Chapter 3

Isabella was sitting on the chaise couch in her bedroom, gazing out of the floor-to-ceiling windows at the metropolitan skyline. She hardly knew the lady whose hollow face was reflected in the glass. Three days had passed since the altercation. Her world had fallen apart three days prior. Not even the house staff, who knocked courteously every morning and offered her meals that she never touched, had talked to her or left her room. On the nightstand, behind an unfinished meal from the previous evening, was a plate of unfinished breakfast. Her stomach rumbled with hunger, but she ignored it. She wasn't sure if she wanted to continue eating, so she didn't. It had been impossible to sleep. She saw them each time she closed her eyes. Celeste and Adrian. The pictures. The invoices. The twins. His kids. She had experienced all phases of grieving, including heartbreak, anger, and denial, but now she had just one thing left. emptiness. A gentle knock reverberated around the room on the fourth morning. "Sweetheart?" Isabella tensed: Adrian. He spoke softly and calmly, as though nothing had happened. She didn't respond. He didn't enter even though the door creaked open a little. "You haven't had any food. You must look for yourself. She nearly let out a sour laugh. Look after herself? Her knuckles whitened as she held the silk sheets under her fingertips. How could he act as like nothing was wrong? Adrian let out a sigh. "I understand that you're upset, Bella. However, isolating oneself won't resolve the issue. We ought to speak. Speak? He wanted to chat now? Her voice was scratchy from days of solitude as she gently turned her head. "Go away, Adrian." After a moment of hesitation, he let out a quiet exhale. "I’ll be downstairs if you need me." The door closed with a click. Isabella forced herself not to cry as she clamped her eyes shut. For three days, things had been this way. Nevertheless, Adrian arrived home simultaneously. continued to behave like the loyal husband. Nevertheless, she texted her phone good night. But she knew exactly where he was headed as soon as he left for work. To her. Isabella sat still that afternoon, browsing through her phone. There were so many unread texts in her inbox. Some were from well-meaning friends who were worried about her abrupt silence following their anniversary celebration. Some were from her mother-in-law, reminding her of a charity function that was coming up. Adrian didn't. There was no need for him to text her. He was down the hall acting like a husband. A notification appeared as she was ready to lock the device. An unknown number. An attachment with a video. Isabella tapped it open and frowned. Her heart ceased beating. Heavenly. Celeste, wearing a silk robe that barely covered her body, started the film by calibrating the camera. The scene—the palatial condo Adrian had purchased for her—was all too familiar. Celeste gave the lens a languid smile. "I thought Isabella, you ought to see this. because it appears that you still think your husband is yours. The screen moved. And there he was. Adrian. Isabella's throat tightened each breath. The guy who declared his love for her. She was misled by the man who told her everything. The man who pretended that nothing had changed in their life. Adrian was seen in the video leaning on the bed while holding a glass of whiskey. He was only wearing dark pants. He still wore his wedding ring. Celeste climbed onto his lap and purred, "You're so tense tonight." Adrian tipped his head back a little and laughed. Isabella had fallen in love with the same laugh. "Maybe because my wife is suspicious." Celeste touched his jawline with her fingers. "Darling, she already knows. Why don't you simply release her? Adrian grinned. "Because she’s mine." The video ended. Isabella's lungs tightened as she sat still. As if she had been branded, her skin scorched. This actually happened. Everything. She had been stuck in grief for days, wondering whether Adrian would choose her, if he regretted his decision, or if he had made a mistake. However, he had already responded to that query in the seclusion of another woman's bed. "Because she’s mine." A claim of possession. Not affection. Something snapped inside her. She set the phone on the table slowly, gazing at it as though it were about to blow up. A profound, unnerving serenity enveloped her. She had two options. She was welcome to remain. Permit him to deceive her. Give her to him. While she suffocated under the mirage of the ideal marriage, let the world believe in it. Or... She was free to go. Not as Adrian had anticipated. Not during a tumultuous divorce that he would use to his benefit. Asking for answers he would never provide, but not in tears. No. He would be ruined by the manner she would go. She stood up, initially shaky on her feet. But suddenly, with her head held high, she straightened. She was aware of her obligations. He would never see the Isabella Marsden he had known. She grabbed up her phone and typed quickly with her fingers. Just one message. One person she could rely on. “Keira I need your assistance.” But no inquiries. Simply answer "yes." A few seconds went by. Then— Keira: In agreement. With a sigh, Isabella put her phone in her pocket. She felt alive for the first time in days. The faint hum of the metropolis outside her bedroom window felt distant, almost surreal. Her hands did not shake, but her heart beat steadily. No more. She was done. There was no going back. The strategy was well underway. Everything had been managed by Keira, including the plane disaster, paperwork, and transportation. Isabella Marsden will be gone by tomorrow.