Chapter 2: You'll Regret This

The echo of Isabella's heels followed her up the staircase like a pulse, steady, deliberate and unyielding.

  She didn’t stop until she reached their bedroom, the same one that had once felt like a sanctuary but now stood as a mausoleum for everything she had lost.

  The morning light filtered through the tall windows, soft and golden, spilling across the room and clashing cruelly with the turmoil inside her chest.

  Without hesitation, Isabella crossed the room to the closet. The faint click of hangers replaced the silence as she began pulling out her clothes — dresses, blouses, silk scarves and folded them with precision. Each one a relic of a life she no longer wanted.

  Her hands shook only once, when she reached for the travel suitcase. It was the same one she had used six years ago on their honeymoon. She pressed her lips together and forced the tremor away. There was no time for nostalgia.

  She packed quickly and efficiently. And by the time she zipped the last bag shut, the polished floor was littered with perfume bottles, discarded jewelry boxes, a half-finished book she once pretended to enjoy because Julien had recommended it, all of them fragments of her old life.

  She heard the rumble of an engine outside. The driver she had booked must have arrived early.

  Isabella straightened up, brushing the wrinkles from her cream blouse, then reached for her luggage handle. Just as she was about to proceed she stopped and took one last glance at the mirror. Only this time, the woman staring back at her looked different. Not broken however, but empty. And with a new kind of clarity in her eyes.

  She exhaled and turned toward the door.

  The moment she stepped into the hallway, he was there.

  Julien.

  He stood in front of her, one hand gripping a thin white envelope — her envelope. The one she had left on the breakfast table some minutes ago. His jaw was rigid, eyes sharp enough to cut glass.

  For a fleeting moment, neither of them spoke. They just stood there. Silent. 

 But the air between them was brittle, crackling with a silence that felt ready to shatter.

  Then he spoke, his voice low and dangerous.

  “What is the meaning of this?” he demanded, shaking the papers in his hand. “A joke? Some pathetic attempt at getting my attention?”

  She missed a heartbeat, but she didn’t flinch. “It’s exactly what it says, Julien. A divorce.”

  Julien’s expression darkened, disbelief flashing across his face, but it was immediately replaced by fury. “A divorce?” He asked then laughed coldly. “You think you can walk out of this family after everything we’ve done for you? After everything I have given you?”

  Isabella tilted her chin slightly. “Given me?” she repeated softly. “What, exactly, have you given me, Julien? Silence? Pity? Your ex-fiancée in my home?”

  Julien's face twisted. “Watch your tone.”

  “Or what?” she asked quietly. “You’ll pretend to love me again?”

  The blow didn’t come, not yet. But she saw the flicker in his eyes, that dangerous restraint teetering on the edge.

  “Ungrateful,” he hissed. “You would have been nothing without this name.”

  “Then perhaps it’s time I find out what I can be without it,” she said, her voice steady.

  He took a step forward, but before he could speak again, another voice echoed behind him.

  “Well, well,” came Margaret’s sharp tone, slicing through the air like a blade. “I was wondering how long this charade would last.”

  Isabella froze.

  Julien’s mother stood at the end of the hall, Victoria beside her, poised and radiant as ever with a faint smirk playing on her lips.

  Margaret walked closer, her pearls glinting with each movement. “Running away, are we?” she sneered, eyeing the luggage. “How convenient. Did you think you’d take what doesn’t belong to you?”

  Before Isabella could respond, Margaret’s hand shot forward, yanking the delicate diamond necklace from Isabella’s neck. The clasp broke with a sharp snap, leaving behind a red mark on her neck.

  “This,” Margaret spat, holding the necklace up, “was from Julien. A gift from my son. Not something a thief gets to keep.”

  The mention of that word — thief — stirred something in her. 

  “I am not a thief,” Isabella whispered, her voice trembling with suppressed rage.

  “Oh, please,” Victoria drawled, crossing her arms. “You’ve been stealing since the day you married him. His affection, his time, his mother’s goodwill — all of it wasted on you.”

  Margaret turned sharply to the maid standing nearby. “Cancel her cards. Every single one of them. I won’t have her living off our name another day.”

  For a moment, the maid hesitated, glancing at Isabella. But then Margaret’s glare hardened. “Now!” She screamed.

  Julien said nothing. He just stood there, jaw tight, his expression unreadable.

  Something inside Isabella began to fracture.

  Six years of swallowing insults, of smiling through humiliation, of being told she was lucky to belong here... it all rose up, raw and uncontrollable.

  “Enough,” she said quietly.

  Margaret’s brows shot up. “What did you just say?”

  “I said enough,” Isabella repeated, louder this time. “You can take your jewelry, your money, your house. I don’t need any of it.” Her voice cracked slightly but she pressed on. “I just want my freedom.”

  Julien moved suddenly, closing the distance between them. “Freedom?” His tone dripped venom. “You think this is freedom? Walking out like a coward after everything I’ve tolerated from you?”

  Her eyes blazed. “Tolerated?”

  He leaned closer, his breath cold. “You don’t get to walk away from me, Isabella. You’re my wife.”

  “Well, not anymore,” she said, and her tone made him still. “You signed me away the moment you brought her back into this house.”

  For a second, he looked stunned as if she had struck him.

  Then the fury returned, sharper and louder this time. “How dare you speak to me that way!”

  He raised his hand, fast, instinctive, but before it could connect, a hand touched his wrist.

  “Julien,” came Victoria’s voice, sweet and poisonous. “Don’t.” She moved between them gracefully, her eyes never leaving Isabella’s face. “She’s not worth your anger, my love. Don’t stoop so low to her level.”

  Julien’s chest heaved, his arm trembling before he let it fall.

  Margaret stepped closer, her eyes filled with venomous pride. “Yes, Jules. Don’t let this dog bring you low.”

  The word hit Isabella like a slap. Her throat tightened, but she refused to look away.

  Victoria smiled, tilting her head slightly. “Why don’t you just leave, darling? I’ll make sure Julien reviews your little papers and sends them back — signed, if you’re lucky.”

  She paused, then added with a smirk, “Though between us, I wouldn’t hold my breath. Some men prefer real women, after all.”

  That did it.

  The rage Isabella had buried deep, the hurt, the betrayal, the humiliation... all of it erupted.

  “Oh, you forgot something,” she said suddenly, her voice calm, almost too calm.

  Victoria blinked. “What?”

  “This.”

  Isabella slipped off her wedding ring. The small golden band gleamed once in the light before she threw it toward them. It hit the marble floor with a soft clang, rolling before coming to rest between Julien’s polished shoes.

  The silence that followed was thick and heavy.

  Julien looked down at the ring and then up at her. His expression turned from disbelief to pure, cold rage.

  He stepped closer, so close she could see the veins pulsing in his neck. Then, without warning, he spat on her. 

 The warm, degrading sting of it landing just below her cheek.

  Isabella didn’t move. She didn’t wipe it away either. She just looked at him — her emotions and thoughts spinning.

 Then came Julien’s voice, low and shaking with fury. “You’ll regret this.”