Twisted Ties of Love

The twilight was deepening. Izabella stood at the second-floor French window, her gaze tracing the long path leading up to the grand entrance.

Casey, what was he up to now? She had slipped knockout drops into his drink; he might still be lost in dreams at this hour. Or perhaps he'd already discovered her absence.

Would he be furious to find her gone without saying goodbye? Had he already signed the divorce papers she left on the nightstand, or had he torn them to shreds?

A wave of feebleness overtook Izabella, and her legs gave out, sending her sliding down to the floor beside the window. Curled up like a stray pup left out in the cold, she was the picture of desolation. Despite having chosen to leave, she couldn't shake off an overwhelming sense of vulnerability.

In the winter, even the southern birds took refuge, rarely venturing out. Occasionally, a mourning dove would flutter down from the branches, only to take flight again, seeking the safety of the treetops.

At five in the afternoon, Brett appeared to call Izabella down to dinner. Clad in an apron, he faced her expressionless, icy demeanor with a smile that never wavered.

"Dinner's ready."

Izabella looked up at him, finding his smile more nauseating the longer she stared.

"Now that I'm here, will you finally leave the Dempsey family alone? Return what you've taken from them? And about Casey, if you dare hurt him, I swear I'll die before you get the chance." Brett, a man knocking on death's door, wouldn't be dissuaded by threats of retribution. To him, Izabella was worth more than his own life.

True to form, at the sound of her words, Brett's face stiffened momentarily before he let out a faint, distracted laugh.Text © owned by NôvelDrama.Org.

"Don't worry. I've stepped back from the Dempsey family. They'll be back on their feet in less than a month, and I'll make up for any losses. After all, I can't take the money with me when I die." He knew full well that none of his wealth would follow him to the grave, yet he insisted on chaining her to his side until his last breath.

Izabella scoffed, "I hope you keep your word."

Glancing at his watch, Brett urged, "Let's eat. You skipped lunch, and an empty stomach leads to stomach problems."

Izabella followed him downstairs, where she was greeted by a table laden with her favorite dishes - the aroma was tantalizing.

That Brett could cook, and cook well, was unexpectedly impressive.

Taking her seat, she picked up the plate and began to eat. Starving herself wasn't an option; she had stomach illness before, and knew the agony of gastric cancer all too well.

Even if starving wouldn't lead to

illness in stomach, she wouldn't take badly care of her own body. Right now, the seesaw battle between she and Brett was on; as long as Brett died before her, she was the winner.

Though that was her determination, every bite was a struggle. Even though the food catered to her tastes, the thought of Brett preparing it turned each mouthful to wax.

Brett watched her pick at her food perfunctorily, as if she was doing it just to appease him. He offered her some spicy potato salad, "Have some veggies."

Her hand paused, and after a long moment, she dumped the remainder of her meal into the trash with a definitive, "I'm done."

Brett knew his earlier move had

upset her. In the past, he might have

forced her to eat, resenting any waste of his "kindness"; even if the food was landed in the trash can, he'd ask her to pick the food up and finish it. But now, faced with

Izabella's irritation, he was at a loss for words.

"I just thought you needed more to eat," his voice laced with panic.

"I'm full just looking at you." Izabella retorted sharply, "If you really wanted to do something for me, you'd stay away."

"But I can't do that." Brett confessed, "Think what you will of my motives, but everything I've done was for you. I didn't want you to be let down or deceived again, like you were by the Felton family." Her voice turned icy, "So I should be grateful to you? People can't stand being tested, Brett. They would have continued to be good to me if not for your schemes. You made me lose everyone."

"I admit that I manipulated the situation, but if it wasn't me, it would have been someone else -someone worse," Brett tried to reason.

Izabella's frown deepened as she regarded him, his rare moment of "humility" shining through his flustered explanations.

"Don't be so modest. In all my years, I've never come across anyone more troublesome than you."

His words stung like needles, and Brett struggled internally, desperate for asking someone to pluck it out. His desire to keep her close was selfish, no doubt about it.

But without that excuse, it seemed

he had no reason to hold onto Izabella-much like the parental adage "it's for your own good", which often cloaked a desire for control beneath the guise of benevolence.