Chapter 84 Are You Having Hallucinations Again?
William's shadow vanished beyond the doorway, leaving the room steeped in silence.
A nurse entered carrying a tray of fresh dressings. Her face blanched when she saw the bandage on Isabella's arm soaked through with blood. She rushed to call the doctor.
The doctor arrived quickly, peeling back the stained gauze. His brow furrowed as the torn wound gaped open, raw flesh laid bare, blood running steadily down her arm.
For anyone else, the pain would have been unbearable, enough to rip a scream from the throat. Isabella lay still, her face pale, the only sign of strain a sheen of sweat across her forehead.
The nurse's eyes glistened. Could she truly feel nothing?
Her body was covered in wounds—too many to count—and every one of them was inflamed. It was enough to make anyone's chest tighten, yet she showed no reaction.
"The tear is too severe. It has to be stitched again," the doctor said, his voice heavy. He picked up the anesthetic and needle, moving with deliberate care. "Your body is dangerously weak. Push it any further and it will not just fail to heal—you could lose your life."
Isabella lay motionless, like a marionette with its strings severed. Even the sting of the anesthetic did not draw a flinch.
The cold thread passed through her flesh. She kept her gaze fixed on the ceiling, her eyes hollow enough to unsettle anyone watching.
When the suturing was done, the doctor wrapped her arm in thick, clean gauze. His tone carried a note of regret. "The wound has been torn open too many times. Even if it heals, it will leave a web of scars. The rest of your body will be the same. They will never fade."
She did not care about the scars. She cared only about avenging her sister.
The nurse tried gently. "Ms. Tudor, you need to take care of yourself. Please... stop doing this."
Isabella gave no answer. She was not punishing herself—she was waiting. Waiting for the moment to rip away Juniper's mask and take her revenge.
Later, when William brought her back to the house, Juniper caught his wrist.
"William, I'm... a little scared. Will you stay with me?"
His brows drew together and he instinctively pushed her away.
"You do not need to be afraid. I will warn her. If she lays a hand on you again, I will break her hands."
"Don't," Juniper said softly, her voice laced with concern. "Don't hurt Isabella like that. Seeing her like this... it makes me ache."
William steadied her by the shoulders. "From now on, you are not going to see her. She will hurt you."
Juniper's eyes shimmered, but her voice was generous. "If even I turn my back on Isabella, she will be truly pitiful. If Beatrice were still here, she would not want things to be this way."
The mention of Beatrice was a wound William would never heal.
"Her parents do not care about her. Why should you? She is not worth it."
Juniper guided his hand to her cheek, where the skin was still swollen.
"It hurts here. Your hand is warm... will you hold it there for me?"
She felt his palm stiffen. When he began to withdraw, she murmured, "I know you care about me. I have boundaries. Even if she hits me, I will not give up on her. Beatrice would have done the same."
In her, William saw a shadow of Beatrice—always gentle, always kind, never complaining even when hurt.
His hand stayed. Looking at the swelling on her face, his anger deepened. He still could not understand why Isabella's hatred burned so fiercely, why she would risk her life just to kill Juniper.
Near midnight, Isabella's body began to burn with fever. Heat poured off her skin, the wounds crawling with a sensation like tiny insects burrowing into her flesh. Pain blurred her thoughts.
She curled on the bed, the thin blanket drenched in sweat, clinging to her skin. Every breath pulled at the agony in her body.
Her vision dimmed, darkness closing in. Then she heard a laugh—familiar, achingly so. She forced her eyes open.
Beatrice stood at the window, smiling gently, beckoning her closer.
"Isabella, come. I will take you away. No one will hurt you again."
"Beatrice..."
The sister who had always protected her was here again.
"Isabella, come!"
Tears streaked down her cheeks. She forgot her wounds, forgot the pain, pushing herself up from the bed. Her steps faltered, but she dropped to the floor and crawled toward the window.
"Beatrice, don't leave me."
"Beatrice, you have to take me with you."
Her trembling hands grasped for the sill, almost feeling her sister's touch on her face. Just a little further and they would be together again.
But as she started to climb, strong arms wrapped around her from behind, holding her tight.
"Isabella, no!"
The voice was deep, urgent, careful not to brush against her injuries.
She fought against his grip, crying out, "Beatrice... don't go! Let me go to her!"
Thomas held her tighter, his eyes dark with worry as he looked at her fever-flushed face.
He did not speak. He carried her back to the bed, soaked a towel in cold water, and pressed it gently to her forehead, again and again.
"Isabella, hold on... just a little longer. I will get you away from him."
The fever tormented her through the night. She shivered, murmuring Beatrice's name.
Words she would never say in daylight spilled freely.
"It hurts... it hurts..."
"I will get revenge. She killed Beatrice. I will kill her."
"Beatrice... don't leave me."
Thomas cradled her trembling frame, murmuring comfort until her tears slowed and she drifted into sleep.
He stayed with her until dawn, when her temperature finally began to drop.
His fingertips brushed the dried tear tracks at her eyes, his gaze heavy with something unspoken.
By the time the morning light spilled into the room, Thomas was gone. Isabella opened her eyes slowly, catching a fleeting shadow of him in her mind.
A nurse entered, checking her condition.
"Ms. Tudor, thank God... your fever's broken. I will get your breakfast."
Isabella looked around. The air still felt like it carried someone else's presence.
She had slept more peacefully than she had in weeks, as if held in a warm embrace.
"Was someone here last night?"
The nurse shook her head. "No one came. Are you having hallucinations again?"
Since learning she sometimes hallucinated, Isabella had treated such sensations as tricks of the mind.
"The doctor says this could be dangerous if it continues. You should start counseling before something tragic happens."
Isabella smiled faintly. Her life was already a tragedy. No counseling could change that.
The nurse set her breakfast on the bedside table, placing the medication beside it.
"You are very weak right now. You have to take your medicine. Later, I will take you outside for some sun. It will help you recover."