In a quiet cottage by a lake shimmering under the silver moon, a woman dressed in white stood, her gaze fixed on the man before her.
"Max." Her voice was soft, trembling with the weight of years.
He shifted awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck, unable to meet her eyes.
"Isabella Ruth… I—"
Tears welled up in her eyes as she stepped closer, reaching to embrace him, but Max jerked away.
"Why, Max?" Isabella's voice cracked. "Is it because I was… defiled by that man?" Her tone turned bitter, her shoulders shaking as if the admission itself froze her blood.
Max turned his face aside, unable to bear the pain in her eyes. "We… we can't be together."
Her breath caught, a knife twisting in her chest. For a moment, silence fell between them, heavy as stone.
But Isabella Ruth forced a smile through her tears, her voice trembling with both despair and defiance. "Don't worry, Max. That man is already dead. I killed him with my own hands. Now nothing stands between us."
