowd above.
"Mr. Thomas Spencer jumped in! There are sharks—get them out, now!"
William's head snapped toward the commotion, his expression hardening instantly. He started for the railing. Juniper reached for him but caught nothing but air.
"Isabella, stay awake! You die like this, and how will you face your sister?" The voice was deep, cold, but not William's. Isabella forced her eyes open. The man's face was similar to William's, but his gaze carried a heavier weight, more controlled.
"Isabella… live. Live well." His words came through clenched teeth, echoing what Beatrice had once whispered to her.
A gunshot cracked through the night. The bullet struck the shark's back, sending it thrashing in panic. Its massive tail slammed into Isabella's lower back, pain exploding through her body. She let out a strangled sound before darkness swallowed her again.
A lifebuoy splashed into the water. Ropes followed. Hands pulled them both up onto the deck.
Thomas was breathing hard, his eyes scanning the deep bruise spreading across her waist. His expression tightened. "You're hurt badly. It needs treatment now."
Isabella didn't answer. Her gaze wandered across the deck until it landed on something in the corner—a a glint of metal caught in the wash of the waves.
"My watch… my watch!" Her voice cracked.
It was the only thing her grandmother had left her.
Ignoring the pain tearing through her body, she stumbled forward, falling to her knees to snatch it up. Her fingers trembled as she touched it. The glass face was shattered, tiny shards falling away. The strap dangled in two broken pieces. Even the delicate engraving her grandmother had carved was blurred from the salt water.
She couldn't keep it… she couldn't keep the last piece of her grandmother.
Her grandmother was gone. Beatrice was gone. Why hadn't they taken her too?
Her eyes blurred with tears as she crouched on the deck, gathering the fragments—one piece, then another, then another. The sharp edges sliced into her palms, blood welling up and mixing with seawater.
She didn't feel the pain. All she could think about was putting it back together. But no matter how she tried, the pieces wouldn't fit.
Her hands shook harder. The tears finally broke free, falling onto the shards, spreading dark stains across the metal.
Her heart lay frozen, colder than the black depths below.
Thomas reached for a blanket, but another hand stopped him. Their eyes met. Thomas said nothing, then stepped away.
William stood over her, towering, his gaze empty of warmth. "Isabella, it's just a broken watch. Who are you trying to impress?"
She didn't look up. Didn't speak. Her fingers kept working at the shards, streaks of blood bright against the steel.
"Get up." His tone sharpened. When she didn't move, his anger flared. He grabbed her wrist, yanking her upright with a force that threatened to snap bone.
"Go change your clothes. The party isn't over. If you embarrass me again, I won't hesitate to throw you—and that damn watch—back into the sea."
Isabella clutched the broken watch tighter. Blood seeped between her fingers, dripping onto the deck.
She lifted her gaze to his. The defiance that once lived in her eyes was gone. They were hollow, like a dry well—no light, no ripple.
"Fine." The word was barely a whisper, her voice ragged. She let him drag her away, her body moving like a puppet on someone else's strings.
The pain in her back was sharp, the cuts in her hands burning. She felt none of it.
When she came out in a fresh dress, her skin was pale as paper. The bruise at her waist showed faintly through the thin fabric. She followed William quietly through the crowd.
People bumped her on purpose. She steadied herself each time. Others threw barbed words her way. She kept her eyes down, her face blank.
William's irritation grew. Beatrice would have handled it better—so much better.
He turned to her, teeth clenched. "Stop looking like you're already dead. When someone greets you, you answer. It's not complicated."
His words made no difference. She moved through the room like a doll, beautiful but lifeless.
Halfway through the night, William gripped her arm and dragged her into the lounge.
The door slammed behind them. He shoved her against it, his breath hot against her neck, his voice low and sharp. "Isabella, do you want to die that badly?
"You have no right to die. Not unless you can bring Beatrice back.
"You will live. You will suffer. That's your penance."
Her lashes trembled, but her expression stayed numb. "You're right. I don't deserve to die. I have to pay for what I've done."
Her submission was like ice water, dousing the fire in him. Looking into her dead eyes, he felt nothing but disgust.
He stepped back, his gaze colder than steel. "Wipe that look off your face. If you ruin the ball for me again, you know the consequences."
He left without touching her again. The rush of air from the door made her sway.
She slid down the door, the broken watch clutched to her chest.
She thought, 'Beatrice… I'm so tired. Hold me, please.'
Beatrice had always given her whatever she asked for. Why not now?
The lounge was silent, so silent she could hear her own faint heartbeat.
One beat… and another… slower… heavier…
It felt like it could stop at any moment.
She closed her eyes. In the darkness, she saw her grandmother's face. Beatrice's face. She had almost joined them tonight—almost.
They had loved her more than anyone else. Why had they left her forever?
'Beatrice… take me with you. I can't go on.'
The door creaked open. Isabella didn't look up. The sharp scent of medicine drifted in. Music spilled through the crack— the ball had begun.
She noticed a dark glass bottle of painkillers in the corner. Who had put it there?
It wouldn't have been William. He'd sooner see her dead.
She stood, took the bottle, then changed into the dress William had chosen for her. She touched up her makeup, adding two heavy sweeps of blush to her cheeks before stepping out.
She knew exactly what waited for her.
Hell.