Betrayed by My Husband, Claimed by the Mafia King

It was their fourth year wedding anniversary 

Everything was perfect.

The grand hall glowed under dazzling lights, filled with laughter, music, and the soft clinking of glasses. At the entrance stood a large, elegant portrait of a couple—Isabella and her husband, Jackson—smiling as if nothing in the world could ever come between them.

Beneath it, bold golden letters read:

**“Happy 4th Anniversary — Mr. & Mrs. Jackson.”**

It was meant to be a night no one would ever forget, A celebration sealed in memory, wrapped in laughter and love.

 And unforgettable it became. Just not for the right reasons.

Isabelle Jackson was already seated inside the hall, dressed beautifully, her presence graceful and composed. Guests filled the room, chatting, drinking, and admiring the luxurious setup.

Reporters surrounded the venue, flashlights flickered endlessly. Some were even live-streaming the event.

After all, Jackson was a well-known figure. His anniversary was bound to attract attention.

Everything was in place, Everyone was present.

Except for him, Jackson was nowhere to be seen.

Isabella stood among the guests, her smile fading with every passing second. Beneath her composed appearance, anxiety slowly crept in, tightening around her chest.

She had called him. Again and again.

Her fingers trembled slightly as she dialed his number one more time, her heart pounding, her breath uneven.

The call wouldn’t go through.

A thin layer of sweat formed on her skin as panic began to settle in. She tried to steady herself, to hold onto whatever thing she had left—but it was slipping.

people were beginning to notice Whispers spread quietly at first, then grew louder. Heads turned, every eye followed her every move.

Unable to bear it any longer, Isabella turned and walked toward the restroom.

The moment the door closed behind her, she let out a shaky breath.

“Where are you, Jackson…?” she whispered, her voice breaking softly.

Her reflection stared back at her—beautiful, composed… and slowly falling apart.

“This was supposed to be our night,” she murmured. “Our special night… So where are you?”

Then—Her phone buzzed.

For a moment, her heart lifted.But it wasn’t him.

It was a notification.

A message from the hospital,Her breath hitched as she opened it.

Earlier that day, before coming to the event, she had gone for a medical test. For years, one question had silently haunted her—*Was she the reason she couldn’t give her husband a child?*

Her fingers trembled as she read the result again.

**She was perfectly fine.**

The message added:

*“You may come with your husband for further examination.”*

Her eyes slowly lifted. So…It wasn’t her.

Then why—Her throat tightened.

A knock came suddenly.

She froze.

“Isabella?” a voice called gently from outside.

It was a woman—someone well-known, close to Jackson, and one of the key figures behind the event.

“I noticed you’ve been in there for a while. Are you alright?” The lady asked in a cool tone 

Isabella hesitated before answering and opening the door. 

“I’m fine…” she said softly, though her voice betrayed her.

“Have you tried calling him?” the woman asked with concern.

“I have,” Isabella replied, her grip tightening around her phone. “I’ve been calling him… I don’t know what’s wrong. I even called home. He’s not there.”

“Hold on, I will ask my husband to call him “ with that she left Isabella standing in the hallway. 

Another message came in.

This time, it was from her stepsister, Noval.

> *“Sorry I missed your anniversary. I just got back from my trip. See you tomorrow.”*

Isabella stared at the message, her expression slowly changing.

After a moment, she straightened herself, forcing her emotions back into place after standing alone for a while 

She opened the main door and stepped out, her movements slower now, more fragile.

Then she returned to the hall. But the moment she stepped back in.

She felt it.

The shift.

The stares.

The whispers were no longer subtle. Reporters had already picked it up.

Cameras turned toward her again.

Voices rose. A reporter stepped forward boldly, his voice cutting through the noise.

“Mrs. Jackson, where is your husband? Are you the only one attending your own anniversary?”

Another voice followed immediately.

“I heard they’re not even a happy couple.”

A third one laughed lightly.

“Maybe it’s because she hasn’t given him a child in four years.”

The words spread like poison.

People pointed.

Some whispered behind their hands.

Some didn’t even bother hiding their amusement.

Isabella heard everything. Every single word.

Her chest tightened, but she refused to break down in front of them.

Not here.

Not like this.

Isabelle tood there, frozen, her heart sinking deeper with every passing second.

Then suddenly—She moved.

She ran.

Out of the hall.

Out of the lights.

Out of the humiliation.

Ignoring the voices, the cameras, the calling reporters behind her.

The night air was cold against Isabella’s skin as she ran.

Her breath came in uneven gasps, her heels striking the pavement in a hurry, desperate rhythm. The world behind her blurred—the lights, the voices, the humiliation.

She didn’t stop.

She couldn’t.

Her mind was fixed on one place. Her stepsister’s house. ( Noval)  she removed her heels and ran as fast as she could. 

Feeling every cold from the ground, ignoring the people looking at her. A lot of them were videoing her with their phones. 

When she arrived at her step-sister place, her hands trembled as she pushed the door open.

It wasn’t locked, The house was quiet… too quiet.

“Noval?” she called softly, stepping inside.

But No answer.

Her heartbeat quickened.

She began to move further in, her steps cautious now, her chest rising and falling rapidly. Then—Voices From upstairs.

She froze. A familiar voice drifted down the hallway.

Low. Calm.

Her heart skipped. 

Jackson…?