Twisted Ties of Love (Izabella Salotti and Brett) novel Chapter 601

It had been over 280 days since Ethan first laid eyes on Bella, and exactly 180 since he'd schemed to bring her into his life.

Last summer, while dining at a local burger joint, Ethan caught a glimpse of Bella, clad in her waitress uniform, her face free of makeup, clean and fresh. Her skin had a sallow tint, and her frame was so lean it screamed malnutrition. Yet, even in such a state, her delicate features were undeniable.

She bore a slight resemblance to Isabella, and that was enough to draw Ethan's attention.

The uniform, paired with a short skirt and stockings, did little to shield her from leering gazes.

At first, Ethan just gave her a few extra glances, not really taking her to heart, until the commotion behind him as he was settling his bill caught his ear.

Shattered plates, oil splashed on clothes, and a torn stocking—Bella was crouched on the floor, picking up the shards with her bare hands.

The arrogant man standing over her showed no restraint as he berated her, demanding she pay up and follow him.

Bella, trembling, didn't dare look up as she collected the broken pieces, cutting her hand in the process.

The man's lecherous gaze revealed his true intentions: to bully the weak, to claim the beauty before him, to stir trouble. He'd ogled Bella unabashedly before, and likely, the torn stocking was his doing.

If Bella had gone with him, her life would have been ruined.

Bella kept mum, repeatedly mumbling, "I'm sorry."

Ethan had never seen someone so spineless.

He didn't want to interfere, but the sight of her tearful, red eyes stopped him in his tracks.

They held a mix of emotions: hurt, indignation, and a desperate will to survive.

Against his instincts, Ethan stepped in.

Back then, Bella was even more timid, whispering her thanks, "Thank you, thank you."

Ethan's only response was, "Your eyes are as red as a rabbit's."

Her eyelashes quivered, and the image of Bella with her reddened eyes was etched into his memory, unforgettable.

After that encounter, driven by some inexplicable force, Ethan had her background thoroughly investigated—name, age, upbringing, everything.

Suddenly, he found himself wanting to keep her close.

Why? He rationalized it was because she resembled Isabella. Let her be Isabella's stand-in, he thought.

Imagine Brett's face, seeing someone so much like Isabella by his side, at his disposal.

Ethan preferred not to force things, so he took nearly a hundred days to have Bella come to him willingly.

At first, he treated her well, like one might treat a pet rabbit—taking her to places she'd never been, introducing her to foods she'd never tasted, traveling, watching movies. Back then, Ethan still had some semblance of conscience and patience.

Bella was easier to appease than he'd imagined. Even after he warned her he wasn't a good man, she followed him without hesitation.

She thought no one had ever been so kind to her, and her naive heart moved from fondness to deep love.

But the object of her affection grew complacent and impatient, directing his temper and cruelty towards her.

Patrick, half-closed eyes, spoke, "You know as well as I do, don't end up like Brett, clinging to a dead person, living like a zombie. Meet with the Temple family properly. Who knows? If you settle down and have a child, I might get to hold a great-grandchild before I die."

Ethan snapped out of his reverie.

He understood Patrick was offering him a chance at an heir. If things worked out with the Temple family and a child secured his lineage, Ethan would have an eighty percent chance of inheriting the Windham family empire.

Why only eighty percent? Because there was still Brett.

Despite Patrick's sarcasm towards his eldest grandson, he had always had a soft spot for him, but Brett never reciprocated.

Ethan assured, "I'll seize this opportunity."

Bell's internal clock was like clockwork: asleep by eleven and up at four in the morning, a routine born from her rural upbringing.

She wasn't particularly gifted, but her admission into her dream college was the result of sheer hard work and perseverance.

Her family complained about the electricity she wasted at night, and with no streetlights in the countryside, she resorted to reading by candlelight.

Waking at four in the morning, she'd prepare slop for the pigs, cook breakfast, and then set out early. Her home was so far from school that it took her an hour and a half to walk there.

This routine was second nature to her now. At four a.m., Bell checked her phone for the time but immediately opened a new message.

It was from Nathaniel.

Thirteen words, brief, yet she read them over and over, etching them into her memory before carefully replying.

—"Sure thing, Mr. Krueger, I'll wait for you to come back for breakfast."

In her humble existence, even sending a text was a delicate task - too short and it might seem careless, too long and it might be a nuisance.

After sending her message, Bell began to dress, gingerly avoiding the injury on her back, which still throbbed with pain.

The thin t-shirt grazed the wound on her back as Bell winced and headed downstairs to make breakfast.

Nathaniel placed great importance on his morning meal - hearty and varied. He always said, "The key to the day lies in the morning. A good breakfast sets the tone for the day's spirit."

Bell took his words to heart.