If I Can't Have Love, I Want Power

by Fragilelittleflame

[HOPELESS series - part four] My husband had ruled the underworld of Chicago for decades. I had been at the top of Hollywood's elite for just as long. He had his way of revenge. I had mine. AU/AH/RATED M

40. Look What You Made Me Do

CHAPTER 27

I got smarter, I got harder in the nick of time

Honey, I rose up from the dead, I do it all the time

~ Taylor Swift, Look What You Made Me Do

HPOV

IF I CAN'T HAVE LOVE, I WANT POWER | The People v. Isabella Cullen

Alice Whitlock & Rosalie Cullen

It was a topic the family seemed to skirt around, so I decided to start off small and bring it up to Alice and Rosalie.

They were an integral part of the family, mothers to the new generation of Cullen's and Whitlock's. They were the picture-perfect housewives and seemed more than happy about playing that role perfectly. They spent their husbands money however they deemed fit and enjoyed their life of luxury planning events and gossiping over brunch.

There was nothing wrong with their choice of life. But it was vastly different from the life of their sister-in-law and it showed. They were all close, all loved each other and cared for one another, but there was a very obvious line drawn between them.

A line I was fairly certain had been drawn thirty years ago when their sister-in-law put four bullets in Aro Volturi's chest.

"Is it okay if we talk about the trial for a bit?" I asked, watching each of them stiffen.

They nodded after sharing a hesitant glance.

"Neither of you ever showed up to court," I started.

Guilt darkened their eyes.

"No," Alice said softly. "We should have. Edward told us not to, but we still should have. Especially after… after he was gone we should have been there for her."

"Why didn't you?" I asked as kindly as I could.

Rosalie sighed, a sad noise that seemed to be filled with decades of regret. "It was a very tumultuous time in our lives. There were always camera crews outside of our homes and news coverage of our every move. It's ridiculous, we know. It's the same thing Bella has dealt with since she was sixteen, but it wasn't something we were ready for."

Alice nodded. "Then Edward… we really did think he was gone. I didn't handle it very well, losing him. Which I know is selfish, because as much as I love my brother… there is nobody on the planet who loves him more than Bella. Nobody at his funeral or memorial was more devastated about it than her. But I–I don't remember saying a single word to her the entire day."

"People handle grief differently," I told her gently. "I'm sure she didn't expect anything from you."

"She was in jail," Rosalie said quietly but firmly. "She was on trial. And her husband was dead. We should have been there for her."

–Love|Power–

Ben Cheney

I liked to research people before talking to them. Liked to know what I was getting myself into before diving into the deep end of an interview.

Ben Cheney was a different story.

There was nothing on him to research, aside from decades worth of posts of women–and men–lusting after him from candid photos of him following Bella around.

That level of anonymity didn't come easily. It was something he had to work day and night to protect. So it was nothing short of a shock to have him volunteer his time for an interview.

We sat in the nosebleeds of the nearly finished new stadium in Chicago after one of the many run throughs had finished. It was surprisingly quiet and calm up here.

"I heard you were talking about the trial," he said, his voice an unsettling mixture of politeness intertwined with an underlying threat.

"Yes."

"I wasn't there for the trial," he told me. "Left town for an extended… sabbatical before she was arrested. But I was there for the actual incident. Knew as soon as the cops demanded she go in for a statement the second they showed up to the house they were going to try and take her down."

The sabbatical was a cover. There had been a warrant for his arrest issued the same time as Bella's. The running theory was that Edward told him to get out of town.

That wasn't what I wanted to focus on, though. Ben was probably closer with Bella than her sisters-in-law, closer than most people save for her husband.

"She didn't deserve it," he said firmly. "Even before the trial, she'd been through more shit than most people are expected to survive. And she did it with a smile on her face and a dozen cameras watching her every move."

I nodded, remembering that Ben was the one to carry her from the red carpet to an ambulance after she was shot. After she was shot and a crowd too thick for an ambulance to get through surrounded her.

"You two are close," I surmised. Not a question. Just an observation I hadn't made before. He only just came back, working security for the show. He had retired as her personal security years ago.

A hesitant smile pulled at his lips. "It's my job to take a bullet for her if needed. And I would, any day of the week. I haven't worked for her in a professional capacity in years, but I would still take that bullet. Without a second thought."

Ben finished with a nod. Knowing he had said all he needed to with those few words.

So many people saw her as this cold hearted, unapproachable thing instead of a person. And I could tell a dozen different stories about celebrities nowhere near Bella's level of success with overinflated egos who treated their teams, security included, like absolute trash.

It was nice to know, even three decades ago, Bella was the kind of woman who could befriend even her incredibly intimidating security personnel.

It was also a stab in the gut to know that was the same woman the world refused to believe. The one they turned their backs on so quickly, so eager to tear her apart and watch her burn.

–Love|Power–

Edward Cullen

He knew. Somehow, he already knew what I was going to talk to him about. I could tell from the sharp angle of his eyes and the way his jaw visibly tensed every few minutes.

Edward sat on a dark leather chair in his home office, eyes scanning the small crew setting up around us.

I liked to think I had come to know him in the last few weeks. More than the average person at least. Which was why the few nervous ticks I could spot were so surprising. He had run his fingers through his hair at least a dozen times so far. Scrubbed his hand over his chin four times since he sat down. And snapped at the set designer who attempted to get too close.

She was used to it. And every time Bella walked past her she apologized for whatever indiscretion had happened that day.

"Have you talked to her about it yet?" Edward asked, eyes hard as he looked at me.

"No."

He nodded. "Take her outside when you do. Sometimes the memories make her feel… cooped up. Trapped. Fresh air helps."

I nodded. Slightly in awe of how this man, who was supposed to be the devil incarnate, cared so deeply about his wife of thirty-plus years. He knew her, inside and out. When they were in the same room their movements were nearly mirrored, one constantly compensating for the other. Always knowing where each other was. Each of them always ready to jump in front of a bullet for the other without a second thought.

I shook my head, clearing my throat as I looked down at my notes. "How do the memories make you feel?"

"Like a fucking failure."

His brutal honesty surprised me. It must have shown on my face, because I could have sworn he nearly laughed before he composed himself again.

"I should have protected her better. She never should have ended up in the position of having to protect herself the way she did. And she sure as hell never should have ended up on trial for saving her own life."

I nodded, having to agree. Looking back, it was a little outrageous, being put on trial for shooting a man who broke into her home. It was also easy to see just how much the prejudices of the Chicago Police Department played into the charges.

"What was it like for you? The trial?"

He thought for a minute, hand running through his hair again. "It was the kind of torture you never recover from, even after the physical wounds heal."

We were both quiet. I hesitated asking any of the dozens of questions I had, and it was the first time Edward ever volunteered any information without probing.

"I remember everything. In excruciating detail. I remember how tight she squeezed my hand right before she was taken into custody and I remember getting told she was in the hospital after getting attacked while incarcerated. I watched my wife slowly wither away while on trial and had to listen to the whole world celebrate while it happened.

"They were all so goddamn quick to turn on her. All so eager to watch her fall from grace with a buckets of popcorn in their laps and a smiles on their faces as if she weren't a real fucking person. As if it were all just for their entertainment."

Edward took a deep breath, seemingly to calm himself as he leaned forward with his elbows on his knees. His eyes met mine, forest iris' swimming with decades of pent-up frustration. "Do you have any idea what a year in jail is like? How dehumanizing going on trial and having to answer questions under oath is? I mean, Christ, Call had her discussing our goddamn sex life and the judge allowed it."

He lost his search for any sense of calm, anger flaring behind his eyes. "Bella has always been the exception. And not in a good way. In the way that people can preach about advocating for mental health but then slam her for going to rehab at eighteen. In the way a man is celebrated for making a good business move but she's called calculated and controlling."

He huffed, sitting back. "Nobody has any idea. What that year was like for her. How long it took her to let go of it. How much it still haunts her to this day."

I always had lists and lists of questions when I sat down for these interviews, especially for Edward. He didn't usually volunteer much information. This time, he answered everything I wanted and more without nearly any probing.

And it was obvious why. So clear that the trial was something that still haunted him too.

"What was she like?" I asked quietly. A question that hadn't been on my original list. "When she got out?"

Edward sighed. "About twenty-pounds underweight and scared of her own shadow."

I flinched. I had seen the pictures of her, the dramatic weight loss as the trial went on.

"The trial… it changed her in a lot of ways. Ways people like to hold against her. But they're the ones who crucified her, who burned her at the stake. They're the reason she needed to change in order to fucking survive."

His anger was palpable. A heavy weight to the air that settled between us. The kind of anger, I realized, that made his own reputation equally as notorious as his wife's.

His lips twitched with a hint of a smile, as if he knew exactly what I was thinking.

"People have always underestimated her," Edward added, an almost serene smile forming on his face. "I did it when I first met her and thought she would just be some airhead actress. Aro did it when he thought he could break in and she wouldn't put up a fight. Call thought he could break her on the stand. Hollywood thought they could shove her into the perfect little box and tell her what to do and how to do it. Lawrence thinks he can exploit her life story and get away with it."

Edward leaned forward again, and I saw the glimmer in his eye. The hint of the man he was constantly hiding inside of him. "But Isabella Cullen does not break. She does not let anyone else get the last word. People can call her petty or vindictive for that, but I don't–" His voice cut and I watched him swallow. He ran his hand through his hair again, eyes meeting mine. "I don't know how she would have survived without that level of tenacity."

That rare glimpse of emotion disappeared. A slightly crooked smirk appeared on his face as he sat back in his chair. "Most people see that strong will as a bad thing. I've always found her inability to let anyone tell her what to do rather attractive."

–Love|Power–

Isabella Cullen

I spent the night before I talked to Bella about the trial immersed in it. I watched as much footage as I could find, and there were copious amounts lingering on the internet. A ridiculous amount. An amount that only came from decades of people studying every inch and trying to find a way to paint the woman in a horrible light.

Maybe I had gotten in too deep. Gotten too close. Because I couldn't really see her as the villain everyone made her out to be. Wasn't sure how anyone could, really. All I saw was a woman slowly being torn to shreds, in the public eye and on the witness stand, for not wanting to get murdered in her own home.

Yes, I understood there were many blurry lines. Aro Volturi was her biological father, a man whose disappearance her husband was accused of at the time. There was also the fact that said husband was the most notorious crime boss in the country.

But I still felt so undeniably sad watching the footage. Seeing her slowly cave in on herself. Watching her think she lost her husband, a man she was so undeniably in love with, even three decades later. Listening to the prosecutor try his hardest to undermine and villainize her.

"Who told you?" Bella asked, eying the setup as she took a seat across from me.

Aesthetically, it was a beautiful evening. The sun setting in the distance, the firepit between us glowing with a small flame that warmed the already balming early evening air around us, the sound of the pool water slightly swishing in the background. All ingredients for a calm summer night.

Except it was the night I had taken Edward's advice and asked to talk to Bella outside, nestled in the cozy little sitting area in her luxurious backyard.

I could have played dumb and asked her what she was talking about. But we both knew better. "Edward."

Her eyes drifted behind me to the left, where I knew he was standing. Always managing to show up when he knew a sensitive topic would be discussed.

I hadn't needed to tell her what we were talking about. Just as Edward had, she knew as soon as she sat down and started fidgeting with the distressed hole in her jeans and nervously adjusted thin straps of her black top.

For a moment I saw her, twenty-four-years-old and wide-eyed on the witness stand. Cheeks red as Embry Call asked intrusive questions into her sex life with her husband. Face downturned as she admitted she had been unknowingly having an affair with a married man. Eyes wide and frantic as she tried to fight against the security guard holding her back from rushing to who she thought was her husband, bleeding out in the lobby. Those same eyes, a week later, back on the witness stand and completely blank. Devoid of any emotion, any care at all about how the trial ended.

"We don't–" I stuttered. "We don't have to talk about it."

Those eyes met mine; now a few decades older and wiser. Sharper than ever, but soft as they considered my offer. Appreciative of it.

"Yes," she said quietly. "We do."

I pressed my lips together, still hesitant to pick apart her old wounds.

"He's going to talk about it. He'll exploit it for all its worth. Everyone always does."

Those last three words had my chest aching.

I couldn't imagine it. All of my worst moments, most heartbreaking memories constantly on other peoples lips. Always on the news, always used against me.

I felt Edward inch closer behind me.

Bella shook her head.

"I spent three-hundred-eighty-two days in jail," she said softly. "For killing a man who broke into my home, wrapped his hands around my neck, and tried to kill me. We don't need to go into all of those details, though. I've given that statement a good thousand times."

Bella shook her head and rolled her neck. Her eyes seemed to meet her husbands over my shoulder before falling back to mine again.

She took a deep breath. And started.

"It was on day one that they tried to question me without a lawyer for the first time. Hardly even day one. It was right after I was processed. I was put in an interrogation room, cuffed to a table, and refused to talk so Detective Biers slammed my head into the table."

As usual, she didn't need a lot of probing. She knew what needed to be said, what people wanted to hear. What she was willing to give.

"They questioned me without a lawyer a lot. Once, sometimes twice a week. Usually in the middle of the night. It was day seventy-three that a new officer escorted me out of my cell, said I had a visitor.

"I didn't. He just beat the shit out of me until an actual officer showed up."

She spoke for hours. Remembered events down to the exact number of days she had been incarcerated when they happened. She had a perfect recall of every time Detective Biers got too rough with her and every time she was illegally questioned. She never faltered as she spoke, not once. As if she were trying to get it all out as quickly as possible just to be done with it.

Until she froze.

I knew what was next. Had been eagerly awaiting getting to this part of the tale as if I were a child listening to my favorite bedtime story.

"It was–it was day three-hundred-thirty-one that a daisy showed back up on my table."

Her eyes fell to her lap, fingers anxiously picking at her nails.

She nearly smiled when she talked about the flowers at first. The smallest little detail that seemed to mean the most to her. Edward managing to get that flower to her every time he showed up in court meant more to her than just about anything.

A heavy silence fell around us. Minute after minute it grew more tense and uncomfortable until I was forced to break it. "That was the day that–"

"Yes," Bella hissed. Harsher than I had ever heard her.

"Did you–"

"I don't talk about it," she snapped. "I don't–I don't talk about it or think about it."

I pressed my lips together. It was obviously a sensitive subject but it was also an important one. "Don't you think maybe you should? Maybe it would make it easier to–"

"Nothing will make it easy," she sneered. "I thought my husband was dead. I saw his blood on the floor and went to his funeral. I sobbed over his grave. Nothing will ever change that. So I don't talk about it."

"Change the subject or we're done here," Edward's voice came from behind me. Close enough for me to feel the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

"Just one last question," I said as softly as I could. "When they announced the verdict… you didn't look happy or relieved. You looked sad."

Cold brown eyes that were reliving something that had then harden slowly met mine. "That's not a question."

"Why weren't you relieved to be found not guilty?"

Bella sighed, a defeated and sad sound from someone who rarely, if ever, showed any kind of weakness. A sound so out of character I nearly took the question back a second before she answered. Her voice was soft, as if it would have broken were she to speak any louder. "I thought I was going out into the world as Edward Cullen's widow. I would have rather gone to prison."

Edward gave me four seconds after she finished speaking. His voice was hard, firm, and set every single crewmember scrambling for their equipment to get out of the house as quickly as possible.

"That's enough."

A/N: Someone reviewed on the last documentary chapter that they felt like they were a waste of an update and it made me hesitate with this one after the cliffhanger of the last chapter. But these chapters are so so important in my opinion. So I hope most of you enjoy them as much as I do.

Also: a few people seemed confused about HPOV–H is Holly, the documentary director.

Hope you guys enjoyed this one. I'll see you next time!