Twisted Ties of Love

Liam held onto the pizza box and just stood there, his gaze lingering on Izabella.

Izabella couldn't ignore him any longer. "What is it?"

Liam hesitated for a moment before finally saying, "Ms. Salotti, could you please go check on Mr. Windham? He's awake now."

When Brett had been unconscious, Izabella had peeked at him a few times from the doorway. But since he woke up, she had not visited him once.

Liam had known Brett for a long time. Back when Brett didn't love Izabella, he would often say that Izabella was stubborn. The more he forced her to do something, the more she would resist.

Liam feared that his suggestion might make Izabella resentful.

"Mr. Windham took a bullet for you, after all."

Izabella's brow furrowed, "Alright, I'll go with you to see him."

Liam couldn't hide his joy, but he didn't dare say anything more, fearing it might provoke Izabella to change her mind.

Being sick made people sleep more. When Izabella arrived, Brett was resting with his eyes closed, his arm resting outside the blanket.

For his height, Brett should have looked tall and broad, but there he was, lying on the hospital bed, his hospital gown seeming overly large.

Liam stopped at the door, leaving the room to Izabella.

Izabella approached, looking at Brett's chest. His gown was loose at the neckline, revealing a small patch of skin.

There was a large burn scar that looked like a branding iron had been used, and through the scar, the initial 'B' was faintly visible, covering his entire heart. Izabella should have held resentment against Brett, but with the passing of time and the sound of the gunshot, all grudges and resentments had vanished. But this was not forgiveness, it was merely a surrender to time. As Casey had said, if one holds onto hate, the heart gets tired.

She and Brett were never on the same path, their destinies had diverged, and they each had to go their separate ways.

Seeming to sense an extra presence in the room, Brett spoke without opening his eyes, "Liam, pass me the water."

Izabella looked at the cup on the table; the water in it had gone cold. She refilled the cup with hot water, adjusting the temperature to a drinkable level. "Can you sit up?"

Upon hearing the voice, Brett immediately opened his eyes. He had never imagined that one day Izabella would be standing in front of him, holding a cup of water for him. It felt like a dream.

No, not even in his dreams had this happened. In his dreams, Izabella looked at him with resentment. He couldn't even hold her once in his dreams.

Izabella inserted a straw, gently supporting Brett's head as she helped him drink.

Brett opened his mouth in shock. It was only when he tasted the water that he realized this was not a dream.

People who are ill often have a dry mouth. As he drank, he looked up at Izabella without blinking, gulping down the water until the cup was empty.

"Do you want more?" Izabella asked.

Brett shook his head. As Izabella turned to put the cup back, he quickly reached out and grabbed her sleeve. It was a reflex action, indicating his fear and confusion.

Izabella put the cup down and looked at Brett with a detached expression, "What is it?"

She pulled her hand away, and Brett's grip was not strong enough to hold her back.

"Why are you here?" People who lose their sense of security tend to cling to something. As soon as Izabella pulled away, his hand was left hanging in the air, empty. It felt as if a part of his heart had also been taken away.

"Liam asked me to come see you. After all, you took a bullet for me," Izabella said as she moved a chair to sit down, her gaze scanning the medical equipment in the room.

The nurse had said that Brett was out of danger and would recover in two to three months.

But looking at all the medical equipment and the oxygen mask, it didn't feel that way.

"I see," Brett said, a hint of disappointment in his voice. He had thought that Izabella had come willingly, not because Liam had reminded her.

Her visit was probably not voluntary, but more of an obligation, a matter of conscience.

After all, he had saved Casey.

"Why did you step in front of the bullet?" she asked.

"I didn't think much at the time," he replied, unwilling to admit that he was afraid that if anything happened to Casey, it would upset her.

"Can you forgive me now?"

Forgive? To be honest, it was more like letting go. The past was just that, the past. It was over.

"What good would forgiving you do?"

"Could you stay by my side?" Brett asked carefully, a faint light flickering in his eyes, like a candle fluttering in the wind.

"Brett," Izabella began, her voice soft, "There's too much between us. I ended my own life in the most painful way in my past life. I lost a pair of hands, a pair of legs. You can't expect me to repeat that tragedy, can you?"