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Isabel had been with Charles for five years, yet she held no status or title. Eventually, he grew weary of her and decided to propose to his ideal woman. In desperation, I begged him not to leave me. He sneered at me, saying, "Isabel, who are you pretending to be pitiful for? The ways you cling to me are becoming more and more varied. Unfortunately, you have no right to negotiate with me." What he didn't realize was that I wasn't pretending—I was genuinely ill. And while he bet with his friends on how long it would take for me to beg him again, my life was counting down. Later, I died on the day of his wedding. He went mad and no longer wanted his ideal woman.

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