Isabel hurried home, her arms full of bags and neatly wrapped gifts, eager to surprise Paul for his birthday. A smile played on her lips as she imagined his reaction. But the moment she stepped inside, something felt off. The house was too quiet. Then, faint voices drifted from upstairs, followed by a soft, feminine laugh.
Her heart pounded as she noticed a trail of unfamiliar clothes scattered on the floor. A dress, lacy lingerie—items that did not belong to her.
Dread twisted inside her as she climbed the stairs. With shaky hands, she pushed open the bedroom door just a crack, just enough to see inside.
Her breath caught in her throat.
There, in the bed they shared, was Paul—with another woman.
“Would you like to do it again?” Paul’s voice was playful, teasing, completely oblivious to Isabel’s presence.
Jane, the woman curled up beside him, giggled and ran a hand over his chest. “Only if you promise to make it even better this time.”
Isabel’s stomach churned. The bags in her hands slipped to the floor with a thud, and at last, Paul turned his head. But instead of looking guilty or ashamed, he was as calm as ever.
“Hey! Jane, this is my wife, Isabel,” he said casually, as if introducing them over dinner instead of in their marital bed.
Jane barely acknowledged her, just offering a lazy “Hi.”
“This is insane!” Isabel choked out, her voice trembling with rage. “How could you—”
“Relax,” Paul interrupted smoothly, running a hand through his hair. “Why are you back so early?”
Isabel stared in disbelief. “That’s my robe she’s wearing, Paul! She’s in our bed, and you’re asking why I’m early?”
Paul shrugged. “You said you’d be back by seven. It’s not even five-thirty. Pick your stuff up and get lost for a couple of hours.”
“Yeah,” Jane smirked. “You’ve got ten seconds to disappear, honey.”
Tears burned in Isabel’s eyes. This wasn’t just betrayal—it was humiliation. She couldn’t take it anymore.
She turned and stormed downstairs, grabbing clothes from the guestroom. She was leaving. She had to. She couldn’t stay another second under the same roof as this monster.
As she stuffed her things into a suitcase, Paul sauntered into the living room, watching her with amusement.
“Where do you think you’re going?” he asked.
“I’m leaving you,” Isabel spat. “The kids will stay with me.”
Paul’s smile disappeared. “Leaving me? And where exactly will you go?”
Isabel’s heart clenched. He was right—she had nowhere to go. She had no family, no friends, no support system. Paul had made sure of that.
“And Julia and John?” Paul continued, his voice growing colder. “What happens to them when I block your credit cards? How will you feed them?”
Isabel’s blood ran cold. “You have your mistress. What do you want from me and my children?”
Paul leaned in, his voice a whisper laced with poison. “They’re my children too. And don’t forget, without me, you’re nothing.”
The words stung, but Isabel lifted her chin. “I’m leaving, Paul. And that’s final.”
Paul smirked. “Fine. Walk out that door. But if you do, you’ll never see your children again.”
A sharp pain stabbed Isabel’s chest. She knew Paul had the power to keep his promise. He had connections, influence. If he wanted to, he could make sure she never laid eyes on Julia and John again.
For now, she had to stay. But she wouldn’t let her children become pawns in his game. The next morning, she sent them to summer camp—far away from Paul’s reach. Then, she prepared for war.
When Paul and Jane returned the next day, they waltzed in like nothing had happened.
“Hello, wife,” Paul greeted, smirking. “Sweetheart, how are you?”
Jane tossed her purse on the table. “Hi, Isabel.”
Isabel clenched her fists. Paul had no shame.
“Set the table for three, will you?” Paul said, guiding Jane to the dining area.
Fury boiled in Isabel’s veins. But she bit her tongue. For now.
As they ate, Paul began bragging about his business deals, his wealth, his power—trying to make her feel small. Then he dropped a bombshell.
“We should make this a regular thing. Jane should move in.”
Isabel choked on her food. “What?”
“Finally, the spectator speaks,” Paul mused. “Is there a problem?”
Jane beamed. “That’s a great idea! Will you help me move my stuff, darling?”
“Of course.”
Isabel’s stomach turned. Enough was enough.
That night, as Jane unpacked her bags, Isabel made a call. She found a divorce lawyer online, Charles, and begged for his help.
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Yeats,” Charles sighed. “Your husband is too powerful. No lawyer will take this case.”
“Please,” Isabel whispered. “I have to get my children away from him.”
Charles hesitated. “Find something against him. Proof. Then call me back.”
The next morning, as Jane sat sipping coffee in Isabel’s kitchen, Isabel made her move.
“I know why you’re with Paul,” Isabel said, sliding a cup toward Jane. “It’s for the money, isn’t it?”
Jane smirked. “Paul loves me.”
Isabel leaned in. “Paul only loves himself. Help me, and I’ll make you rich.”
Jane raised an eyebrow. “How rich?”
“Fifty-fifty split,” Isabel offered.
Jane thought for a moment. “Seventy-thirty, and I’m in.”
Isabel hesitated, then nodded. “Deal.”
Two days later, Isabel and Jane met to finalize their plan.
“Did you get any evidence?” Isabel asked.
Then came a chilling voice from behind them. “Get what?”
Isabel’s blood ran cold. Paul.
Jane smirked. “You really thought I’d help you? Paul’s money is worth more than whatever you could offer.”
Paul stepped forward, eyes gleaming. “I won’t hit you, Isabel. I won’t give you that kind of power over me. But I will make your life unbearable.”
Tears streamed down Isabel’s face. “Paul, please. Don’t take my children away from me.”
Paul’s lips curled into a cruel smile. “Until I decide what to do with you, you’re not leaving this house.”
But Isabel refused to give up. One night, while Paul was away, she disguised herself as a maid and snuck into his office. She searched his desk, snapping photos of illegal documents—proof of his corruption.
Her phone rang. Paul.
Her heart stopped. He knew she was there.
She sent the photos to the police, media—everyone.
Seconds later, Paul stormed in with security. “Take her!” he bellowed. “She’s crazy!”
Just as Isabel thought it was over, the doors burst open.
“Mr. Yeats, you’re under arrest.”
Paul’s face twisted in shock as police handcuffed him. Isabel turned and saw Charles standing outside.
“I guess he’s a good man after all,” she whispered.
As Paul was dragged away, Jane gaped at Isabel. “I should have taken your offer.”
Isabel smiled. “I wouldn’t have given you a cent.”
For the first time in years, Isabel was free. She would start over—with her children and a future that was finally hers to control.
