For a suspended heartbeat, Isabella simply stood there.
As the phantom sting of the poison finally receded from her own veins, she remained motionless, a silent sentinel to the unfolding tragedy.
She had always promised herself that this moment would taste like victory—a cold, crystalline satisfaction.
Yet, as she watched Olivia's limp form sink deeper into the crimson-stained water, the anticipated relief never came.
Instead, a hollow ache clawed at her chest. Regret. It was a foul, uninvited guest.
Before logic could intervene, Isabella lunged.
She plunged her arms into the warmth of the bath, grappling with the dead weight of Olivia's unconscious body.
The sudden, sodden heaviness sent a jolt of ice through Isabella's nerves as she hauled her onto the cold tiles.
"Damn you, Olivia," Isabella hissed through gritted teeth, her voice trembling with a mixture of rage and desperation.
"Why must you always do this? You're a spiteful wretch, even at the end."
