Twisted Ties of Love
Chapter 553

Izabella straightened out the crumpled list she had angrily tossed onto the floor earlier. Finding a wall, she stuck the wrinkled paper against it and smoothed down the edges as best as she could.

On day one, she had cooked for Brett. He had said he'd eat whatever she made him, no questions asked. So, she decided to challenge that promise by cooking the one dish he detested the most — a dish she'd previously made in jest to ruffle his feathers. But, he hadn't touched a bite.

She whipped up a fiery stir-fry with kidney beans — a heap of jalapenos, onions, garlic, and cilantro thrown into the mix, turning the beans a deep shade of red. Izabella was so prepared for the spicy ordeal that she donned a gas mask while cooking, and she added even more chili powder to the pan. To an outsider, it might have seemed like a bizarre culinary experiment. The taste was intense but not bad - it just wasn't to Brett's liking.

Was she supposed to cater to his preferences all the time? To pamper him?

Izabella also prepared a clear soup, which was rich with collagen - a lighter choice. But Brett never liked those cuts; maybe they didn't fit the image of a CEO like himself.

With a soup, a spicy dish, and a pot of white rice prepared, Izabella finished her cooking.

Whenever she cooked for Brett, she couldn't help but let her mind wander to dark places. She'd even thought of adding poison to the soup, so as to end his misery once and for all. People do think of desperate measures to deal with someone when pushed to their limits, even if the person they hate is already battling illness.

Brett looked at the meal Izabella had prepared: the soup and the spicy dish. His expression was unchanged, with his lips curved in their usual arc. Clearly, he had anticipated Izabella's actions. Izabella was tough, and making her yield would surely mean swallowing some bitter pills first. The fact that she cooked for him without any added toxins was already a win in his book. He didn't dare expect more. At least these dishes looked edible.

He used to be very picky about food, but now, he was willing to eat whatever Izabella made for him, and to eat them all up with gusto.

His doctor had warned him to keep his diet mild, and to avoid even a hint of chili as it could irritate his airways and affect his lungs.

A single chili could cause trouble, let alone a whole dish of them. Just the smell made his chest hurt.

Brett ladled himself a bowl of soup to cool down and then tackled the spicy dish. The first few bites were manageable, but by the fourth, the heat overwhelmed him. Soon enough, he was coughing fiercely, alternating between bites of food and sips of soup, each gulp exacerbating his cough.

He could have chosen not to eat, of course. His wish list only asked for Izabella to cook him one last meal. Whether he ate it was his call. He could've just had the soup and spared himself the pain, but he was stubborn.

Seeing Brett clutch his chest and struggle to breathe, Izabella said, "You don't have to eat it."

This meal was more to her own taste. In her past efforts to please Brett, she had focused only on his preferences, and cooked for him for 1364 days until she forgot her own likes. By the time she finally became aware of how she had neglected herself, she was diagnosed with stomach cancer and could no longer enjoy those foods.

Brett's cough sounded torn from his very soul. Izabella lost her appetite when watching him heave over the the table, with his body shaking. She turned around and walked away, leaving Brett alone in the echoing dining room; his coughs grew more severe with each spasm

As soon as Izabella left, Brett couldn't hold back any longer and vomited blood. He knew Izabella was squeamish about blood, so no matter how much his throat hurt or how the taste of iron filled his mouth, he had resisted spitting it out.

Once she was gone, the blood flowed uncontrollably, dripping down the white table and onto the floor, leaving a stark, jagged trail that wouldn't stop.

This wasn't the first time Brett had coughed up blood, but it was the first time it had frightened him so deeply.

His lungs ached as he looked at the remaining dish and soup. After rinsing his mouth with clean water, he picked up his fork and continued eating the chili-laden meal.

Despite the unstoppable coughing,

he cleaned up the blood from the table and floor with tissues. The dried blood on his hands flaked off like dust as he rubbed them together, which reminded hing of the times when he had cleaned Izzy's blood from his skin. Now it was his turn.

"It's okay." Brett reassured himself.

It was just karma, payback for past deeds.

With only three days left before Christmas Eve, Brett had secretly hired several workers to decorate the outside of the house. They rushed the job over two nights, transforming the space into something resembling a wedding venue.

The wedding dress was custom-made and would be delivered on Christmas Eve for Izabella to wear. Brett had designed it himself, making sure it was tailored perfectly to fit her figure.

And the ring, he had crafted it with his own hands. It was a simple band; though incomparable to those million-dollar diamonds, it was the most unique ring in the world, the best-fitting one he had ever given Izabella.

And so, Christmas Eve arrived.

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