Twisted Ties of Love

Chapter 307

Nathaniel pinched his cold earlobe, wondering how much it would hurt if it was forcibly torn off by someone?

Nine years ago, Izabella had jumped into the water to save someone without any hesitation. She probably would never have imagined in her lifetime that she would be harmed by the person she had saved, leading to the destruction of her family and her being covered in scars. In the end, she could only sit in a wheelchair and watch as the fire approached her.

What a naive girl, she hated the cold but still plunged into the water to save someone in the dead of winter.

Fate was always against her, but she never gave up her kindness. She treated others well, but fate never treated her kindly.

If trusting the wrong person was a crime, she didn't deserve to die.

Brett didn't deserve death, he only deserved to live in pain.

In the past, Izabella wanted to live more than anyone else, but her later life was worse than death. She was a frequent visitor to the hospital, having been notified of her critical condition countless times. She once begged him to kill her.

Izabella had experienced countless pains, and the last one was called relief.

...

Brett was kneeling on the ground, his mouth full of blood. He didn't know when Nathaniel had left. He knelt there, one hand covering his stomach, the other over his mouth, with a warm, sticky discomfort in his palm. He stared blankly at his right hand stained red with blood.

The pain in his stomach was unbearable, like being entwined with thorns, sharp thorns stabbing from the inside out, causing his stomach to spasm as if it was about to split open.

Izabella hated pain, yet she had been tormented by such pain for three or four years. Why didn't he believe her when he saw her vomiting blood? She was obviously in so much pain, why did he think she was faking it?

Brett clutched his stomach, his body trembling with pain. He was good at enduring pain, no matter how painful, he could grit his teeth and make no sound. When he couldn't bear it any longer, he vomited again.

His stomach was convulsing, and what he vomited out was either blood or gastric acid, burning his throat. His eyes were red, the viscous blood on the ground formed a red pool, and the smell of blood was overwhelming.

Brett gritted his teeth, muttering crazily, "So, this is how painful a stomachache can be. Vomiting blood really feels like losing half of your life. This is what Izabella has been going through all these years."

Brett only felt like his belly was being cut by thousands of knives, and every time he vomited blood, his throat tasted incredibly bitter, like crushed medicine stuck in his throat that he couldn't swallow or vomit.

How did Izabella, who hated bitterness so much, manage to endure all this?

He suddenly remembered a sentence Izabella had once said to him.

—"Brett, I'm someone who's so afraid of pain, yet I dare to love you. How have you treated me then?"

Yes, how had he treated her? Brett covered his sour and painful eyes, sobbing until he was out of breath.

Those years when he was drinking and socializing late, Izabella was worried that he would get a stomach problem, so she would make him soup to sober up, warming him from the inside out.

And how did he treat Izabella? When Izabella carefully brought him water and begged him to drink, he would splash it in her face if he didn't like it.

And Izabella never complained, she was someone who was used to enduring pain. Despite her tired body, she would still treat him well the next day.

He missed Izabella, more than he ever had. He wanted to go back to find her, to be with her. He wanted to treat Izabella better in the future.

Brett staggered to his feet and opened the door, bumping into the old butler. The sight of Brett covered in blood startled the old man,

"Master Brett, what happened to you? How did you get in this state? I'll go call a doctor, just wait..."

Brett, seemingly oblivious, steadied himself against the wall and walked forward. His vision blurred, the world occasionally plunging into darkness, with only a beam of light ahead. Izabella stood there, extending her hand towards him.

He walked towards the light, trying to grasp it, but he couldn't.

"I need Izabella, I need her. I haven't taken her to see the snow this winter, I need to go back and braid her hair, give her the newly knitted scarf. Do you know where she went?" Brett's eyes were bloodshot as he suddenly grabbed the old butler's hand, asking anxiously.

"Can you tell me where Izabella is? I need to find her, she doesn't want me anymore, I can't find her."

He deserved it, only realizing what he had lost after it was gone.

The feeling of stomach pain had slowly numbed, but his body, which had been chilled from staying in the cold room for days, was severely shocked now. Feeling dizzy, he was in a state of both ice and fire.

He moistened his dry lips, the old butler tried to support him, but he was pushed aside. He clutched his stomach, bent slightly and moved forward step by step.

The old butler followed Brett, watching his wavering figure helplessly. He was worried and quickly went to find Patrick to discuss Brett's situation,

"I'm worried about him."

Patrick spoke in a deep voice, "What's there to worry about? He's just going mad, not dying. I'll have Liam stimulate him a bit; he won't be in any danger."

The old butler sighed quietly, hoping so, but Brett didn't look fine, having vomited so much blood.

Brett went outside without his coat, wearing only a sweater, but he didn't feel the cold, because his heart was colder than the outside.

Seeing him come out, the driver got out of the car and opened the back door, "President Windham, are you alright?"

"Go back, I need to go back to see Izabella." Brett kept muttering this sentence.

The driver helped him into the car, quietly closed the door, and drove steadily. It was nearly four o'clock when they got back. Text © by N0ve/lDrama.Org.

Liam, watching the car return from the floor-to-ceiling windows, frowned. It was earlier than he had expected, but hours had passed. Lucas and Presley should have already taken care of Izabella's body, right?

Brett got out of the car and refused the driver's assistance, stumbling towards the house.

"President Windham..." Liam spoke, but Brett didn't even glance at him, rushing towards the cold room and bringing a gust of cold wind.

"Izabella, I'm back..." Brett's voice suddenly cut off. He had thought he would see Izabella lying in the crystal coffin as usual when he returned. But the huge cold room was empty, no crystal coffin, no Izabella. Fear penetrated his body as he leaned against the cold wall.

For a moment he thought he had walked into the wrong room. How could the coffin and the person inside disappear without a trace?

Liam stood behind him and said, "President Windham, while you were away, people from the police station came and took Madam away."

Brett whirled around, grabbing Liam by the collar, and shouted angrily, "Didn't I tell you to take good care of her? Why did you let them take her away? Why!"