Twisted Ties of Love (Izabella Salotti and Brett) novel Chapter 599

Nate had disciplined Bella before, but nothing like this. It had always been child's play—no supper, face the wall and think about what you've done, or at worst, kneel. This time was different, the pain was real and raw.

With her back throbbing, Bella shivered uncontrollably, a chastened kid afraid to disobey, dreading an even harsher punishment.

Bella might have been through tough times, but that didn’t mean she was immune to fear or pain.

Tears fell, a strangled cry in her throat, quickly silenced as Nate clamped a hand over her mouth. “No crying,” he warned.

Crying made Bella seem less like the fierce Izzy he had once known.

Swallowing her sobs, Bella pouted, a veritable doormat for someone else's wrath.

To Nate, such a person was hardly worth conquering.

He had a taste for the likes of Izzy, not doormats like Bella.

He'd felt a twinge of regret when Izzy perished in that inferno; had she chosen life, he would have cherished her.

Nate couldn't help but chuckle at the thought of Brett, Izzy's widower, who had been raging mad since her death.

Bella, with her tear-streaked face, would draw pity from anyone but Nate, who didn't see her as anything more than an object.

Lately, Nate had become more violent, and Bella increasingly fearful.

Her once warm feelings had turned cold with fright.

But she never dared talk back, terrified that Nate would cast her aside.

Ever heard of the dumped cat syndrome? When a cat gets abandoned and braves the harsh outdoors only to be taken back in, it becomes exceedingly compliant, fearing it might be discarded again.

That was Bella. She dreaded being thrown back to where she had started—manipulated by her parents, forced into marriage by her brother.

Nate admired the welts on her back, blossoming like cold alpine blooms against her porcelain skin. Her pallor was natural, and under his care, she had grown even more delicate.

Especially her back—mesmerizing to behold, with charming dimples at the base of her spine, leading up to her shoulder blades beneath his touch.

Nate wasn't concerned about the burns marring her beauty; modern cosmetic treatments could erase such flaws with ease.

Bella bit back screams, her whole being tense with agony. The pain was a torture, her back's sensitivity heightened by its invisibility. Then she heard it, a whisper from behind, "Izzy."

Stunned, she forgot the pain for a moment, turning to look at Nate.

His eyes, once hazy, regained their clarity upon seeing Bella's face.

His interest vanished; he pushed her away, annoyed when she kept staring. "What are you looking at?"

"You called out a name..." Bella faltered, then pressed on, "Izzy."

Who was she? Why did Nate invoke that name?

Nate almost laughed. So what if he did? He'd picked Bella for her resemblance to Izzy, a mere stand-in.

She was nothing but a substitute, yet she acted as though she was unique. Nate dismissed her with a snuffed-out cigarette, caressing the burn on her back. "Izzy, that's the new name I've been considering for you."

"New name?" Bella's lashes fluttered, confusion and fear in her gaze.

Nate elaborated, "Your new name, Izzy, signifies a fresh start, a new life. Changing it will save you a lot of trouble. You don't want your old family tracking you down again, do you?"

Bella hesitated, then nodded.

Grasping her chin, he leaned in close. "So, I'm giving you a different life, starting anew. From now on, you're Izzy."

It was all a ruse to keep her docile, an obedient stand-in for Izzy.

Izzy—the significance? To Nate, it meant a beginning, an all-knowing love, fresh as the first time.

Of course, there was also 'had I known, I wouldn't have started,' but that interpretation wasn't for Bella's ears.

For a long time in the Windham household, Nathaniel had been mistreated by nannies, forced to scavenge through trash bins for food.

After eating scraps from the garbage, how could he be picky about food?

But Bell was the first to actively inquire about Nathaniel's tastes. She carefully noted his preferences and dietary restrictions in a little notebook with patience and diligence.

Sometimes, when she saw him heap more of a particular dish onto his plate—a sign he liked it—she'd quickly jot it down. Her little notebook was now brimming with such observations.

Nathaniel was unaware of this attentiveness.

The only thing Nathaniel couldn't stomach was cilantro; it triggered his allergies.

Cooking with a painful back, Bell leaned on the kitchen counter. Once the meal was ready—a couple of dishes and a soup—she set the table and called Nathaniel to eat.

Today's spread was yet another one of his favorites. Nathaniel paused, his expression softening. He couldn't help but think that even if his mother were still alive, she wouldn't understand him as Bell did.

In the past six months, Bell's nurturing had spoiled him, making every other meal taste bland in comparison to hers.

Besides his obligatory appearances at Windham family events, Nathaniel generally disliked dining with others.

Bell knew this, so she discreetly stood in a corner while he ate, careful not to lean against the wall and aggravate her wound.

This vantage point allowed Nathaniel to conveniently call on her for anything, whether it was to refill his water glass or serve more food.

Nathaniel pretended not to notice her, but he ate with such unhurried elegance, savoring each bite.

Nathaniel treated Bell like a servant, and servants don't sit at the table.

He ate slowly, hampered by a severe stomach condition that necessitated chewing each bite thoroughly. His meal took over half an hour, and Bell stood by the wall for just as long.

When Nathaniel finally set his bowl down and left, Bell approached the table. After a busy day, she was famished. She grabbed the clean cutlery and began to eat hungrily, grateful that at least today's meal was still warm.