Isabel returned home earlier than planned, arms full of gifts for Paul’s birthday, only to hear voices upstairs. Her heart pounded as she climbed the stairs, spotting a trail of unfamiliar clothing.
Peering through the slightly open bedroom door, she froze. Her husband, Paul, lay in their bed—another woman beside him.
“Again?” Paul smirked, turning to Jane, his mistress, oblivious to Isabel standing at the doorway.
When he finally noticed her, he remained completely unfazed. “Oh, you’re early. Isabel, meet Jane.”
“Hi,” Jane said nonchalantly, making no effort to cover herself.
Isabel’s shock turned to fury.
“She’s in our bed, Paul! Wearing my robe!”
“You said you’d be home by seven. It’s not even 5:30,” he replied, as if that justified everything. “Pick up your stuff and leave for a few hours.”
Jane stretched lazily. “Yes, honey, ten seconds to disappear.”
Shattered, Isabel decided to leave him for good. As she packed, Paul confronted her. “Leaving? And where exactly do you plan to go?” he taunted.
“I’ll take the kids with me!” she declared.
Paul chuckled darkly. “Without my money? Without a home? Think again. And if you go, you’ll never see Julia and John again.”
Terror gripped her. She had no resources, no allies. Paul held all the power. For now, she had to stay.
The next day, Paul returned home with Jane as if nothing had happened. “Morning, sweetheart,” he said, grinning. “Set the table for three, would you?”
During breakfast, he made an announcement. “Jane is moving in.”
Isabel’s heart clenched. Enough.
She contacted a lawyer, Charles, but he refused to help. “Paul is too powerful. Find something against him, then call me,” he said before hanging up.
That night, a desperate plan formed.
The next morning, as Isabel poured Jane a cup of coffee, she struck. “Paul doesn’t love you. He loves control. Help me, and I’ll make you rich.”
Jane hesitated, then smirked. “70/30 split.”
“Deal.”
But Jane betrayed her. Days later, Paul cornered Isabel. “Trying to turn my mistress against me? I won’t hit you, but I will make your life unbearable.”
Trapped, Isabel devised a final move.
Disguised as a maid, she snuck into Paul’s office, searching for incriminating evidence. Just as she found damning documents, her phone buzzed. Paul.
She looked up—cameras. He had seen her.
Panic surged, but she quickly snapped photos and sent them to the media and police. Then Paul arrived.
“Take her!” he barked. “She’s crazy!”
As security grabbed her, Jane smirked triumphantly. But then—police stormed in. “Paul Yeats, you’re under arrest.”
Stunned, Isabel watched Paul get handcuffed. Then she saw Charles standing nearby.
“I thought you wouldn’t help me,” she murmured.
Charles shrugged. “You did the hard part.”
Jane, pale and shaken, muttered, “I should’ve taken your offer.”
Isabel turned to her, voice steady. “You never would have gotten it.”
With Paul gone, she walked away, free at last, ready to start over with her children—this time, on her terms.