Twisted Ties of Love (Izabella Salotti and Brett) novel Chapter 584

As Wendy posed the question, Izabella suddenly realized she was referring to the trending topic on the internet.

Izabella shook her head, “Bell isn’t me, she's been gone for many years now.”

“How did she die?”

“On her birthday, which coincidentally fell on June 1st, not a single soul wished her a happy birthday. That day, the only greeting she got was a notification from Twitter, and beneath it, the comments were curses, urging her to just die. And then, that day, she silently left us, as if she had never existed…” Izabella’s gaze fell, her trembling lashes barely concealing her sadness.

Misconceptions, indifference, relentless targeting, and malicious speculation... These were the things that killed “Bell.”

Wendy cried again, claiming to be a fan of “Izabella,” yet she knew none of this.

Izabella, who starred in her first high school drama series, was still Bell back then. She always had a sweet smile for everyone, shy in front of the camera. She’d turn around to respond to anyone who called her name, and if fans showed up on set, she’d diligently sign autographs and offer a personalized blessing for each. Taking photos with fans was just part of her routine.

The Bell of the past may have been insecure, but her eyes sparkled with hope...

Bell, the one who wrote screenplays that grossed billions, was choked by society's cruelty.

“Can she come back?” Wendy asked.

Izabella shook her head, “Once gone, she can't return.”

Izabella didn’t know if Wendy grasped the subtext, whether she understood that “they” had once killed a person, or if, like those online, she thought it was just an illness, a death of a persona.

Many fans worship celebrities as if chasing a “dream,” but it’s more about control, satisfying their urge to dominate. They feel almighty behind their keyboards as if they can dictate the fates of others.

Take Bell for instance, condemned for a whole year based on baseless accusations spread by marketing accounts.

Fan culture should be joyful, yet somehow it had curdled into something sour, a blind following of hate campaigns, destroying the very person they once loved, as well as the person they aspired to be.

Did those who once cursed Bell feel any regret when they saw the stories she wrote?

They knew Izabella couldn’t return, and neither could Bell. The stories Bell left became the sole testament that she had been here.

She was irreplaceable.

Izabella had long since erected a tombstone for Bell, visiting it every June 1st, on Children's Day.

The photo on the gravestone showed Bell at 20, already diagnosed with severe depression. Her attempted smiles were more like cries, her eyes heavy with sorrow.

Izabella opened her bag and took out a handful of candy, placing it carefully in front of the gravestone. “Bell, happy Children’s Day, and happy birthday.”

“This world remembers you, knows you. You're no longer Izabella’s understudy; you're Bell, the one who wrote screenplays that made billions. The world is getting better. There will be more girls treated kindly, not used as pawns by their parents for money or married off for a dowry, nor reduced to mere childbearing tools. They will finish their education, pursue careers, grow stronger, and fight for their dreams until they find a family that truly cares for them.”

As she spoke, Izabella felt a growing sorrow, for Bell had not tasted a moment’s happiness in her troubled life.

“Thank you, Bell.”

The Bell in the photo smiled softly. Izabella stood, lingered for a moment, then walked away.

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