Twisted Ties of Love (Izabella Salotti and Brett) novel Chapter 604

It was a 70-minute video, a length of time that seemed to stretch into eternity. Why the name "Izabella" featured in the notes below the clip was a mystery to Belle.

She was torn. A voice deep within her whispered to shut down the laptop, to pull back and respect Nathaniel's privacy. Yet curiosity, once planted, is a relentless vine that twines through the mind, refusing to be uprooted.

In the end, Belle clicked play. Her heart wasn't ready for what unfolded.

The woman in the video was striking, her beauty undiminished even though she was ragged and chained to a wall. She was thin, painfully so, her delicate frame screaming of her ordeal.

Why was she locked up? Was this some kind of twisted movie?

As the footage continued, Belle's face drained of color. From the dialogue, she learned the woman was indeed called Izabella, and the man in the haunting mask was Nathaniel. She recognized him by a small, usually inconspicuous birthmark on his neck that flared red with his heightened emotions.

Belle couldn't watch every second. She scrolled forward only to witness the horrific scene where needles pierced Izabella's fingers. The mouse slipped from her trembling hand and clattered to the floor.

For a moment, Belle was lost, disoriented, tears streaming down her face without her knowing.

The wind blew in, drying her tears, only for them to be rewetted and dried again. Eventually, she pulled the plug on the laptop and curled up on the floor, sobbing silently, muffling her cries, her body aching with each shuddering breath, her blood seemingly turned to ice.

Was there any doubt left?

She mourned for Izabella, the woman in the video. But she also mourned for herself, the realization hitting her—she was nothing more than a stand-in.

She couldn't deny the resemblance to Izabella, and now, even their names matched.

All those promises of "knowing everything and loving just the same," of new beginnings, were just her stepping into someone else's life.

The fear that settled was deep and dark. She had always seen Nathaniel as a good man, never imagining his capacity for cruelty.

For the first time, Belle contemplated fleeing from Nathaniel. But where could she go? She had no home. What she thought was her safe haven turned out to be a lightning rod for disaster.

After her tears subsided, Belle stumbled into the bathroom. Staring at her reflection, she couldn't recognize herself. Was she Izabella or Belle?

If Izabella existed, then what about Belle? Who was she? Her own name discarded so carelessly—who else would care about who Belle was?

Images of Izabella's torture flashed in her mind again, the pain searing. The scars on her back, long healed, ached anew.

Belle retreated to her room, locked the door, and curled up on the couch, shivering despite the summer heat.

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