Twisted Ties of Love

After leaving Bunny, Brett headed home, the journey taking less than half an hour. He stood at the entrance of the diner, shivering in the bone-chilling cold of December. A gust of icy wind brushed against his face, damp and unforgiving. He touched his cheeks, then gazed, bewildered, at his fingertips.

The tears he shed in his life, except for those for his parents, were all because of Izabella. He didn't want to cry, standing there on the bustling sidewalk, where a grown man's tears seemed a sign of weakness. But he couldn't help it; the wind stung his eyes, forcing the tears to fall.

Brett suddenly felt lost, unsure of where to go. He trudged down the sidewalk and wandered into a grocery store, picking up some of Izabella's favorite fruits.

It was his first time grocery shopping for himself; previously, the house staff would handle such chores. Now, amidst the crowd, he felt solitary, out of sync with the world. Perhaps it was time to start worrying about dying alone.

With Christmas Eve only twenty days away, Brett had ordered a bunch of stuff online to be delivered to Quiet Forest Estates.

Izabella could not stand idly by and watch the Dempsey family suffer losses or see Casey hurt. One accident with the seatbelt was enough.

She was married to Casey, and the Dempseys were her family too. Mr. and Mrs. Dempsey had been so kind to her, treating her as their own daughter. They were genuinely caring, and Izabella couldn't be indifferent to their troubles.

If it were just about money, perhaps Izabella wouldn't care so much. But Brett had gone too far, aiming to put Casey in grave danger. Brett had his grip on Casey's lifeline.

Men like Brett might have held back in the past, not taking risks without certainty, always calculating. But with his illness, a desperate act seemed increasingly likely.

At eleven in the morning, Brett returned home. Finding Izabella on the living room sofa, absorbed in a TV show, he approached and asked, "Have you had lunch?"

"No."

"I'll cook."

Izabella kept her eyes on the TV, responding without even glancing his way, let alone making eye contact.

She seemed engrossed in the show, which was actually a horror film-her least favorite genre.

Today Izabella was compliant, eating quietly without arguing with Brett.

He prepared a meal with two meat dishes, a vegetable side, a soup, and Izabella's favorite dessert.

She stared at the slice of cake on her plate, lost in thought.

"I saw a queue for these at the grocery store and remembered you liked them," he said.

Izabella had a sweet tooth, and this trendy cake was among her favorites. She slowly savored a piece.Têxt © NôvelDrama.Org.

Such cakes were a specialty of R City, limited in quantity and often sold out before the end of the queue. Brett going to the grocery store, let alone braving the crowd for such a small cake, was something Izabella had never imagined possible.

The cake tasted as she remembered-not expensive, but genuinely sweet.

"Thank you."

Brett was the one stunned. It was the first time since her arrival that Izabella had spoken to him with such softness and gratitude.

He dared not respond, fearing any disturbance might shatter what felt like a dream.

The meal passed in relative calm. But was this truly peace?

No. The air was heavy with silence. Izabella's "thank you" was nothing more than a courtesy to a familiar stranger.

Izabella wandered slowly through the living room, silent, her dragging steps echoing from loud to soft, near to far, filling every corner with a hollow presence.

"Let's go out for a walk," Brett suggested.

Izabella paused, then continued walking. "No, I don't want to."

"You must want to go out," Brett insisted.

"I do," Izabella replied, "but I won't. You know about birds raised in cages? Once they see the outside world, they can never return. If they stay caged after seeing the world, they'll die of depression." Brett choked on his words, his throat bitter.

Birds trust their wings, and a bird without them will perish.

Izabella knew she was like a bird chained by Brett. Even if she flew away, the chain would still bind her, making freedom impossible.

"I've booked tickets. Come with me to J City tomorrow."

"I don't want to go," she refused.

"You're going, even if I have to tie you up," he said harshly.

Izabella said nothing, and Brett took her silence as consent.

The troubles with the Windham Group were resolved, and Brett was free to travel. He owned Coconut Island in J City, where, in another life, Izabella's ashes had been scattered.

He could've forced Izabella to bear his child, to stay with him as he had in the past. He could've schemed, his specialty, making the Dempseys the next Nathaniel, without a mutual downfall. But all these plans required time, something he didn't have much of.

Fate had already decided, and somewhere along the way, a wrong turn was made, a path from which there was no return.

The next morning, Brett took Izabella to the airport. They traveled light, with just their IDs and phones.

Arriving in J City, the cold was even more biting than in R City. Wrapped in her thick coat, Izabella still felt the chill to her bones.

Brett wore a camel-colored coat over a gray cashmere sweater, a simple outfit but his tall stature gave him an aristocratic air, standing out in the crowd, his coat fluttering slightly in the breeze.

His gaze was fixed intently ahead, his obsidian eyes deep and cool, softening only when he glanced at Izabella at his side.

Many people couldn't help but stare at Brett; his striking looks and demeanor caught the eye, and his pallor was notably stark against his features.

Izabella, masked and bundled up in a puffy down jacket, her scarf wrapped high enough to conceal half her face, and a hat perched atop her head, was dressed so incognito that she could easily disappear into a crowd of fans unnoticed.

Brett looked at Izabella's layered outfit and let out a rare chuckle, teasing her resemblance to a cinnamon roll.

Izabella had no clue why Brett had brought her to J City. And frankly, she didn't bother trying.

Arriving in J City stirred complex emotions within her; it signified a greater distance from Casey. If Casey was searching for her, a check of airplane passenger logs would reveal her movements. "Why have you brought me to J City?" she asked.

"To clear our heads. Don't worry, I won't do anything to you," Brett replied.

His reassurances did little to comfort Izabella, since Brett had a history of unpredictability, and her impression of him was less than favorable.

Despite doing nothing more taxing than flying, Izabella felt exhausted. She followed Brett onto the island and went straight to her room to sleep, not waking until nightfall when she was called for dinner. Once awake, she took a proper look at the surroundings. Nighttime offered little clarity, and the sea breeze was particularly strong, causing the trees on the island to sway wildly. "Get some rest. I'll take you out tomorrow," Brett said.

Izabella didn't ask where Brett intended to take her. Now that she was in J City, the agenda was his, and there was little she could do about it.

Fortunately, the following day in J City was sunny, with a significant rise in temperature. The vast sky met the expansive sea, sunlight piercing through layers of clouds, scattering over the azure waves.

Over ten days in J City, Brett took Izabella to see the ocean. They visited an amusement park, indulged in a couple's meal, watched a movie, explored the famous tourist spots, and he even brought Izabella to his family's home-the place where he truly grew up.

Patrick Windham had passed away, but the elderly butler remained. After serving the Windham family for most of his life, he had no family of his own and nowhere else to go upon retirement. So, he stayed with the Windham family, dutifully managing affairs just as before, including the care of the entire

Flower Garden.

The butler, upon hearing a car pulling up outside, first thought his hearing was playing tricks on him. Since Patrick's passing, visitors had become a rarity.

This was a private villa with stringent security. Visitors were usually announced in advance, but not this time which meant the guest was someone recognized by security.