Twisted Ties of Love

In his memories, Izabella always held family dear to her heart. For the sake of her brother Lucas, she had endured being trapped by his side, willing to do anything. Izabella despised those with a penchant for violence. Casey had, after all, chopped off the hand of her own brother. Could she truly not care that Lucas had been maimed?

Brett watched her face intently for a reaction after he spoke. Her expression remained serene, her previously furrowed brows now relaxed. Her eyes, like reflective mirrors, showed him his own grotesque reflection so clearly that even he couldn't bear to look. Under her steady gaze, he involuntarily took few steps back.

With a faint smile and a hint of mockery, Izabella said, "Why do you think his hands are stained with blood? Why would he strike another? You know better than anyone. He was brought into your home as an infant, raised to be your henchman, your enforcer.

You say he's got blood on his hands, yet he saved you. A life for a life. He played the fool for fifteen years and saved me as well. Casey may be ruthless with others, but he never hurt me. Now, look at yourself and tell me who's the violent one?"

In her heart, Casey was still the one whose cheeks would flush at her gaze, whose ears would twitch in shy embarrassment; the one who would cautiously approach and stand behind her, protecting her even i she never looked back. He was the one who would coax her not to cry with candies and carry her home on his back; the one who would love her at first sight no matter how she changed; the one who, even when hurt, would first comfort her not to be saddened.

Such a Casey, who was so kind to her - how could she deny him based on a few words from Brett?

Izabella's words left Brett at a loss for a counterargument. Indeed, Casey's violent tendencies were a product of the Windham family's design, training him to be their personal bodyguard from the start. Had Casey not been switched at birth, he would've had a happy life, not languishing in an orphanage for fifteen years, becoming an oblivious fool.

Even as a fool, his intention was to protect Izabella.

His love was not covert like Brett's. Casey's affection for Izabella was obvious and passionate, a favoritism that was visible to all.

Brett couldn't admit that Casey's love for Izabella might be deeper than his own. He dropped his gaze, his thick lashes concealing his eyes. After a long silence, he offered a faint smile, "Has Casey bewitched you? Why do you always take his side?"

"Do you understand empathy? Who's good to me and who's bad, I'm well aware. And I'll measure whether you're worthy of my kindness."

Did Brett really deserve her kindness? After years of being his emotional punching bag, enduring his cold indifference, she had had enough. And now he expected her to treat him and Casey equally? How audacious.

Her wedding room in Quiet Forest Estates wasn't large, but she had tracked every step of the renovation process, investing time and effort no less significant than that put into a project worth of tens of millions Yet what had she received in return?

Assaulted on the sofa? Locked in a bedroom for four days, surviving on tap water and toilet paper? Or handcuffed and forced to kneel on broken glass on the balcony, or worse, thrown from the second floor, resulting in the loss of a child?

Some things were beyond forgiveness. She didn't want to dwell on them, but Brett's approach always inadvertently brought back those harrowing memories, devoid of any happiness. She had resolved to let g of her hatred, but Brett's presence forced her to pick it back up.

One shouldn't harbor hatred forever; it tired the soul.

And Izabella felt exhausted. She just wanted to find a peaceful place to stay, where she and Brett could live without interfering in each other's lives, as long as he no longer harmed the Dempsey family. Brett opened his mouth as if to speak, but ultimately said nothing. He knew Izabella didn't want to see him, yet the only meaning his life had left was to see her just a little more.

"I'll prove to you that everything I've done is right," Brett's usually expressionless face now ashen. Perhaps it was the dim light, but standing by the window, the darkness in his eyes was as deep as the night outside, a portrait of loneliness and emptiness.

Seeing how stubborn he still was, how he was comparing him with Casey, Izabella scorned, "Your so-called being 'right' is to ruin his family and let him be utterly isolated by those crooked methods you have?" The two of them were standing a bit far away, with a coffee table and chairs in between, yet the atmosphere was tense once their gazes met.

Brett had heard those comments numerous times, the same words he had heard from many others: Izabella long ago, Liam, Nathaniel, even Tiara, the maid who had worked in his house for less than a year. Maybe even harsher, like brutal and cold blooded, unscrupulous, heartless, beastly, venomous -over time, even the harshest words ceased to hurt.

He thought he had grown accustomed to them over the years, that he was numb from the pain of his comeuppance. Yet, for some reason, whenever Izabella spoke them, they seemed to pierce through the numbness and inflict fresh pain on his heart.

"So tell me, what should I do? If I were upright and honorable, would you still be here with me?" Brett asked, his eyes bloodshot.

The answer was no. Izabella would never stay by his side, no matter what he did.

With a newfound calmness, Izabella realized that Brett was like a vampire, always seeking to sink his teeth in deeper, never satisfied until blood was drawn.

He wanted her to stay by his side until his dying moment, to force Casey to give up, to pressure the Dempsey family into becoming like the previous Felton family.

Retreating to her room, Izabella lay

awake with the lights on, tossing

and turning. She glanced at her phone from time to time, even though she had blocked all signals. She couldn't help but check for

messages, knowing full well there

Wouldn't be any.

The phone had been her constant companion for over two years now, its memory packed to the brim, not a single file deleted. Buried within its digital confines were texts from Casey dating back two years.

She checked the texts, and there they were: his emojis, his nightly well-wishes, not a day missed. As she scrolled through the messages, a wave of emotion surged, and silent tears traced paths down her cheeks, vanishing quietly into her hairline.Original content from NôvelDrama.Org.

Meanwhile, Casey, under the

influence of the knockout drops that

Izabella had covertly administered, struggled through his day, fighting a losing battle against drowsiness. He reached for a cup of coffee in a desperate bid to regain focus, only to find himself trapped in a state of half-sleep, his mind bloated like an overinflated balloon on the verge of bursting, his head pounding with an unbearable ache.

As he massaged his temples, Izabella's morning words echoed in his mind, "Take care of yourself. Don't overdo it, sleep if you need to."

He had promised Izabella that he would look after his health, not to overexert himself, to rest when necessary. Yet, his desk was a mountain of unprocessed, unsigned documents.

His assistant entered the office to find Casey pale as a ghost, beads of sweat dotting his forehead. The change was so sudden and alarming.

"What's happened, Mr. Dempsey? You're looking awfully pale. Are you feeling alright? Maybe we should get you to the hospital?"

"No need, a little sleep and I'll be fine," maybe a nap might shake off the fog that had settled over his mind.

The assistant, though concerned, didn't insist. The office had its own private resting area, equipped for a nap or even an extended stay if needed.

Still, as Casey stood, his movements unsteady, his body almost gave way, he doubled over and suddenly bent down, puking.

"Mr. Dempsey!" The assistant rushed to his side, supporting him immediately in case he wouldn't collapse into his own mess.

Casey had barely eaten today - just a

е

Gover

few bites of the breakfast Izabella had prepared and a barely-touched lunch ordered by his assistant. His sustenance had been a mere bowl of soup followed by copious amounts of coffee, which was now proving too much for his body. The vomit that came up was mostly liquid, tainted with the brown of coffee.

Feeling slightly better after emptying his stomach but utterly drained, Casey allowed himself to be helped by the assistant into a chair. He sat there, gasping for air, as helpless as a fish out of water. Decisive, the assistant declared, "This won't do, Mr. Dempsey. We're going to the hospital. If you don't get checked out, you could seriously damage your health."