Twisted Ties of Love
Chapter 305

The richest man in R City had always been the center of everyone's attention, but now he looked exhausted, his face bruised, lips chapped, and skin pale. This winter was undoubtedly the toughest one for him The cold seemed to seep into his bones, numbing his whole body.

Brett looked down at the bracelet on his wrist, which Izabella once wore. The bracelet was a bit tight, causing his wrist to swell slightly.

He stared at the decorative little lock on the bracelet, which had never been opened and remained intact even in the fire. Why couldn't it keep the person locked up?

Brett clutched the lock, emotions flooding his heart, and his eyes getting uncomfortably dry.

He hung his head like a hedgehog in self-defense mode, hunching down and facing away. He pulled the bracelet hard and his body trembled involuntarily.

The driver glanced at Brett through the rearview mirror and sighed softly.

The journey to the Windham family's old mansion took two hours. The driver drove slowly, taking two and a half hours to get there. When they arrived, it was already twelve thirty, just in time to catch Patrick having lunch.

Brett got out of the car, looked up at the foggy sky and high mountains, and a sense of unprecedented heaviness loomed over his heart. He was ready to collapse at any moment.

It was in this place that his parents passed away, and now his most beloved person was gone too.

Brett went in and said directly to Patrick, "Did you have anything to do with Izabella's death?"

Patrick seemed not to have heard and leisurely had the soup. He was slowly picking up the fork to taste the food and occasionally commenting,

"Our chef's skills have improved recently, not bad."

Brett's face darkened. He never liked wasting time in his work and preferred to solve things in the shortest amount of time, not wasting any more seconds. He walked straight over, flipped over the plates and utensils on the table with a slam, and the pieces clattered to the floor, the soup and food splattering all around.

The butler and servants nearby were startled. Luckily, the old butler reacted quickly and pulled Patrick back; otherwise, the falling solid wood table would have landed on his leg, which would have been no joke Although he avoided the table, Patrick's clothes were still stained with oil. It was the first time he looked so disheveled at this age.

His hand shaking with his fork, Patrick angrily threw them at Brett, "Do you want to kill me over a woman?"

"Did you have anything to do with Izabella's death?" Brett's eyes were as icy as a storm in the cold winter, always giving people a cold impression. Even when he got angry, he'd do it quietly and secretly get back at people. Today's outburst was simply murderous.

Patrick clearly felt the killing intent emanating from him, making the servants tremble at the side.

Patrick was accustomed to storms and waves, but it was the first time he had been stared at with a "murderous" gaze by his own grandson, which he found quite amusing.

"If I said it was related to me, would you want to avenge her and kill me?" Patrick asked.

"I won't hurt you," Brett said calmly, but his eyes displayed a crimson color, with a sinister gaze. Veins bulged on his forehead, giving him the appearance of a ferocious beast, as if he could pounce at any moment to tear the other person apart.

"But I will make the entire Windham family get what they deserved!" Brett added.

"Good, you are truly something." Patrick was infuriated and snatched the cane handed over by the butler, forcefully striking it on the ground. "What a foolish person you are!"

Patrick squinted his eyes. Having held a high position for a long time, he possessed a commanding presence that few could withstand. He scrutinized his grandson, as if meeting him for the first time. The Windham family had never required someone who was overly emotional, let alone someone who would go crazy for a woman. Initially, he didn't have much opinion about Izabella and merely regarded her as a plaything.

Moreover, the information he received all along was that Brett wasn't treating that woman well, so he didn't care much about it. If she died, she died. There were plenty of women in this world.

But what he didn't expect was that Izabella held such an important place in Brett's heart, to the point that he came all the way here to berate and interrogate him.

If he had known that such a day would come, he would have personally dealt with Izabella, why bother letting Nathaniel take action.

This woman was truly a troublemaker, if she were still alive, she would undoubtedly become a major nuisance.

Brett didn't know Patrick's thoughts, but judging from his unfriendly expression, he could tell that Patrick was not thinking of something good. After all, they shared the same bloodline, and Brett knew Patrick better than anyone else.

"I didn't lay a hand on that person. If you want to know the truth, I'll have Nathaniel come over," Patrick sarcastically remarked. "But don't blame me for not warning you. Once you know the truth, you'll have to bear the consequences. Brett, you're almost thirty, and no one will indulge you. It's time for you to face the consequences."

People who were unaware of the truth could live their whole lives, but once they became aware, they could only face it, regardless of the outcome.

But the most terrifying thing was that he didn't even have the qualification to face it. Everything had changed, which only added to the sorrow, often leading to regret in the long years to come. Brett's body stiffened, and without hesitation, he turned and walked towards the meeting room inside.

Patrick coldly smirked as he watched his retreating figure. After a while, his eyes became blurred, and before him, Brett's silhouette gradually merged with that of his deceased son, sharing the same loneliness He suddenly felt a weight on his shoulder, his head swayed for a moment. The butler promptly supported him and asked, "Are you alright?"

Patrick tightened his grip on the cane in his hand. As he grew older, even the cane that aided his mobility seemed to slip from his grasp.

"I'm ok," Patrick said, taking a seat with the help of the butler's assistance. "As one grows older, his abilities truly diminish. This world ultimately belongs to the younger generation, Albin. My grandson may be useless in the future."

The butler remained silent, and Brett was born with Patrick's expectations. He had been intelligent since childhood, and his character was just like Patrick's back then, ruthless. In the words of the elderly, he was someone who could achieve great things.

"I guess it's my fault for not giving a damn all these years. I hope he'll step up after this, not step back." If Izabella's death could spark Brett to reclaim the Windham family, that'd be great, but who knew if he'd actually drag them all down with him.

After Izabella's death, Brett completely lost his mind.

...

Nathaniel rushed over as soon as he got the phone call from the old butler. He was close by, so he arrived in just 20 minutes.

Inside, the heating was on. Nathaniel walked in, took off his coat and tossed it to a servant. He glanced at the watch on his wrist and gestured to his subordinate, "Give me a cigarette."

His subordinate handed over a cigarette, and after Nathaniel put it in his mouth, he respectfully lit it for him.

Narrowing his eyes, Nathaniel took a deep drag, and blueish-white smoke slowly rose from his mouth. He waved his hand and walked through the faint smoke, pushing open the door to the reception room. Seeing Brett sitting inside, Nathaniel's eyes curved in irony as he said, "Oh, Brett, it's only been a week, and you look like a complete mess. Izabella's death must've really hit you hard, huh?" "You set that fire." Brett's tone wasn't questioning, but confirming.

"Did you come here to find out who started the fire? Or to get the truth? Or to shirk responsibility?" Nathaniel leaned against the wall, smirking, and asked mockingly. "Brett, did you really love Izabella?" This wasn't the first time someone had asked him that question. He used to not care, but when she wanted a divorce, he felt uncomfortable. He never realized how special Izabella was, thinking his discomfort stemmed merely from not wanting anyone to defy him. If someone wanted a divorce, it shouldn't have been her, he thought.

He had always been so arrogant, thinking that as long as the kite string was still in his hand, all he had to do was tug it and she'd be pulled back to him no matter how far away she'd gone.

But he forgot that there were too many unexpected accidents in this world, like how a strong wind could easily snap the taut kite string.

"Brett, you're still as stubborn and arrogant as ever. You're so used to being selfish, taking things for granted and only regretting them when they're gone. To put it bluntly, you just can't seem to break your bad habits. Did you really love Izabella? No, you just regret not being able to satisfy your desires now that she's dead." Nathaniel said.

The cigarette between his fingers had burned to the end, scalding his fingertips, but Nathaniel's eyes remained cold and indifferent, not letting go. He'd committed this kind of pain to Izabella's body at least five or six times before, the burns from the cigarette ash blackened her flesh.

Nathaniel didn't care about a former plaything; he only cared about making Brett suffer. And sure enough, Izabella's death didn't disappoint him.

"I'm not a good person, but I've never denied being a bad one. Unlike you, who pretends to be virtuous while professing love for her but being the one who hurt her body and soul." Nathaniel added.

"How can you not know what you did to her? Her father's death, your two children, and the one she always loved - what are you going to give back to her for those lives you took?

That fire, to be precise, was set at Izabella's 'request.' She used my hand to take revenge on you and make a generous sacrifice of herself."

He asked quietly, "Brett, why did you push her to such a horrifying end? Forcing her to take her own life in such a painful way?"

Although the heating inside was more than enough, Brett couldn't feel any warmth. It was as if he was standing out in the snow and ice, clenching his frostbitten fingers until they shook. His blood froze and turned into jagged ice, tearing his insides apart.

He didn't want to listen to Nathaniel, but his voice pierced through his soul, forcing him to face one unbearable truth after another.

"You know better than anyone, she died because you pushed her step by step. You resent me for torturing Izabella, for leaving over a hundred scars on her, but who's the one who handed her over to me? You claim to be deeply devoted, wanting to make it up to her, to cure her stomach cancer - have you forgotten who spent four years draining her blood and ruining her body? Who caused her to be crippled and confined to an immobile wheelchair when the fire came, unable to even hide?"

Nathaniel's words became rapid, his eyes growing more mocking as he watched Brett's expression crumble. He dropped his cigarette, approached Brett, and crushed the last bit of hope in his heart with a cold tone he had never used before.

"Brett, you have to admit, it's not that you lost her this time, but that she didn't want you anymore."

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