Chapter 5 Better Off Dead

William's gaze cut across Isabella's face, catching the faint smile warmed by a stranger's kindness. The ice in his eyes sharpened instantly, cold enough to slice through flesh.

Why?

Why was Beatrice burned to ashes in a fire while this damn woman still had the audacity to smile?

He closed the distance in three quick strides, his hand clamping around her wrist with a force that felt like it could grind bone to dust. His voice dripped venom. "You killed your sister. And you dare stand here smiling?"

The elderly woman beside her tried to intervene, but William's bodyguards moved in, blocking her path. She could only watch with helpless worry.

"It's fine. He's my husband," Isabella told the old woman, forcing a reassuring glance before William shoved her toward the waiting car.

Snow shaken from his coat fell across her shoulders, scattering onto her hands. The cold bit like steel against skin.

That old woman… she reminded Isabella so much of her own grandmother. The same gentle eyes. And in the curve of her brow… she looked like Beatrice too.

Isabella was still holding onto that fleeting warmth when William's voice came again—low, cruel, almost a whisper from the devil himself.

"Listen carefully, Isabella. You're alive to suffer, not to enjoy."

Enjoy? No. She lived to pay for her sins. Warmth was never hers to claim.

Her silence gnawed at William's patience. He tugged at his tie, his tone clipped and commanding. "Tomorrow there's a yacht gathering. You're coming with me."

"Me?" Isabella blinked, disbelief flickering in her eyes. He never brought her to events in their circle. She didn't know his motive and didn't care to guess. She leaned against the window and closed her eyes.

Beside her, the storm was already brewing.

The next day, a luxury yacht eased away from the city's harbor. William led her aboard, her body wrapped in a thin, ill-fitting dress that did nothing against the sting of the sea wind.

The deck glittered under strings of lights. Wealthy men and women moved among champagne flutes and laughter. The moment eyes fell on her, whispers surged like a rising tide.

"Isn't that the Tudor family's little snake? The one who killed her own sister?"

"She begged her brother-in-law to marry her right at her sister's grave. Shameless."

"I'd bet she killed Beatrice just to take her place."

"If I were her, I'd jump overboard and save everyone the trouble."

"Mrs. Spencer, dressed like that? She's here to leech off someone's connections."

The words stabbed into Isabella's ears, each one sharper than the last. She gripped her skirt until her fingertips blanched.

William had already let go of her hand, moving toward Juniper in the crowd. Juniper wore a champagne-colored gown—Beatrice's favorite shade and style. Her smile was sweet as she slipped her arm through William's.

"William, the wind's so strong… I'm freezing."

He shrugged off his jacket, draping it over her shoulders with a tenderness that once belonged only to Beatrice. His fingers brushed her hair, the gesture intimate, deliberate.

Isabella's suspicion was confirmed. Juniper, more like Beatrice than she could ever be, was the one who drew him in now.

William and Juniper glided through the crowd, speaking with powerful men, never sparing Isabella a glance.

Left alone, she became the perfect target. Everyone knew William had married her to break her, not love her.

A woman bumped into her deliberately. When Isabella didn't react, they poured red wine down her front, the liquid soaking through the thin fabric, clinging to her skin.

"Oh dear, didn't see you there," the woman said, hand covering her smirk. "Some people are so invisible, it's easy to forget they exist."

Wine dripped down her dress, sticky and cold. Isabella's eyes sought William, hoping for even a flicker of protection. But he was listening to Juniper, not even glancing her way.

Of course. The more miserable she was, the more satisfaction he took.

"Disgusting."

"Why would Mr. Spencer bring her? Ruins the mood."

The humiliation came in waves, drowning her. If Beatrice were alive, she would never let anyone treat her sister this way.

Her chest tightened. 'Beatrice… why did you save me? It should have been me who died.'

Isabella bit her lip until she tasted blood, refusing to let tears fall.

Juniper approached with William, her gaze sweeping over Isabella's wine-soaked state. Instead of helping, she turned to the crowd. "Isabella, look at you. You've upset everyone here. Pour them drinks to apologize. After all, you killed Beatrice."

William's cold eyes finally met hers. "You heard her. Do it."

Isabella's gaze shifted toward the rolling waves below.

His patience snapped. Seeing her eyes fixed on the water, he gave a sharp nod. "If you like the ocean so much, go stand in it."

His hand closed around her arm, dragging her toward the yacht's edge. He shoved her forward.

Isabella's fingers caught the rope along the railing. Instinctively, she shielded the watch on her wrist.

That watch was the only thing that still made her feel alive.

Juniper followed, feigning concern. "William, it's dangerous here. What if she falls?"

"Better if she does," he said with a cold laugh, eyes locking on the old watch. "You seem to care about that."

He ripped it from her wrist, holding it high. "No!"

It was her grandmother's gift. She reached for it, but his height kept it out of reach.

"Please… give it back," her voice cracked with desperation.

"You really care," he said, then tossed it into the dark water like trash. "If you want it so badly…"

The splash cut his words short. Isabella had already leapt overboard.

The freezing sea swallowed her whole, salt burning her throat as she coughed violently. Her soaked dress dragged her down.

In her panic, her arm scraped against something sharp. Blood poured into the water, blooming red around her.

"That watch…" she murmured, diving deeper. It had fallen here—how could it be gone? She plunged again, refusing to lose the last thing she had from her grandmother and sister.

Gray shapes moved in the water, closing in fast. She barely noticed, surfacing for air before diving again.

"Sharks!" someone screamed from the deck. Others turned to see dorsal fins slicing through the waves.

Panic spread. Even William frowned. They had come to watch a spectacle, not a death.

"Isabella! Stop! Get back here! There are sharks!" voices shouted, objects splashing into the water.

Sharks? The word jolted her. She turned, seeing the water churn as the predators advanced.

"Help!" she cried, forcing herself toward the yacht. But her injured leg and exhaustion slowed her.

Juniper glanced at William, saw him ready to order a rescue, and suddenly clutched her stomach. "William… I feel sick. Please, take me inside."

"Alright." He scooped her into his arms, walking away without a backward glance.

Isabella froze, watching his silhouette vanish into the glow of the deck lights.

The fins sliced closer through the waves. Tears spilled down her cheeks, her arms falling still.

Maybe this was better. She and William were never meant to be. She had lived only to fulfill Beatrice's wish. Now he had someone more like Beatrice. She could go to her sister without breaking her promise.

'Beatrice… I'm so tired. If I die here, will I see you and Grandma again?' she thought.

Her body was numb, her strength gone. In the haze, she thought she saw Beatrice smiling, calling her name.

"Beatrice…" Isabella swam toward her, a faint smile on her lips.

But the direction wasn't toward the yacht—it was toward the sharks.

The shadows in the water loomed larger. Death closed in from every side.