He Broke My Bones I Broke His Soul novel Chapter 11 read online

Chapter 11 On the morning of Isabella’s birthday, Benjamin called to deliver a warning. "If you don’t come to apologize to Isabella today, don’t ever bother returning to the Sinclair family again."

He seemed to have forgotten—I hadn’t set foot in that so-called home for three years.

But I went anyway.

When Nathaniel saw me preparing to leave, his hand instinctively moved to grip the handles of my wheelchair—just like he always had.

This time, I didn’t react. I simply stared at him in silence.

Meeting my gaze, his fingers slowly loosened their hold.

The new bodyguard took over.

From the moment I left until the car pulled away, I didn’t speak a single word to him.

He stood there, watching my car disappear into the distance.

Benjamin wasn’t surprised by my arrival. His lips curled into a sneer before he turned away to greet other guests, dismissing me entirely.

Richard stood beside his mistress-turned-wife Victoria and their beloved Isabella, the four of them playing the perfect happy family for their guests.

Nathaniel showed up too, arriving just before the Young Master of the Hawthorne family’s extravagant gift was presented. Dressed impeccably, his gaze softened with something dangerously close to tenderness as he watched Isabella unwrap it from across the room.

I looked away after a single glance.

Flushed with triumph, Isabella—resplendent in her haute couture gown—had my caretaker and bodyguard discreetly removed before sauntering over to me. "See that, Emily?" she purred, eyes glittering with malice. "That was from the Hawthorne family’s Young Master himself."

Once, she’d been beneath me in every way. Now, she had the one thing I’d never taken from her—his undivided attention. Of course she couldn’t resist rubbing it in.

"You can’t turn a crow into a swan just by dressing it up," I said flatly. "Some things aren’t meant to be worshipped."

Rage twisted her features—until her gaze snagged on the steak knife beside us. A slow, vicious smile spread across her face.

I knew exactly what she was going to do.

I didn’t stop her. Didn’t even flinch. Just watched, detached, as she staged her little performance.

"Ah! Emily, what are you—how could you attack me just because you’re jealous?"

The knife clattered at my feet. A thin red line marred her palm.

Every head in the room swiveled toward us.

Richard. Benjamin.

Nathaniel.

Victoria lunged forward, cradling Isabella’s hand as tears sprang to her eyes—yet somehow still managing to shoot me a look of fearful reproach, as if I were the tyrant terrorizing her.

The crowd ate it up. Murmurs of pity rippled through the room for the poor, helpless mother and daughter at the mercy of the vicious Sinclair heiress.

I almost laughed.

The same cheap tricks. The same pathetic acting. And yet, every time, they believed her.

"Emily, I know you despise me, but Isabella is innocent. How can you keep hurting her like this? Or do you truly not fear the Hawthorne heir’s wrath?"

"Emily," Richard thundered, face purple with fury, "I’ve tolerated your behavior long enough! Apologize to Isabella now, or I’ll disown you!"

Benjamin’s hands shook with rage. "Emily, have you forgotten my warning? Bring the punishment cane."