As if in cruel harmony with her fate, the rain intensified as soon as Isabella Swan left the hospital. Within moments, her hair and clothes were drenched, clinging to her skin uncomfortably. The pain from her recent surgery was a relentless torment, and the raindrops felt like stones pelting her body, seeping through to her very flesh with their icy chill.
Shivering in the downpour, Isabella hugged the wall for support, inching her way forward. Her face was streaked with a mixture of rain, sweat, and tears, blurring her vision as she trudged onward, heading towards home—the only sanctuary she had left.
That place was technically her home, but it was not where Edward Cullen dwelled. The vast space echoed with loneliness and desolation, and he only visited when boredom struck or when he sought an outlet for his anger, leaving after a round of torment.
She longed to escape, but there was nowhere to go. In name, she was Mrs. Cullen, but in reality, she was a mere tool for his revenge—a pawn for the woman he truly loved.
It took her two hours to reach the empty mansion, its grandeur swaying before her rain-blurred eyes. She rubbed her eyes, stinging from the rain, and managed to see well enough to open the door. The house was as dark and lifeless as when she had been taken away.
Dragging her weary and weakened body inside, she fumbled to turn on the light, only to be assaulted by a blinding brightness. The sudden illumination was too much, and the buzzing in her head intensified. She quickly switched it off again, preferring the comforting embrace of darkness.
She loved the void of the dark, the安全感 of a lightless world, the solitude that was only hers.
With the last of her strength, Isabella climbed upstairs, turned on the shower, and let the hot water pour over her, seeking warmth from the outside in. But her legs could no longer support her, and she slid down to the floor, leaning against the cold tiles.
After a difficult struggle to clean herself up, she changed into clean clothes and curled into bed, seeking solace in the warmth of the blankets. Yet her body seemed to conspire against her, alternating between chills and fever, slowly breaking her last thread of consciousness.
"Edward Cullen, do you really not like me at all? Not even a little..." Isabellas weak murmur trembled beneath the covers, her body shaking uncontrollably.
Her eyelids grew heavier, and she slowly closed her eyes, but her thoughts were uncontrollably filled with images of Edward. "Perhaps if I died here, you wouldnt even glance my way..."
A warm flow continued to seep from beneath her, taking with it the last of her warmth. Even wrapped tightly in her blankets, she still felt as if she was in the icy cold. Isabellas consciousness began to wane, her thoughts drifting away...
Just as she was about to succumb to sleep, the bedroom door was violently kicked open, the loud crash jolting her awake.
Isabellas brow furrowed deeper, her half-open eyes looking towards the intruder, only to see the familiar silhouette staggering towards her...