Not long after Alexander Sullivan left, Julian Sullivan suddenly burst into Isabella Roscente's room.
He pushed her onto the desk where she had been sitting, staring out the window.
He pressed down on her like a madman, kissing her.
"Stop it. Don't, Julian. Margaret is still home!" she cried softly, pushing him away forcefully.
The young man's eyes were filled with rage.
"Don't let him touch you again—" The anger in his eyes quickly turned into sorrowful pleading. "Don't let him touch you again, okay? I can't stand it…"
Half was jealousy, half was the torment of watching her being forced into intimacy. It was driving him insane.
Isabella held him, tears streaming down her face.
"It's alright. I... I'm used to it…"
Julian held her tightly, his heart aching for her unbearably.
Isabella pushed him away.
She walked to the door and listened for any movement outside.
She opened the door and went downstairs.
"Margaret."
"Madam—" Remembering she had asked not to be called that, Margaret corrected herself. "Miss Roscente, what is it?"
Isabella looked at the soup still simmering in the kitchen pot.
"Stop making that. I want a different kind of soup. Go buy the ingredients now."
Margaret looked at this somewhat peculiar woman, hesitated for a half-second, then complied.
"Oh, alright. Please tell me what you want. I'll go buy it and make it fresh."
Isabella named a soup off the top of her head.
"Get a chicken. Simmer it with some herbs and vegetables."
Margaret noted it down, took off her apron.
"Okay, I'll go buy it now." She left to purchase the ingredients.
Julian came downstairs too.
The moment Margaret left, he pressed Isabella against the dining room wall and kissed her.
They were entangled, neither noticing.
The dining room faced the kitchen.
The kitchen had a large window overlooking the backyard.
There, a pair of eyes watched what was happening inside.
Julian kissed her for a while before letting go.
The look he gave her even held a trace of resentment.
This woman had dragged him into an irreversible situation.
Now he felt no guilt towards his brother at all.
He only thought of taking her away from his brother, of having her for himself.
Her eyes seductive, she hooked her arms around his neck.
Her breath was warm against his ear.
"...Julian, carry me upstairs." She was like a bewitching siren casting a spell on him.
He bent down, swept her into his arms, and carried her upstairs.
—
By the time Alexander returned that evening, Julian was no longer home.
He asked Isabella casually where Julian had gone.
She shook her head.
"I don't know."
She knew, of course.
That morning, after they were done, Julian received a call from Xavier Langley.
The private investigator had found some clues about Jacob Grant.
Julian went to meet him.
She didn't know what the clues were, but Julian hadn't returned since.
Alexander nodded.
He said nothing and didn't call Julian to ask.
After dinner, Isabella headed upstairs.
Alexander stopped her.
"Isabella, wait. I have something for you."
Isabella frowned.
Soon, Connor Evans arrived, carrying many paper shopping bags.
Inside were the latest winter collections from various luxury brands.
Alexander smiled.
"Since you wouldn't go shopping, I bought them for you to choose from. I had Connor get your size. Try them on."
Isabella said, "I said I don't need them." He never seemed to understand her words.
Alexander came over, took her hand, his voice gentle and coaxing.
"Women always like new clothes. How are you not tempted?"
He pulled her.
"Come on, upstairs. I'll help you try them."
Isabella broke free from his grasp.
"I said I don't want them!" she shouted.
Alexander's expression turned cold.
Margaret and Connor looked at her awkwardly, their expressions clearly showing they thought she was being ungrateful.
Tears welled up in Isabella's eyes.
Alexander immediately softened.
He walked over, held her shoulders, and sighed.
"Alright, if you say you don't want them, then you don't."
Alexander shot Connor a look.
The latter quickly gathered up the bags scattered across the floor and hurried away.
Margaret went about her own tasks.
"What's wrong?" Alexander said. "You used to accept clothes I bought before. Why such a strong reaction today? Are you in a bad mood? What is it?"
Isabella ignored him and went straight upstairs.
Before going to sleep, Isabella locked her door from the inside.
She hadn't made a habit of locking it before.
After all, this was Alexander's domain.
Even if she locked it, he could still enter if he wanted.
Though useless, today she felt like locking it.
Soon, Alexander came knocking.
"Isabella? Why is the door locked? Are you unwell?"
Isabella didn't want to answer.
She curled up under the covers, hoping he would leave.
But today, for some reason, Alexander neither left nor forcefully used a key to enter.
He just kept calling her name and knocking.
"Isabella, are you okay? Isabella?"
Isabella had no choice but to open the door.
"Are you alright?"
"I'm fine. I'm tired."
Alexander entered, reached out, and felt her forehead.
"Good, you're fine."
"I'm tired today. I don't want to do it," she said bluntly.
Alexander was taken aback, then smiled.
He took her hand, led her to the bed, and made her sit.
"Understood. I won't bother you today."
After a pause, he asked, "Was I too rough yesterday? Are you hurt... down there?"
Isabella turned her face away.
"No."
"Let me check."
"Don't—"
As he spoke, he restrained her.
With practiced ease, he pulled down her panties, parted her legs, exposing her most intimate area to his view.
Her hands pinned by his large ones, Isabella's face flushed red.
She struggled briefly but couldn't break free.
She could only endure the humiliation as he examined her.
Her delicate flesh was slightly swollen and red.
It was clean and fresh from her shower, carrying the faint scent of soap.
It didn't, however, show any obvious signs of having been taken by another man.
He pressed her upper body down onto the bed.
He was looking down at her sex, so she couldn't see the flash of icy coldness and malice that crossed his face.
"You're not injured," he concluded.
His expression then returned to normal.
He released her.
"You never tell me anything. I was worried you might be hurt and I wouldn't know."
He helped her put her panties back on, straightened her nightgown, and kissed her forehead.
"Goodnight, Isabella. Sleep well."
He left.
Isabella sat on the edge of the bed, shaking with hatred and fury.