Isabel entered her home, arms laden with carefully selected gifts, eager to surprise Paul for his birthday. However, her excitement waned as she heard voices coming from their bedroom. A frown creased her forehead; something felt wrong.
A quick glance at the staircase heightened her anxiety—women’s clothing was strewn across the steps, forming a path that led directly to their room.
Her heart raced as she ascended the stairs, each step bringing her closer to the unsettling scene behind the slightly open door.
Then she saw them.
Paul, her husband, entwined in the sheets with another woman.
The world around her seemed to tilt. The gifts slipped from her grasp, landing on the floor with a dull thud.
Paul turned lazily, seemingly unconcerned, stretching as if she had merely interrupted a nap rather than discovering him in bed with someone else.
“Oh,” he said, completely unfazed. “Hey, Jane, this is my wife, Isabel.”
Jane barely lifted her head from the pillow. “Hi,” she said nonchalantly, a smug smirk playing on her lips.
Isabel’s breath came in sharp, ragged gasps. “This is insane,” she spat, her voice trembling with rage. “How could you—”
Paul sighed, as if her reaction was unreasonable. “Relax. You said you’d be back by seven. It’s not even 5:30.”
“That’s my robe she’s wearing, Paul,” Isabel shot back, her voice rising. “And she’s in our bed! And you’re worried about what time I got home?”
Paul waved her off dismissively. “Just pick up your things and take a couple of hours away.”
Jane rolled onto her side, smirking. “Yeah, honey, you’ve got about ten seconds to disappear.”
The audacity left Isabel breathless. The betrayal cut deep, but the sheer arrogance? It was almost laughable.
She turned on her heel, forcing herself to stay composed. She wouldn’t let them see her break.
She made it downstairs before allowing herself to crumble. She needed to escape. She had to take her children and run.
But just as she was stuffing clothes into a bag, Paul’s voice sliced through the silence.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
Isabel straightened, facing him. “I’m leaving you, and the kids are coming with me.”
Paul scoffed. “Leaving me? And where exactly do you plan to go?”
The weight of his words pressed heavily on her chest. He was right—she had nowhere to turn. No family, no friends, no money of her own.
“And Julia and John?” he continued, his tone turning cruel. “What happens to them when I block your cards? When I ensure you can’t afford even a meal?”
Isabel swallowed hard. “You have your mistress. What could you possibly want from my children and me?”
Paul’s smile was icy. “They’re my children too. And don’t forget, Isabel—without me, you’re nothing.”
The air felt suffocating.
“I’m leaving, Paul. That’s final.”
Paul shrugged. “Be my guest. But if you walk out that door, you’ll never see them again.”
His words froze her in place.
He meant it.
He had the power to do it. The connections, the resources, the ruthlessness.
The fight drained from her body. If she wanted to protect her children, she needed a new plan.
So she stayed.
The next morning, she sent Julia and John to summer camp. It was something they had been begging for, and now it was the only way to keep them safe.
Paul hadn’t returned home that night. The last she had heard of him was at midnight when he left with Jane.
So when he strolled into the kitchen the next morning, his arrogance on full display, Isabel braced herself.
“Hello, wife,” he said, grinning as he draped an arm around Jane’s shoulders. “How are you?”
Jane waved from the dining table. “Morning, Isabel.”
Isabel stared at them, gripping the coffee pot to steady her shaking hands.
“No greeting for our guest?” Paul teased, mocking her silence. “How rude.”
Isabel forced a smile, suppressing her rage.
“I guess you’re not in the mood for pleasantries. Well then, set the table for three, please.”
She clenched her jaw and complied, all while plotting her next move.
During breakfast, Paul boasted about his business deals, wealth, and influence.
Then he dropped the final bombshell.
“I think Jane should move in.”
The fork in Isabel’s hand clattered against her plate.
“What?”
Paul leaned back, relishing her reaction. “What? Is there a problem?”
Jane grinned. “I love that idea! Will you help me move my stuff, darling?”
“Of course, why not?”
Isabel sat frozen.
She and her children deserved better than this.
That night, she found a divorce lawyer online. His name was Charles.
“Please,” she pleaded when he hesitated. “I need help.”
But Charles sighed heavily. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Yeats. Your husband is powerful and dangerous. I can’t take this case.”
Tears stung her eyes. “Please. I have nothing—nowhere to go.”
The lawyer was silent for a long moment. Then he spoke. “Find something against him. Something solid. And then call me back.”
Easier said than done.
Paul knew how to cover his tracks. He was careful, calculated.
But Isabel wasn’t going to be his victim.
She was going to fight.
She had an idea. A dangerous one.
One morning, as she poured Jane a cup of coffee, she casually remarked, “Paul only loves himself, you know.”
Jane raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”
“I know why you’re here,” Isabel said, watching her closely. “You want his money. So do I. Help me, and we’ll split everything I get in the divorce.”
Jane laughed, but Isabel noticed a flicker of consideration in her eyes.
“Seventy-thirty,” Jane finally proposed.
Isabel pretended to think it over before nodding. “Deal.”
But Jane betrayed her.
Paul overheard everything.
That night, his mask slipped entirely.
“I won’t hit you,” he whispered, his breath hot against her face. “I won’t give you a weapon to use against me. But I will make your life unbearable.”
Isabel’s stomach twisted in fear.
She had no choice.
She had to escape.
Dressed as a maid, she slipped out of the mansion and into Paul’s office. She rifled through his drawers, searching for anything illegal.
Then, her phone buzzed.
She froze.
Paul’s name flashed on the screen.
Her blood ran cold.
He knew.
Security burst through the doors, and Paul sauntered in behind them, smirking.
“Take her,” he ordered. “She’s my wife, and she’s insane.”
Isabel struggled and screamed, knowing this was the end.
Then, the front doors slammed open.
Police officers rushed in.
“Mr. Yeats,” one of them barked. “You’re under arrest.”
Paul’s smug expression shattered.
Isabel turned, her breath catching in her throat.
Charles.
The very lawyer who had refused to help her was standing beside the police cars.
Relief washed over her like a tidal wave.
As Paul was dragged away, Jane’s smug grin faltered.
“I should have taken your offer,” she muttered.
Isabel turned to her, eyes blazing. “I never would have given it to you.”
She walked away, free.
She had won.
And this time, she was in control.
