“What happened? Henry asked. Isabella had claimed on the phone that William had brought security to rough her up. Henry hadn’t believed it then, bet now, seeing the evidence, he wavered.
As Henry comforted her, Isabella secretly rejoiced. That old bastard William had humiliated her while Henry was away, taking advantage of his absenÉZA that Henry had returned, she would have her revenge. William wanted Henry to reconcile with his wife? Well, she would make damn sure that never happened.
Henry pulled her into his arms, patting her back soothingly. “If you don’t want to talk about it, that’s fine. I1I speak to my grandfather directly
After drying her tears, Isabella leaned against Henry’s shoulder and asked softly, “I must look terrible when I cry, don’t 17”
Henry had barely registered her tears. His mind was filled with images of Sophia’s restrained expression years ago–how he’d mistaken her patience for docility, her tolerance for weakness. He’d learned the hard way that Sophia was neither patient nor weak. That sharp tongue of hers could cut a man to pieces.
Thinking of Sophia reminded him of the photos. He gently pushed Isabella away from his shoulder and stood up straight beside the bed, looking down at her with sudden intensity.
“Isabella, if someone took intimate photos of us together, what would you do with them?”
Isabella’s heart nearly stopped. “What photos?” she asked, her voice unnaturally high. “Who took them?”
Though Isabella kept her head down, Henry immediately sensed her discomfort. “You really don’t know?” he asked, his voice deceptively calm. “Should I investigate who sent those photos to Sophia? Isabella, tell me the truth. It’s not a big deal.”
If Isabella had indeed sent those photos to Sophia, Henry wouldn’t necessarily blame her. But it would force him to reconsider everything he thought he knew about her.
Isabella’s mind raced, carefully weighing her options. She lowered her head further, remaining silent for what felt like an eternity.
Henry watched her, already forming his conclusions from her reaction alone. “Isabella, did you really do it?”
After careful consideration, Isabella decided confession was her best strategy. “Yes, Henry, I sent those photos,‘ she admitted, her voice small but gaining strength. “I was jealous of Sophia. Why should she get to be with you openly, standing proudly by your side, while I’m forced to lurk in the shadows?”
She looked up with glistening eyes. “It’s torture, thinking about you every moment. My heart aches whenever I imagine you with her.”
Her voice grew more passionate. “I hate Sophia. She came after me, yet she gets to have you while I have to watch from a distance, afraid of disrupting your family! Is it wrong for me to be jealous?”
She knew that if Henry discovered the truth on his own, the consequences would be far worse than if she confessed. Better to admit it now and play on the common understanding that women get jealous. It might even score her some sympathy points.
Henry’s expression hardened. “Your jealousy isn’t wrong, but you shouldn’t resort to such underhanded tactics.” His gaze turned cold and unfamiliar as he stared at Isabella, seeing her in a completely new light.
Isabella panicked. “Henry, what did I do wrong? Sophia has you, but you don’t love her–you love me! We belong together! Sophia is the one who came between us!” She grew more desperate. “Without her, we would be the happiest couple in the world. Instead, I’m left watching your back, waiting endlessly through countless lonely nights.” She reached for Henry, but he stepped away from her touch.
Henry looked at her with something close to disgust. “Isabella, jealousy is never a justification for hurting others. Without another word, he turned and walked out of the room, his long legs carrying him away without a backward glance.
After everyone had left, Isabella stood frozen in the empty hospital room. A scream tore from her throat.
“How can this be happening?” she shrieked to the empty air. “Wasn’t he supposed to care about me more than anyone? To trust me above all others?”
