Chapter 3

The front door opened and closed softly just after 2 a.m. Israel didn' t move from his chair in the living room, where he' d been staring into the darkness for hours.

Isabella walked in, her heels clicking on the hardwood floor. She stopped when she saw him.

"Izzy? You're still up."

She came over, trying to sound casual. "Look, about the interview... my PR team said it was a good angle. Portraying me as a self-made woman, you know? It wasn't meant to be a reflection on you."

He didn't believe her. The excuse was too neat, too rehearsed.

As she leaned in to kiss him, he caught a scent. It wasn't her perfume. It was an expensive, masculine cologne he didn't recognize. The lie was so blatant it made his stomach turn.

"I'm tired, Bella," he said, pulling away slightly.

Her smile faltered for a second. "Of course. It's been a long day." She tried to sound warm, to smooth over the sudden distance between them. "I have an early meeting tomorrow. I should get some sleep."

He watched her, a strange numbness settling over him. He felt like he was watching a stranger, someone he had once known a long time ago. He wanted to scream, to confront her, to demand the truth. But what was the point? He was too tired to fight. He was done.

"Goodnight, Izzy," she said, her voice a little too bright.

She turned and walked up the stairs, leaving him alone in the dark. He didn't say anything. He didn't try to stop her. He just sat there, listening to her footsteps fade away, feeling the last six years of his life crumble into dust.

He didn't sleep. He just sat in the chair until the sun started to rise, painting the sky in shades of gray.

His phone buzzed. It was his lawyer.

"I have the papers, Israel," David said, his voice subdued. "Are you sure you want to do this?"

"Yes," Israel said. "And I want to add a clause."

"Okay. What is it?"

"I want her to give up all her shares in Stone Industries."

David was silent for a moment. "Israel, that's her entire company. That's everything. A judge will never approve that. It's punitive."

"I don't care," Israel said, his voice hard. "She said our marriage was a transaction, a debt of gratitude. Fine. Let's settle the debt. She can have her freedom, and I'll take the company she built on my back. Put it in, David."

He was about to hang up when a shrill, piercing alarm cut through the house.

It was coming from Harriet' s room.

Israel dropped the phone and sprinted down the hall. The monitor by Harriet' s bed was flashing red, the flat, continuous tone a sound he had prayed he would never hear.

He grabbed his phone, his hands shaking as he dialed 911. "I need an ambulance. My mother-in-law is in cardiac arrest."

He started CPR, the movements automatic from the training he' d insisted on years ago. Between compressions, he tried calling Isabella.

It went to voicemail.

He tried again. And again.

On the fourth try, a man' s voice answered. A voice he recognized with a jolt of ice-cold shock.

Buddie Spencer.

"Who is this?" Buddie asked, his voice thick with sleep.

"Where is Isabella?" Israel demanded, his voice raw.

"She's sleeping. Don't bother her," Buddie said dismissively.

The paramedics burst through the door at that moment, pushing him aside and taking over.

Israel stumbled back, the phone still pressed to his ear. "Put her on the phone right now, you son of a bitch. Her mother is dying."

There was a pause, then the line went dead. Buddie had hung up on him.

Israel tried calling back, but the phone was now off.

He watched helplessly as the paramedics worked on Harriet, his mind reeling. She was with him. After all this time, she was with Buddie Spencer.

He sent one last text message, his fingers numb.

"Your mother is on her way to St. Mary's Hospital. If you want to see her one last time, you'd better be there."