Chapter 80 She Wants to Die
Lester did not dare to hide what had happened. He reported it to William at once.
The moment William heard, he jolted upright in bed. "How the hell did you let her get out?"
"I'm sorry, Mr. Spencer. We checked the surveillance — she opened the cage herself and ran —"
"Stop explaining. I don't care how you do it. Even if it costs every man you have, keep her alive."
Isabella could not die. Not yet.
In the woods, the wind carried the low, haunting chorus of wolves. Isabella moved as if deaf to it, her empty hands hanging at her sides, her steps uneven. She stumbled through the undergrowth, whispering again and again, "Beatrice... take me away... take me away..."
Her voice broke against the wind, scattering into nothing.
The wolves drew closer, their heavy breaths pressing in.
She stopped, turning in confusion. Moonlight filtered through the lattice of branches, catching on dozens of eyes glowing pale in the dark, each locked on her.
She smiled suddenly — cold, sharper than the moonlight.
She stepped forward, arms outstretched. "Beatrice... you finally came."
The growls tightened, and the lead wolf lunged. Its claws raked down her arm, tearing flesh to the bone. Blood erupted in a hot spray, splattering across dead leaves in violent red.
Pain tore through her, but she kept smiling, reaching toward the phantom she thought she saw.
"Beatrice... don't leave me again..."
The rest of the pack surged in, teeth sinking into her shoulder, her calf, her back. The sound of flesh ripping mingled with their snarls, echoing through the silent forest.
Outside the treeline, William froze mid-step, a fissure tearing through his chest.
"Find her. Now."
Dylan heard the tremor in his voice — colder than before. "Mr. Spencer, Lester already went in with men. They'll have her soon."
Dylan thought, perhaps dying in there would be mercy for her. If she came back, it would only be to face another round of torment.
But William's expression was strange — more tense than ever. His fists clenched, teeth grinding.
In his mind, he swore, 'Isabella, if you dare die in there, I will never forgive you.'
She was slipping toward unconsciousness, yet she did not cry. She curled in on herself like a shredded rag doll.
Blood soaked through her clothes, earth and brittle twigs clinging to her skin until she was nothing but a blur of red.
Her awareness dissolved entirely. Just as a wolf's jaws closed on her throat, gunfire cracked through the night.
Lester burst into the clearing with his men, bullets punching clean through the wolf's skull. The metallic tang of blood thickened the air. The pack shrieked in alarm, scattering into the dark.
He rushed forward, and when he saw her clearly, his pupils contracted hard.
Her body was a map of bite marks and claw tears, wounds gaping, flesh shredded, several spots exposing stark white bone. Her breathing was shallow, fragile, as if it might vanish any second.
He could hardly believe she was still alive.
"Move... save her!" Lester's voice shook. If she died here, William would never let him live it down.
He dropped to his knees, gathering her up with painstaking care, terrified she might break apart in his arms.
A harsh beam of light swept over them. William arrived with his team, and when his gaze fell on the limp figure in Lester's hold, his stride faltered.
It was a ruin he had never witnessed before — Isabella's face drained of all color, her body nothing but wounds, the stench of blood thick enough to choke.
Something cold gripped his chest and dragged it down.
An unfamiliar fear spread through him, invasive and suffocating.
He had prepared himself for the sight. But seeing it in truth was like taking a blade to the heart.
"Hospital. Now." William's voice was iron edged, but a tremor threaded through it. "Call every top surgeon and trauma specialist in the city. I want them at the hospital in five minutes."
He could not let her die.
She did not deserve to die.
It was not concern — it was refusal. She would not die until he allowed it.
"She must live."
The words roared inside him.
Lester carried her to the helicopter at full speed.
By the time Isabella was wheeled into the emergency room, her vitals were barely holding.
The city's best doctors had been pulled in without warning. The ER lights burned all night.
William did not wait outside. He told himself again and again that he did not care.
He returned to the villa, but sleep refused him. He stood at the window, smoking until dawn.
The phone stayed silent. No news from the hospital.
Was she dead?
The cigarette trembled between his fingers. He forced them still.
Ten hours later, the hospital finally called.
"Mr. Spencer, Ms. Tudor's life has been saved, but she suffered massive blood loss, multiple soft tissue lacerations, and the risk of infection is high. Whether she recovers will depend on her will."
William crushed the cigarette under his heel, grinding it hard into the floor.
"She won't die."
A curse like her never dies. She had stolen her sister's fiance, hurt countless others — death would be too simple.
As long as she lived, nothing else mattered.
William ordered Dylan to pull the Blackthorn Compound surveillance footage. He wanted to see exactly how she had gotten out.
Lester delivered it himself, setting the laptop in front of him.
"Mr. Spencer, here — at that time, Ms. Tudor was alone in the cage. She opened the door herself and walked into the woods."
William frowned. "The cage was locked. How did she open it?"
Lester placed a small hairpin on the table. "We found this inside. She used it to unlock the cage. We did not expect her to know how."
William picked up the pin, memory pulling him back years. She had always been quick with small tricks — once, when the house door was locked, she had opened it with a hairpin.
They had laughed then, saying she could be a locksmith someday. He had not realized she had kept the skill.
He had thought someone had led her into the woods to kill her. Now it was clear — she had chosen to go in herself.
Lester scrubbed forward in the video — until the final frame.
"Mr. Spencer... look. She's... smiling."
William saw it — Isabella, standing at the edge of the trees, smiling into the dark. And in the direction of her gaze... there was no one.
It was not a trap. She had walked in willingly... to meet her own death.