Twisted Ties of Love (Izabella Salotti and Brett) novel Chapter 536

"Was it not you, you scoundrel, who tampered with the roller coaster at the amusement park, hoping for an 'accident' to befall Casey? And that car brake failure? Brett, you keep outdoing yourself in ways I can't even fathom!"

After all the elaborate schemes to force her hand and bring her here, now he was playing the innocent. Who did he think he was fooling?

Izabella released her grip, her fingers having encircled Brett's throat like a vise, her disgust for him skin deep.

The force of Izabella's grip wasn't too strong, but it was enough to make breathing a chore. As she let go, a rush of cold air invaded Brett's throat and chest, triggering a violent cough.

The room was filled with the sound of Brett's coughing; each one more forceful than the last, the kind that drew blood.

Tears mingled with coughs, painting a picture of sorrow as if expelling all his anguish in those hacking breaths.

Izabella didn't have to do much—just one look of sheer indifference was enough to make him crumble completely.

It turned out she was here for Casey.

Of course.

In Izabella's eyes, Brett had always been the type to stoop low, first causing the Dempsey family to go bankrupt, and now with Casey's troubles, the finger pointed squarely at him.

Brett clenched his fist, a bitter smile his only solace, mocking himself to keep warm.

With blood in his mouth, he rasped, "Izabella, I'm dying."

She glanced at the blood on the floor, unmoved by his words—she had known all along.

"So what, you're dying and you want to drag others down with you? If you die, nobody around you gets to live in peace, is that it?"

When cancer had struck her, escaping Brett's shadow was her sole desire. Since she was getting a divorce anyway, she yearned to spend her final days in solitude, to pass away unblemished by his touch.

But Brett sought only to tarnish her, to torment her life even as his own neared its end.

Blood dripped from Brett's eyes and lips, his heart seemingly bleeding out as well. "Izabella, I want to fix things with you."

Her brow furrowed, and with a sharp exhale, she spat out, "Fix your ass!"

Izabella’s temples throbbed with each pulse, her mind racing with the text messages on her phone, every vile act Brett had committed. She wanted to haul him up and beat him, to plunge a knife into him if she could.

But everyone's eyes were on the Dempseys, on her, on Brett. To kill him here and now would light up the newsfeeds, dragging her family down.

There's an old saying, “Don't quarrel with a dying man, for in his madness before death, he could well drag you down first.”

She was at her wit's end with Brett, his cunning ways capable of tormenting one to death.

Brett remained silent.

Izabella lived with clarity like crystal-clear water, and he, the fish dependent on it, had muddied the waters for his comfort. Now, the very waters meant to sustain him threatened to drown him.

He was the fish about to be overwhelmed by the tide.

He had concocted countless plans to keep Izabella by his side, even considered turning over a new leaf. But ironically, what momentarily kept her there was the same old recipe of hatred, suspicion, and defensiveness.

"Izabella, it seems we've never really tried to get along," Brett said, steadying himself on the banister as he stood, towering over her even in his weakened state.

"I'm dying, won't you take care of me?"

With a furrowed brow, she replied, "That's a job for doctors, not me. Besides." Her lips curled into a sneer, "The Izabella who would've cared is dead. You know better than anyone how that happened."

He watched Izabella's hand move inside her pocket, the outline of something inside faintly visible. There was a cell phone, and something else—a knife handle peeking out.

Izabella was the type who could actually stab someone if pushed too far. Hell, she'd once pierced his palm with a steak knife during a fight.

Back then, her hand was practically useless, she could hardly manage a fork, but she gripped that steak knife with both hands and plunged it through his palm without blinking. Izabella was a timid soul, afraid of the dark, thunderstorms, and the sight of blood, but when it came to stabbing him, she was as steady as a rock.

Deep down, Brett knew their relationship was never going to be like other couples, filled with affection and warmth.

He was confident, but he was also aware of his limitations. Yet, when a person is in extreme pain, knowing that something is beyond repair, they often start lying to themselves.

Izabella had come today with a devil-may-care attitude, taking only a fraction of what Brett said seriously. There's a saying that when you're at your lowest, you become invincible—and she hadn't met anyone more despicable than Brett.

Blood still trickled from the corner of Brett's mouth, his eyes sunken with dark circles, making him look frail as if he would faint anytime, ready to crumble at the slightest touch.

If Izabella truly wanted him dead, she could make it happen, but she wasn't sure if Brett had any tricks up his sleeve, nor could she guarantee she'd escape the long arm of the law.

She couldn't tell if what Brett felt for her now was possession or obsession. To call it love was a stretch, since she knew what it was like to actually care for someone, and it wasn't anything like this.

At that point, Izabella didn't bother trying to decipher his thoughts.

Izabella settled back into Quiet Forest Estates, the place she'd lived for several years before. Returning didn't feel strange, even though she'd switched rooms, decisively avoiding the master bedroom that once symbolized their marriage.

Standing by the floor-to-ceiling window in her room, Izabella gazed at her reflection. She would occasionally touch the ring on her finger, then glance at the photos on her phone.

Her phone was set to Do Not Disturb—a simple reason behind it: She had no idea what to say to Casey if he called.

She felt like a turtle, instinctively retracting into her shell whenever trouble loomed on the horizon.