Chapter 8\u00a0<\/p>\n
87\u00a0<\/p>\n
I did not even finish reading the first page.\u00a0<\/p>\n
I grabbed the divorce papers and ripped them clean in half. Then again. And again. White scraps fell to the floor like trash.\u00a0<\/p>\n
I looked at the lawyer and said flat, \u201cBring Isabella to me. Put her right in front of my eyes. I will not sign anything unless she shows up herself.\u201d\u00a0<\/p>\n
He opened his mouth, probably to argue.\u00a0<\/p>\n
My phone rang.\u00a0<\/p>\n
I answered without looking away. \u201cTalk.\u201d\u00a0<\/p>\n
\u201cBoss,\u201d my man said, voice tight, excited. \u201cWe found Mrs Vanderbilt. And the kid. Ryle\u00a0<\/p>\n
is with her.\u201d\u00a0<\/p>\n
My blood rushed.\u00a0<\/p>\n
\u201cGood,\u201d I said. \u201cBring them to my office. Now.\u201d\u00a0<\/p>\n
I stood up already. \u201cShe\u2019s been hiding for days. Let her explain herself. I\u2019ll deal with her personally.\u201d\u00a0<\/p>\n
The lawyer shifted uncomfortably. \u201cMr Vanderbilt, maybe there is something you\u00a0<\/p>\n
should hear first-\u201d\u00a0<\/p>\n
I turned slowly.\u00a0<\/p>\n
\u201cGet out,\u201d I said. \u201cOr I will cut you in half and let you crawl out!\u201d\u00a0<\/p>\n
He did not test me. He grabbed his briefcase and left so fast he almost tripped.\u00a0<\/p>\n
I walked straight to my office. Every step was sharp. Controlled. Anger sitting clean in my chest.\u00a0<\/p>\n
I had already planned what I would say. What punishment fit running away with my son. What fear would make her stop pulling these stunts.\u00a0<\/p>\n
The doors opened.\u00a0<\/p>\n
The room was quiet.\u00a0<\/p>\n
Too quiet.\u00a0<\/p>\n
Two black body bags were laid on the floor.\u00a0<\/p>\n
Side by side.\u00a0<\/p>\n
Small one.\u00a0<\/p>\n
Bigger one.\u00a0<\/p>\n
I stopped then I laughed.\u00a0<\/p>\n
11:06 Wed, Jan 28\u00a0<\/p>\n
I looked at my men. \u201cWhat is this? Another act?\u201d\u00a0<\/p>\n
No one laughed with me.\u00a0<\/p>\n
\u0e1c\u0e25\u00a0<\/p>\n
I walked closer, shoes echoing. \u201cIsabella!\u201d I said loudly. \u201cYou were kidnapped for a whole year because I staged it. I never thought you\u2019d become this dramatic.\u201d\u00a0<\/p>\n
I nudged one of the bags with my shoe. \u201cPlaying dead now? What is this. A punishment reversal?\u201d\u00a0<\/p>\n
Still nothing.\u00a0<\/p>\n
I frowned slightly. Annoyed.\u00a0<\/p>\n
\u201cEnough,\u201d I said. \u201cGet up.\u201d\u00a0<\/p>\n
No movement.\u00a0<\/p>\n
I crouched and yanked the zipper down on the smaller bag.\u00a0<\/p>\n
Ryle.\u00a0<\/p>\n
His face was white. Lips blue. Hair stiff with dried salt. His eyelashes clumped together. He looked like he was sleeping badly.\u00a0<\/p>\n
Fuck!\u00a0<\/p>\n
Something slammed into my chest.\u00a0<\/p>\n
Hard.\u00a0<\/p>\n
I grabbed his shoulder. \u201cRyle,\u201d I barked. \u201cStop it.\u201d\u00a0<\/p>\n
His body rolled limply.\u00a0<\/p>\n
My breath hitched.\u00a0<\/p>\n
\u201cFucking no,\u201d I said, quieter now. \u201cThis isn\u2019t funny!\u201d\u00a0<\/p>\n
My hand shook as I reached for his neck.\u00a0<\/p>\n
Nothing.\u00a0<\/p>\n
The room tilted.\u00a0<\/p>\n
I ripped open the second bag.\u00a0<\/p>\n
Isabella.\u00a0<\/p>\n
Her face was calm. Too calm. Bruises dark along her collarbone. Her hands were raw, fingers swollen and cracked. There were marks on her wrists. Old ones. New ones. Her lips were pale, slightly parted, like she had something left to say but ran out of\u00a0<\/p>\n
time.\u00a0<\/p>\n
I stared.\u00a0<\/p>\n
Long. Then I laughed again. Louder. Wrong.\u00a0<\/p>\n
\u201cThis is fake,\u201d I said. \u201cShe\u2019s good. I admit that. This is impressive.\u201d\u00a0<\/p>\n
2\/4\u00a0<\/p>\n
74\u00a0<\/p>\n
30.0%\u00a0<\/p>\n
11:06 Wed, Jan 28\u00a0<\/p>\n
No one spoke. I reached out and slapped her cheek.\u00a0<\/p>\n
87\u00a0<\/p>\n
Hard. Her head rolled to the side. She did not react and something in my head cracked.\u00a0<\/p>\n
\u201cWake her up,\u201d I snapped. \u201cNow!\u201d\u00a0<\/p>\n
My men did not move.\u00a0<\/p>\n
I grabbed her shoulders and shook her. \u201cIsabella,\u201d I said sharply. \u201cOpen your eyes.\u201d\u00a0<\/p>\n
Her head lolled back.\u00a0<\/p>\n
Cold.\u00a0<\/p>\n
Too cold.\u00a0<\/p>\n
My throat closed.\u00a0<\/p>\n
I pressed my forehead to hers without thinking.\u00a0<\/p>\n
Ice.\u00a0<\/p>\n
My hands came away wet. I looked down. Salt water. Blood. I could not tell which was which anymore.\u00a0<\/p>\n
The room started ringing.\u00a0<\/p>\n
\u201cNo,\u201d I whispered. \u201cNo. You don\u2019t get to die like this. Isabella!\u201d My voice rose. \u201cYou don\u2019t get to leave.\u201d\u00a0<\/p>\n
I pulled her into my arms like she weighed nothing. Like she was still mine.\u00a0<\/p>\n
Somewhere behind me, one of my men spoke,\u00a0<\/p>\n
\u201cBoss\u2026 they were in the water too long. The kid went under first. She held him up. She didn\u2019t let go.\u201d\u00a0<\/p>\n
I did not answer. I only held her tighter.\u00a0<\/p>\n
My chest burned like it was being crushed from the inside\u2026 This was fucking wrong! This was not how it was supposed to end.\u00a0<\/p>\n
She was supposed to cry. To beg. To fight.\u00a0<\/p>\n
Not this. Not silence. Not my son. Not her. Not both.\u00a0<\/p>\n
ROXANNE\u2019S POV\u00a0<\/p>\n
Today was Isabella\u2019s funeral.\u00a0<\/p>\n
Two coffins. Side by side.\u00a0<\/p>\n
One for my sister. One for her son.\u00a0<\/p>\n
Ryle.\u00a0<\/p>\n
Chapter 8\u00a0<\/p>\n
3\/4 31.0%\u00a0<\/p>\n
11:06 Wed, Jan 28\u00a0<\/p>\n
87\u00a0<\/p>\n
People kept looking at me like I was some tragic painting. I could feel it. Every stare, every sigh. So I did what I do best. I leaned into David\u2019s chest, shaking, fingers clutching his coat like I would fall apart without him.\u00a0<\/p>\n
Inside, I was laughing.\u00a0<\/p>\n
God, I was laughing so hard.\u00a0<\/p>\n
She was really gone. Buried. Finished. The woman who stood between me and everything I deserved was finally under the ground. Do you know what that feels like? It feels light. It feels like the world finally made room for me.\u00a0<\/p>\n
For years I lived as the second one. The quiet one. The one who waited. Hidden. Protected. Never allowed to stand fully beside him. But now? Now there was no wife. No child. No past blocking my way.\u00a0<\/p>\n
Now there was just me.\u00a0<\/p>\n
The whispers floated around like perfume.\u00a0<\/p>\n
\u201cSo tragic. She lost her babies and still forgave her sister.\u201d\u00a0<\/p>\n
\u201cShe handled the funeral herself. Such a kind heart.\u201d\u00a0<\/p>\n
\u201cI saw her hugging the coffins. She kept blaming herself.\u201d\u00a0<\/p>\n
\u201cAnyone else would have collapsed by now.\u201d\u00a0<\/p>\n
\u201cShe\u2019s too gentle for this world.\u201d\u00a0<\/p>\n
\u201cNo wonder David protects her like that.\u201d\u00a0<\/p>\n
\u201cIf I were him, I\u2019d never let her go.\u201d\u00a0<\/p>\n
Every word slid right into me. Warm. Sweet.\u00a0<\/p>\n
I cried harder, pressed my face into David\u2019s chest, fingers digging in like I was barely holding on. I made sure my shoulders shook. I made sure my breath broke just enough.\u00a0<\/p>\n
I knelt beside the coffins.\u00a0<\/p>\n
Two of them.\u00a0<\/p>\n
I touched Isabella\u2019s casket first. Lightly. Like I was scared it would burn me.\u00a0<\/p>\n
Then Ryle\u2019s.\u00a0<\/p>\n
Poor little thing. So small. So quiet. Lying there like he was only sleeping.\u00a0<\/p>\n
People sniffled louder when they saw that.\u00a0<\/p>\n
Behind us, my parents were crying too. Loud. Dramatic. My mother nearly collapsed into my father\u2019s arms. Anyone watching would think they were shattered.\u00a0<\/p>\n
I almost laughed again.\u00a0<\/p>\n
Chapter 8\u00a0<\/p>\n
4\/4 32.0%\u00a0<\/p>\n
11:06 Wed, Jan 28\u00a0<\/p>\n
Prepare the divorce and ruin your husband by Mark Twain 8 Chapter 8\u00a0 87\u00a0 I did not even finish reading […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"site-sidebar-layout":"default","site-content-layout":"","ast-site-content-layout":"default","site-content-style":"default","site-sidebar-style":"default","ast-global-header-display":"","ast-banner-title-visibility":"","ast-main-header-display":"","ast-hfb-above-header-display":"","ast-hfb-below-header-display":"","ast-hfb-mobile-header-display":"","site-post-title":"","ast-breadcrumbs-content":"","ast-featured-img":"","footer-sml-layout":"","ast-disable-related-posts":"","theme-transparent-header-meta":"","adv-header-id-meta":"","stick-header-meta":"","header-above-stick-meta":"","header-main-stick-meta":"","header-below-stick-meta":"","astra-migrate-meta-layouts":"default","ast-page-background-enabled":"default","ast-page-background-meta":{"desktop":{"background-color":"var(--ast-global-color-5)","background-image":"","background-repeat":"repeat","background-position":"center center","background-size":"auto","background-attachment":"scroll","background-type":"","background-media":"","overlay-type":"","overlay-color":"","overlay-opacity":"","overlay-gradient":""},"tablet":{"background-color":"","background-image":"","background-repeat":"repeat","background-position":"center center","background-size":"auto","background-attachment":"scroll","background-type":"","background-media":"","overlay-type":"","overlay-color":"","overlay-opacity":"","overlay-gradient":""},"mobile":{"background-color":"","background-image":"","background-repeat":"repeat","background-position":"center center","background-size":"auto","background-attachment":"scroll","background-type":"","background-media":"","overlay-type":"","overlay-color":"","overlay-opacity":"","overlay-gradient":""}},"ast-content-background-meta":{"desktop":{"background-color":"var(--ast-global-color-4)","background-image":"","background-repeat":"repeat","background-position":"center center","background-size":"auto","background-attachment":"scroll","background-type":"","background-media":"","overlay-type":"","overlay-color":"","overlay-opacity":"","overlay-gradient":""},"tablet":{"background-color":"var(--ast-global-color-4)","background-image":"","background-repeat":"repeat","background-position":"center center","background-size":"auto","background-attachment":"scroll","background-type":"","background-media":"","overlay-type":"","overlay-color":"","overlay-opacity":"","overlay-gradient":""},"mobile":{"background-color":"var(--ast-global-color-4)","background-image":"","background-repeat":"repeat","background-position":"center center","background-size":"auto","background-attachment":"scroll","background-type":"","background-media":"","overlay-type":"","overlay-color":"","overlay-opacity":"","overlay-gradient":""}},"footnotes":""},"categories":[60],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-23539","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-his-regret-my-victory-novel"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/kezpres.xyz\/novelreading\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/23539","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/kezpres.xyz\/novelreading\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/kezpres.xyz\/novelreading\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/kezpres.xyz\/novelreading\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/kezpres.xyz\/novelreading\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=23539"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/kezpres.xyz\/novelreading\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/23539\/revisions"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/kezpres.xyz\/novelreading\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=23539"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/kezpres.xyz\/novelreading\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=23539"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/kezpres.xyz\/novelreading\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=23539"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}