Isabel arrived home earlier than planned, arms full of gifts and warm intentions. She had spent the day gathering everything her husband loved—his favorite wine, a new tie, even the chocolate truffles he claimed only she knew how to choose. She was going to surprise him for his birthday.

But when she stepped into their foyer, something felt off. There were high heels on the floor that weren’t hers, a coat she didn’t recognize draped over the banister. Laughter echoed faintly from upstairs.

Her stomach clenched.

She climbed the staircase slowly, dread curling around her spine. The bedroom door was ajar. She pushed it open and froze.

Paul was in their bed with another woman.

“Want to go another round?” he asked, grinning.

When he finally noticed her, standing in the doorway, pale and wide-eyed, he didn’t flinch.

“Oh, hey. Jane, this is my wife, Isabel.”

“Hi,” the woman said, lounging like she belonged there.

“You’re—” Isabel’s voice cracked. “How could you?”

“You said you’d be back at seven. It’s not even 5:30,” Paul replied coolly. “Why are you early?”

“My robe. She’s wearing my robe. She’s in our bed!” Isabel’s voice rose in disbelief.

“You’re making a scene,” he said flatly. “Pick up your stuff and come back in a couple of hours.”

Jane chuckled from the bed. “Yes, sweetie. Ten seconds to disappear.”

Isabel turned away before her legs gave out. Her heart was breaking, but she wouldn’t let them see her cry. She packed a bag in the guest room, determined to walk away from this madness with her dignity intact.

But Paul found her downstairs.

“Packing, huh?” he asked, eyes dark.

“I’m leaving. And I’m taking Julia and John with me,” she said, steeling herself.

“And going where, exactly?” he taunted. “You’ve got no family left, no friends, no job. Without me, you’re nothing. Remember that.”

“I don’t care. I’m done.”

“Go ahead,” he sneered. “But you’ll never see your children again.”

The words stopped her cold. Paul had power, connections. He could follow through. She knew it. That was his real weapon—not fists, but fear. Control.

So she stayed. But she didn’t stop thinking.

The next day, she sent the kids to summer camp. They’d begged to go. She said yes, this time for their safety.

Paul hadn’t come home that night. When he returned the next morning with Jane in tow, he acted like they were the happy couple.

“Good morning, sweetheart,” he chirped. “How are you?”

Jane smiled, draping herself over the dining chair. “Isabel.”

Paul kissed her cheek like it was nothing. “Set the table for three.”

Isabel did it in silence.

“Actually,” Paul said, mid-bite, “Jane’s moving in.”

Isabel stared at him.

“What?” she managed.

Paul smirked. “Problem?”

Jane beamed. “He’s helping me move my stuff in tonight!”

Isabel said nothing. But inside, something hardened.

She called a lawyer she’d found online—Charles. Her voice shook as she explained the situation, how she feared for her children, how she needed to get out.

“Your husband is dangerous,” Charles said bluntly. “No one will take this case.”

“Please,” she whispered.

He paused. “Find something. Evidence. Then call me.”

That night, as Jane arrived with her suitcases, Isabel’s plan began forming.

The next morning, she offered Jane coffee. “Wearing my cape, huh?”

“It’s gonna rain,” Jane replied, not looking up.

Isabel sipped her drink. “Paul doesn’t love you. He only loves control. You want money? Help me.”

Jane’s interest perked.

“Fifty-fifty split,” Isabel said. “You help me gather dirt on him, I walk away, and you get a cut.”

“Seventy-thirty,” Jane countered.

Isabel hesitated, then nodded. “Deal.”

Two days later, they met to plan their next move.

“Did you get anything on him?”

But before Jane could respond, a voice behind them sent Isabel’s heart into her throat.

“Get what?”

Paul.

Isabel whirled around. “Paul, this isn’t—”

“You think I didn’t see this coming?” he hissed. “Jane’s loyalty costs less than a yacht. She’s mine.”

“Paul, please—”

He stepped closer. “I won’t hit you. I don’t need to. I’ll ruin you in other ways.”

“I’ll do whatever you want! Just don’t take my children!” Isabel sobbed, falling to her knees.

Paul’s smile was slow and wicked. “Thank you for the idea. From now on, you don’t leave this house.”

She tried calling Charles again. He refused to help. “Don’t contact me again,” he said, and hung up.

The days that followed were worse than prison. Paul’s guards watched her. Jane mocked her. And her children—Paul kept them away, saying she was “sick.”

Then came the opportunity.

Paul left on a trip. Isabel disguised herself as a maid and slipped out, heading straight to Paul’s office. She used a spare keycard and searched through files until she found what she needed—ledgers, secret accounts, questionable transactions.

Just as she was snapping photos, her phone rang. Paul.

Cameras.

She grabbed everything she could and ran.

But Paul was already there when she reached the lobby. With security.

“She’s unstable!” he shouted. “My wife broke in!”

“Paul, please!” Isabel cried.

Just as the guards grabbed her, the doors burst open again.

Police.

“Mr. Yeats, you’re under arrest.”

Paul’s face went slack as handcuffs clicked around his wrists. “This is a mistake!”

A familiar figure stood behind the officers.

Charles.

He met Isabel’s stunned gaze and gave her a small nod.

Outside, Jane stood frozen. Her eyes widened as she saw Paul dragged away.

“You should’ve taken my offer,” she muttered.

Isabel turned to her, calm and clear. “I never meant to give you a cent. You don’t deserve it.”

She walked away from the mansion, the nightmare, the past.

Isabel had lost everything before—her home, her safety, her illusions. But now she had something more precious: freedom.

And soon, she’d have her children back, too.