Chapter 507
[ 470 words ]
Chapter 507:
“He sent her jewels. Furs. He filled her rooms with flowers until you could barely breathe. He tried to buy her forgiveness, to bury the cruelty under a mountain of wealth.”
For the first time in years, Isabella’s resistance wavered. Not for him. For the new life inside her.
“For a few months, the house learned how to pretend again,” Agnes said. “The fights stopped happening in the corridors. Leland stopped shouting where the staff could hear. Isabella stopped looking at the upper windows as if she were measuring the distance to the ground.”
Caroline’s fingers tightened around the edge of the counter. The image was so quiet, so terrible, that it hurt worse than the violence.
ѕ𝘩𝗮r𝘦 y𝘰𝘂𝗋 𝘧a𝗏𝘰r𝗶𝗍𝖾𝘴 𝗳𝗿о𝗆 gа𝗅𝘯𝘰v𝗲𝘭ѕ.с𝘰𝘮
“She prepared a nursery herself,” Agnes continued. “Not with Leland’s decorators. Not with Cornelia hovering at the door, offering suggestions in that honeyed little voice of hers. Isabella chose the colors. Soft blue, ivory, a little painted border of clouds near the ceiling. She embroidered his initials on a blanket with her own hands.”
Agnes’s mouth trembled. “J.R.R. Jarrod Raphael Romero. She chose Raphael because it means God has healed. She believed, foolishly or beautifully, that this child might heal something in this house.”
Caroline’s eyes welled with tears. She could see Isabella bent over a cradle, thin and pale, stitching hope into fabric because there was nothing else left to stitch it into.
“Leland allowed it because he liked the symbolism,” Agnes said bitterly. “The heir. The reconciliation. The perfect family portrait. But Cornelia hated every second of it.”
Caroline looked up sharply. “She was still here?”
“Oh, yes.” Agnes’s voice hardened. “Leland never dismissed her. He told himself she was useful. Efficient. Loyal. He told Isabella it would look weak to send her away over gossip.”
“That bastard,” Caroline whispered.
“Cornelia understood something Isabella did not,” Agnes said. “A pregnant wife could save a marriage. A son could turn a cage into a dynasty. If Jarrod was born healthy, if Isabella survived and became the mother of the Romero heir, Cornelia would never be anything more than a secretary with perfume too sweet for the hallways.”
The stew bubbled softly behind them. The domestic sound made the story feel even more obscene.
“So she waited,” Agnes said. “She smiled. She carried files. She ordered flowers for Isabella’s sitting room and stood beside Leland while he read the doctor’s reports. And all the while, she was looking for a crack.”
Caroline felt the cold knot in her stomach tighten. “What crack?”
Agnes turned toward the old service corridor that led deeper into the house, as if the walls themselves might still be listening.
“Isabella’s body was weak by then. Too much grief. Too many months of barely eating. The pregnancy was difficult. The doctor ordered rest, quiet, no stress.”
A humorless sound escaped Agnes. “In this house, quiet was just another kind of cruelty.”
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