Chapter 1
In the grand living room of Elderwood Manor, a breathtaking figure sat on the edge of an opulent sofa, her large, expressive eyes darting nervously over the luxurious surroundings of Blackwell Manor. Next to her, a wedding certificate lay sprawled on the velvet cushion. Bride: Isabella Hawthorne. Groom: William Blackwell. Yes, today was her wedding day. Her heart ached for her younger sister, who had been born with a serious heart condition and needed a fortune for surgery. Just ten days ago, Isabella had turned down the demands of a man who pursued her, which led him to take revenge, pulling strings to have her sister thrown out of the hospital, forbidding anyone from helping her. Isabella had felt utterly helpless. That was when a strikingly elegant woman approached her, offering a lifeline: she could cover her sister’s medical bills if Isabella agreed to marry her son. Her son, she revealed, was in a coma following a tragic car accident. Isabella didn’t care if he were a vagabond spirit; she would wed a corpse if it meant saving her sister. And thus, she became William Blackwell’s bride. “Madam, this way please.” A maid from the Blackwell household beckoned her upstairs. Isabella’s heart raced as she climbed the staircase. Soon, she would finally meet her husband—the comatose man she had unwittingly bound her future to. “This is the young master’s room. You may go in now.” “Alright, thank you.” Isabella took a deep breath before stepping forward, her pulse quickening. The door loomed before her—behind it was her new husband, William Blackwell. She gently pushed the door open. Inside, the room remained shrouded in darkness, the shadows seeming to stretch infinitely. It hinted at an eerie silence that made her uneasy. Feeling her way along the wall, she fumbled for the switch and flipped on the ceiling light. The room blossomed into brightness. There, lying on the bed, was a man around twenty-six years old, with jet-black hair and chiseled features—his good looks were striking. But his pallid complexion was alarming; if not for the IV drip attached to his hand, she might have thought him dead. This was her husband. He was... ridiculously handsome. Isabella felt her heart skip a beat. Struck by his beauty, she felt an odd surge of courage rather than fear and introduced herself. “William Blackwell, hi. I’m Isabella Hawthorne.” “I’m twenty-one,” she continued, meeting the stillness of his gaze. “I’m your wife now. Seriously, thank you so much. If it weren’t for you, my sister would be lost.” She bowed her head, sincerity painting her expression. Turning away, she slowly removed her makeup, letting the layers peel away to reveal her unadorned beauty. In the mirror, her stunning reflection came to life. She had smooth skin and long lashes, and the sensation of being watched crept over her. Was that William? She jolted, glancing back. In the warm glow of the light, the man remained peacefully asleep, his delicate features exuding a haunting charm. “Is it really not you?” she whispered, a hint of confusion lacing her voice. If it wasn't him, then whose voice had she felt? “Knock, knock, knock.” At that moment, another sound broke the tense atmosphere. Isabella jolted back to reality, realizing the echoes in the hall had simply been footsteps. Yet something deep within felt a tad desolate. Perhaps, in some corner of her heart, she had secretly wished for William to wake and see her. “Coming!” she called out, thinking it was the maid, and opened the door without a second thought. She was met with the sight of Edward Blackwell. Edward—her former admirer, William Blackwell’s cousin—was the very same wretched man who had orchestrated her sister’s ejection from the hospital. As he stood before her, his gaze traveled down her figure. The sleeping attire she wore was demure—a Pikachu-yellow nightgown that fell just above her knees—but it did little to conceal her stunning beauty. Her long legs were exposed, and the look in Edward’s eyes turned heated. In an instant, his fingers brushed her cheek, the delicate caress igniting a darkness within him. “Isabella,” he breathed, taking a step forward. Isabella’s expression hardened, and she batted his hand away. “Edward Blackwell, what do you think you’re doing?” “I’ve missed you. I just wanted to talk.” “I have nothing to say to you,” Isabella snapped, attempting to shut the door. But Edward swiftly blocked her retreat. “Isabella, you married my cousin without a word! Don’t you owe me an explanation?” An explanation? Isabella fought back laughter, a bitter smile creeping onto her lips. How dare he demand an explanation?
Chapter 2
Isabella Hawthorne had always been caught in the crosshairs of charm and menace when it came to Edward Blackwell. He could woo her with a thousand sweet nothings, but in an instant, he could turn into a cold, chilling presence that left her breathless in fear. There was a time when she had entertained the idea of being with Edward, charmed by his attentiveness. But then reality struck hard when she found him in bed with Fiona Brighton, the stunningly beautiful star of the foreign language department. The betrayal cut deep, and she had promptly blocked him from her life. Little did she know, cutting ties with Edward would unleash his darker side. The consequences were dire; he orchestrated a sick plan that got her sister tossed out of the hospital, leaving her in a precarious state of health. That moment solidified her hatred for him. It was a twisted game, and she was stuck in the middle. When a wealthy stranger offered her a lifeline to save her sister, she made the fateful decision to marry William Blackwell. With that resolve in mind, Isabella's eyes hardened. “I have nothing to do with you, Edward. Who I marry is none of your business.” He smirked, unperturbed. “You’d really marry a vegetable? My cousin will barely last long, you know. The Blackwell family isn’t known for granting freedom. If you marry him and he dies, you’ll be a widow forever. You’re too beautiful to languish alone in a mansion.” His words dripped with malice, but Isabella could tell he was trying to get under her skin. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of a response, but he pressed on, “Actually, there’s only me and him. Once he’s out of the picture, everything the Blackwell family has will be mine. Just imagine—if you play nice and help me speed along my cousin's demise, your loyalty will be rewarded.” Her blood ran cold as the sinister implications sank in. Edward hadn’t come to her with concern; he had a plan to siphon off the Blackwell family’s wealth. How had she never seen how depraved he truly was? “Isabella,” he continued, “even if you’re technically married, your husband is incapacitated. You’d still be pure, in a way. I’ve liked you for a long time, and I swear, I’d treat you better than anyone else ever could if you just come with me.” Desperation oozed from every syllable he uttered. Isabella's gaze turned steely. “Save it. I’m not interested in you.” She couldn’t forget that the Blackwell family had saved her sister’s life. Betraying that kindness wouldn’t just be wrong; it’d be unforgivable. Edward’s expression darkened, the charisma fading into something threatening. “Think carefully, Isabella. Without me, you’ll live the life of a widow, trapped in a loveless marriage. That kind of solitude isn’t easy.” “I’d prefer it,” she shot back defiantly, turning her back to signal the end of their conversation. He glared at her. “Fine. But mark my words, you’ll be begging me for help before long.” With a final glare, he stormed out. Shutting the door behind him, Isabella felt a rush of relief mixed with the lingering scent of fear in her palms. She approached the bed where William Blackwell lay, the silence heavy around them. “You heard everything, didn’t you? Edward wants to scheme against your family,” she murmured. “I didn’t say yes to him. Your mother saved my sister’s life. I won’t betray that.” But Isabella knew her limitations. Even if she refused, what would stop Edward from trying to take control? If he had his way, chaos would reign, and his mother could be the greatest victim in this all. She thought wrestling with her new reality would keep her up on their wedding night. But eventually, somewhere between worry and numbness, she drifted off next to William, comforted by his still form. She awoke sometime later, a tingling sensation on her skin, warmth brushing against her face—was someone kissing her? “Who…” she mumbled, swatting at the darkness that surrounded her. “Isabella Hawthorne,” a deep voice reverberated in her ear. Her heart leaped as she shot awake. The face before her—so vivid, so alive—was that of her husband, William Blackwell. “William Blackwell,” she stammered, rubbing her eyes in disbelief. “You—you’re awake?” A slight nod from him sent chills down her spine. His fingers traveled to her cheek, tracing her features with a tenderness that both soothed and unsettled her. “What are you—” she started, but he silenced her with a smile that ignited a strange warmth in her. “I want to kiss you,” he declared, and before she could process, he leaned in, kissing her fiercely. “No! William Blackwell…” Isabella protested, her hands instinctively lifting to push him away. But he was relentless, capturing her wrists and pinning them behind her. His voice dipped into a low, dangerous whisper, “You’re not being very obedient…”
Chapter 3
“Knock, knock, knock…” The sound echoed in Isabella Hawthorne's mind. Startled, she opened her eyes to the bright morning light flooding the room. She turned slightly and saw William Blackwell lying beside her, his hands resting quietly by his sides, his breath faint. She quickly pulled back the sheets. Looking down, she realized she was still wearing the same slip from the night before. It was intact—not torn, and thank goodness, she hadn’t been made to cry… Last night had been nothing more than a spring dream. The realization hit her like a splash of cold water. She had barely met William Blackwell, and her mind had conjured up such fantasies. Just how lovesick was she? “Isabella, are you awake?” A voice broke through her thoughts—it was Eleanor Brighton, her mother-in-law. Isabella scrambled out of bed, tousling her hair. “I’m awake!” She swung her legs over the side of the bed and opened the door. Outside stood the stunning Eleanor Brighton, flanked by two servants and a young, handsome doctor. The doctor was wearing gold-rimmed glasses, looking polished yet gentle. When he spotted Isabella in her slip, he paused for a moment, clearly taken aback. “Aunt, is this really William’s wife?” Thomas Stone asked, glancing at Eleanor. Eleanor smiled awkwardly, casting a subtle look toward Isabella. “Yes, it is. You really should get dressed.” Isabella’s cheeks flushed as she glanced down at her outfit. Greeting guests in a nightgown was indeed inappropriate. She hurriedly dashed off to change. Eleanor Briarwood entered the dressing room to assist her. Worried she might take too long and upset Eleanor Brighton, Isabella fidgeted, only for Eleanor Briarwood to gently hold her hands, smiling. “No rush, darling, just take it easy.” Eleanor Briarwood was a makeup wiz; within ten minutes, she had transformed Isabella. When Isabella caught her reflection, she barely recognized herself. The makeup was subtle but effective, making her skin glow as if lit from within. Eleanor Brighton’s kindness warmed Isabella’s heart. Not only didn’t she scold her for her attire, but she had also sent someone to help her. “Thank you, Eleanor Briarwood,” she said gratefully. “Of course! Now hurry, the doctor is waiting for you,” Eleanor Briarwood urged. Dressed in an elegant Armani suit gifted by Eleanor, Isabella stepped out of the dressing room. It had been one of the forty-eight designer outfits Eleanor had provided her for the wedding. Inside the room, two servants were attending to William Blackwell, cleaning him gently. His dark silk pajamas were loosened, revealing a well-defined chest—just as she had imagined. Feeling slightly flustered, Isabella turned her gaze away. Eleanor Brighton and Thomas Stone were discussing William's condition, beckoning her over. “Isabella, this is William’s attending physician, Thomas Stone.” With an amiable tone, Thomas adjusted his glasses. “Hi there, little sister-in-law.” The term caught Isabella off guard. Yes, she was now officially William Blackwell’s wife. She offered him a shy smile. “Hello, Doctor.” “Thomas comes by every day to check on William. Sometimes I get busy, so you might need to help entertain him for me, alright?” Eleanor Brighton instructed. Isabella nodded, taking in the responsibility. Once William was washed and dressed in clean pajamas, three of them gathered by his bed. William's hand was reattached to an IV drip—likely keeping him alive. Isabella’s heart sank as she noticed the bruises on the back of his hands, likely from prolonged IV use. She couldn’t help but linger on those beautiful hands, now unsightly and marked. Thomas Stone began to examine William, and as Isabella crouched beside him to place a warm towel on his hand, she caught his attention. Thomas blinked, surprised by her attentiveness. Eleanor Brighton stood nearby, her gaze filled with affection for Isabella. Isabella might have been a simple girl from a regular family, but she was sweet and considerate; that counted for a lot. “Is William doing any better?” Eleanor asked, her worry evident. Thomas, listening closely, hesitated. “Well, it seems like his heartbeat is a little different from yesterday.” “Different how?” Eleanor pressed, anxious. “Is it good or…?” “Don’t worry, Aunt. It seems to be better,” Thomas reassured her. Suddenly, a thought struck Isabella, recalling Edward Blackwell’s earlier words. She turned to Thomas. “Doctor, do you think if I stimulate William more, he might recover faster?” She was thinking of Edward Blackwell’s intentions and worried for Eleanor Brighton. She didn’t want William to remain in this state. “Hmm…” Thomas rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “I’m not sure, but you could try talking to him more often. It could stimulate his brain.” * Breakfast finished, Eleanor Brighton instructed Isabella to go greet the guests. Today marked her second day of marriage, and it was time for the Blackwell family to celebrate with tea. “She’s Isabella Hawthorne, William’s wife,” Eleanor introduced her to the assembled relatives. Following Eleanor, Isabella greeted everyone with a sweet smile, playing the dutiful daughter-in-law. When she reached Edward Blackwell, he intentionally took hold of her delicate hand while sipping tea, his grip slightly too lingering. “Your sister-in-law is beautiful, and this tea is delightful.” A wave of disgust washed over Isabella. Was he truly that bold? Not only was he leering at her but now he was also making crude gestures in front of everyone. She yanked her hand away, feeling sick to her stomach. Eleanor Brighton caught the moment, her expression darkening, but she said nothing, instead focusing on serving the next relative. Once in the kitchen, Eleanor confronted Isabella. “Stay away from Edward Blackwell.” Isabella blinked, realizing Edward was clearly retaliating for last night, deliberately trying to humiliate her in front of Eleanor. Wanting to clarify, Isabella met Eleanor’s gaze. “Mom, I need to tell you something.” “Go ahead.” “Edward Blackwell means to harm William Blackwell.” Without hesitation, Isabella relayed Edward’s threatening words from the night before. To her surprise, Eleanor’s expression didn’t shift much—almost as if she had already known. “Mom.” Seeing the sadness flicker across Eleanor's face, Isabella felt a pang of fear. Eleanor composed herself, a distant look in her eyes. “I know; he’s not a good person. He and his mother have schemed against the Blackwell family for quite some time.” Isabella paused, confused. “Then… what should we do?” Eleanor’s face fell into sorrow. “If only William hadn’t ended up like this…” There was no way she could tolerate that mother and son duo. Three months ago, William had suffered a car accident that left him in a coma, and now Edward had seized onto power within the Blackwell family. Eleanor, though wise and strong, couldn’t stand against the encroaching tide. * Seated alone back in her room, Isabella sunk into contemplative silence. She began to understand the burdens Eleanor carried. A widowed woman, her son rendered incapable, left in a seemingly insurmountable struggle. Isabella realized she couldn’t just sit back anymore. Her eyes shifted to the still figure of William on the bed, and she made her way to his side. Taking a deep breath, she spoke softly. “William Blackwell, I don’t know if you can hear me, but I need to tell you everything that happened today.” “While serving tea just now, Edward Blackwell was disrespectful to me. Did you hear that? Your cousin, while you’re unconscious, leered at your wife, treating her like some object. As a man, doesn’t that anger you?”
Chapter 4
The man sleeping on the bed was completely unresponsive. Isabella Hawthorne felt a surge of desperation. She crawled over to him, cradling his head in her arms. "William Blackwell, can you hear me?" she urged, attempting to shake him awake. "Your wife is being treated unfairly, and she’s furious! Are you really just going to lie there and let them walk all over you?" Silence hung thick in the air, broken only by the soft sound of his steady breathing. Isabella’s frustration bubbled over. "And what about your mother? It’s been rough for her since your father passed away, and now… if something happens to you? Have you even thought about her?" "Right now, you’re just in a coma, and they are treating your mom with such disrespect. What if you weren’t waking up? She’d be devastated, everyone would take advantage of her!" "Your mother is such a wonderful woman. Can you really bear the thought of her being humiliated like that?" Just then, the door creaked open, revealing Isabella Stone. Isabella Hawthorne instinctively froze, sitting awkwardly on William's lap, her face burning with embarrassment. "Mom…" she managed, caught off guard. Isabella Stone couldn’t help but chuckle. "Talking to William, I see." "Yes…," Isabella Hawthorne stammered as she slipped off him, grateful for the interruption. "The doctor said I should try to stimulate him…" "Well, you’re doing great," Isabella Stone replied, and her compliment made Isabella’s cheeks flush even deeper. Eleanor Briarwood came in, carrying a chair for Isabella Stone, who settled in beside her daughter. "I thought I’d stop by and check on William. Is everything okay?" Understanding her mother’s intention to have a word with William, Isabella Hawthorne took the opportunity to slip out of the room. Once she left, Isabella Stone accepted a damp towel from Eleanor, tenderly wiping down William's hands. "You know," she murmured softly, "I heard everything your wife said earlier. She truly cares for you, doesn't she? Isabella is a beautiful girl, and thoughtful too—Mom likes her a lot. But what about you, William? Do you like her?" William remained still, his expression hidden from the world. Isabella Stone continued, her voice thick with emotion. "Honestly, she doesn’t seem like the shy type at all. The way she spoke to you earlier shows she has some fire in her, doesn't it?" "William," she said, her words breaking as unshed tears shimmered in her eyes, "we're all just waiting for you to wake up. Edward Blackwell is a shark, and if you don’t pull through, he’s going to swallow the entire Blackwood Holdings whole…" * The next day, while Isabella Stone was out, Eleanor Briarwood arrived to instruct Isabella Hawthorne on how to wash William’s body. Isabella’s heart nearly stopped. "W-What? I have to wash him?" "Madam, the lady said you’re now married to him, and this is part of your responsibilities." Isabella felt as if the ground had fallen away beneath her. "Eleanor, could we not… do this?" She had never done anything like this before. Although she was William's wife, they were essentially strangers. Eleanor just smiled. "You’ll have to get used to it, Madam." Isabella opened her mouth, but no words came. Eleanor had already shoved a towel into her hands, urging her on. As Isabella stood there, the image of William in nothing but his underwear made her blush crimson. Eleanor, sensing her discomfort, began to usher everyone else out of the room. "I’ll just close this door for some privacy," she said, shutting the two of them in. Alone with William, and just his underwear remaining, Isabella wiped her brow, anxiety brewing. It’s just like handling a piece of meat, she thought faintly as she steeled herself. Just… clean him up. The upper half was manageable, but when she reached lower down, a wave of nervousness crashed over her. Does this really require cleaning? He couldn’t do it himself. If I don’t… his skin could break down. "Alright, I’ll just do it," she muttered to herself, taking a deep breath. "I'm sorry, William Blackwell. Just think of me as your personal caregiver. I have no choice in this." Closing her eyes, she tried to steady her racing heart. This is so bizarre. Just as she was about to proceed, a sudden rush of panic made her gasp. "Oh, no!" she exclaimed, bolting to the bathroom to hide, her heart pounding in her chest like a drum. * Moments later, Eleanor Briarwood’s voice drifted through the door. "Madam, the doctor is here… What happened? Why is the master only in his underwear?" Isabella's face felt like fire as she pressed her back against the bathroom wall, wishing for invisibility. "Eleanor, shh," she murmured to herself, mortified, as Eleanor hurriedly covered William with a blanket. "Madam?" Eleanor called, knocking gently. "Are you in there? The doctor needs to check on the master." With slow reluctance, Isabella opened the door, her cheeks burning bright. "Excuse me, Doctor." Thomas Stone, her cousin, appeared nonchalant as he greeted her. "Did you finish cleaning him up?" “Uh… sort of,” she replied, voice trembling slightly. Thomas, sensing something amiss, glanced at her curiously, but he quickly turned his attention back to William. "I’m starting the IV and checking his vitals… Wait a second. His heartbeat seems a bit fast…" Isabella's heart raced. Did he realize anything? Would he figure it out? "What happened just now?" Thomas asked, removing the stethoscope from his ears. His brow furrowed in concern. "Did something change?" Isabella felt the heat creep up her neck as she fumbled for words. "Doctor, can I ask you something?" "Please, go ahead, Mrs. Hawthorne." "When you—um, clean William… does he…?" "Yes?" Thomas’s confusion increased. "Does he ever… you know," she stammered nervously, "have a physical reaction?" "Ah," Thomas blinked, processing her words, and then his eyes widened in realization. "You mean… when you do the cleaning, he…?"
Chapter 5
Isabella Hawthorne felt her face flush crimson, blood rushing to her cheeks. “Yes,” she replied, barely above a whisper. Thomas Stone blinked in surprise, exchanging a meaningful glance with William Blackwell before returning his gaze to Isabella. “I didn’t think my usually uptight cousin had this side to him.” “Hey, little cousin,” Thomas asked, adopting a serious tone. “You really hope he pulls through soon?” Images of Eleanor White flashed through Isabella’s mind, and without hesitation, she nodded. Of course, she wanted William Blackwell to wake up. Deep down, there was a selfish part of her that yearned for a husband capable of protecting her. “In that case,” Thomas continued earnestly, “you’ll need to keep pushing him. Make things a bit more lively for him.” Isabella couldn’t help but be skeptical. “How is stirring things up actually going to help?” “Trust me,” he said, as if assuring a child. “He’s developed this reflex that should bring him back in no time.” “But if that’s the case, why doesn’t James Harrington just clean for him?” she challenged, both curious and a little incredulous. “James could scrub the floor clean and not a peep from him,” came Thomas’s deadpan reply, leaving no room for humor. Isabella raised an eyebrow and turned to Eleanor Briarwood for a second opinion. Eleanor simply nodded. “It’s true, ma’am. When we clean for him, there’s been no reaction whatsoever.” Isabella felt her heart sink. It was hard to believe. But Eleanor chimed in cheerfully, “You are a miracle worker, ma’am! I’ll go tell Eleanor White the good news!” Isabella’s cheeks flared again at the compliment—this time from Eleanor. * Later that afternoon, Isabella Stone burst through the door, arms loaded with brightly hued shopping bags. “No way!” Isabella Hawthorne exclaimed, her heart racing as she beelined to William’s room. “Is it true? Is he reacting, Janie?” Her blush deepened as she caught Isabella Stone's euphoric eyes. “Yes. But I can’t explain it…” She was baffled. After all, she and William Blackwell were practically strangers. Why had he suddenly developed feelings for her? “Of course he likes you! How could he not?” Isabella Stone beamed. “Like… likes me?” Isabella said, her disbelief evident as her gaze dropped to William’s still form. Would a man like him, towering atop the social ladder, really have feelings for someone as ordinary as her? “Yes! You, my darling! The family’s lucky charm,” Isabella Stone cheered, squeezing her hand tightly as if sealing an unbreakable bond. In a flurry, Isabella Stone handed her a massive pile of bags. “Mom, what is all this?” Isabella wondered, her mind racing. “Oh, you needed some actual clothes for class! Those wedding dresses aren’t going to cut it for school. Drivers will be lined up for you by the end of summer!” Isabella Stone’s enthusiasm left Isabella breathless. Her heart swelled. The warmth of maternal affection overwhelmed her, a feeling she’d missed. It was as if she was finally the pampered daughter she’d longed to be. * Once her mother left, Isabella tore through her new clothes, a guarded excitement bubbling within her. She rarely bought anything new—most of her closet was made up of hand-me-downs from her cousin, Eliza Green. Who didn’t love a fresh wardrobe? She reveled in the thought as she gingerly unwrapped the fabric, savoring the moment. Realizing the tags were still on, Isabella rummaged in the room for scissors, wanting nothing to hold her back. This was her space; she could wear whatever she pleased. When she found no scissors, she shrugged and sat on the bed, pulling at the tags with her bare hands. One too firm tug sent her body shaking slightly, her heart racing as she wrestled with the tag. Her reflection in the mirror was striking: the black lace lingered around her curves, sculpting her like a work of art. The tag slipped from her grip, landing perfectly on William’s forehead. She snorted, leaning over him teasingly, “Sorry about that, William. Looks like you got a little label mishap.” “I’ll get it off you, don’t worry. Just gotta blow it away…” She pressed her lips to his forehead, blowing softly. “Not much dust here to scare you away…” With her fingers stroking his hair tenderly, she mused aloud, “William Blackwell, you are stunning.” His features captivated her—especially those lips. They were thin yet irresistibly seductive. On a whim, she lowered her head and pecked his lips, the contact thrillingly soft. Giggling to herself, she felt a flutter in her chest. “When you wake up, will you like me?” “I’m fine, really. I do well in school, and I’m pretty easy on the eyes. I just… well, with my sister’s illness, I didn’t really get to date. This would be my first time, you know?” No reply from William, his face still. Her heart sank a bit. “If you wake up and don’t like me… what then?” Staring at him, she found a strange reluctance to wish him awake. * The first day of school loomed, only half a month away. Donning a puff-sleeved top with denim and letting her hair fall free, Isabella couldn’t help but feel the thrill mixed with nerves. Even in her simple outfit, she was breathtaking, a radiant flower. “Hey, William Blackwell! What do you think?” Turning in a charming little pirouette, she flashed him a smile. “I start school today and I’m a bit anxious… but don’t worry, I’ll still come back every day to take care of you and help you clean up.” Initially apprehensive about dressing him, she now approached it casually, the routine becoming a comforting rhythm. “I’ll be back right after school,” she promised, covering him with his blanket. The Blackwell family chauffeur arrived to take her to school, Isabella Stone having packed her favorite sweet soup for luck and family love as she ventured into her new chapter. Tears welled in Isabella’s eyes; she felt incredibly cherished. Just twenty days into her marriage, she’d been touched countless times by Isabella Stone’s kindness—gestures her own mother had never offered. * In the school classroom, one of Isabella’s best friends, Catherine Easton, shrieked, “What? You got married?” “Shh!” Isabella quickly shushed her, glancing over her shoulder. Catherine shrugged her off. “You married that Blackwell guy—the one who’s basically in a coma? They say he’s a lost cause!” “They saved my sister’s life,” Isabella insisted. “Yeah, but that’s not enough. Did you really tie yourself down just ‘cause of her?” Catherine’s concern was palpable. She knew Isabella had already borne enough suffering and couldn’t understand why she’d rush into a legal commitment with a man who couldn’t even care for himself. A vegetable, practically. Who would want that kind of life?
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