Benjamin gave a slight nod, his voice steady and deferential. “Of course, Mr. Blackwood.”

Isabella pushed through her front door, every limb weighed down by fatigue.

She sank onto the couch, digging through her purse for her phone. The screen lit up, forcing her to blink against the sudden glare.

Her gaze locked onto Sophia’s newest Instagram update—a sleek black Bentley parked beneath the soft haze of streetlights. The license plate was one she knew by heart, sending a jolt of painful familiarity straight through her. In the picture, Sophia looked utterly serene, her makeup flawless, a gentle smile gracing her lips as she playfully flashed a peace sign.

The caption below cut even deeper.

“I mentioned it was late. Next thing I knew, he was driving across the entire city just for me.”

Each word felt like a razor slicing into Isabella’s heart.

So, Ethan had chosen to be with Sophia.

A wave of sickness washed over her. Her vision swam, her stomach clenching violently.

She clamped a hand over her mouth, staggering toward the bathroom. Her other hand braced against the wall as she pitched forward, heaving miserably into the toilet.

But no matter how hard she tried, only a bitter, acidic taste filled her mouth.

Defeated, she slid down against the cool wall, collapsing onto the floor. Tears streamed down her face unchecked.

Her heart lay in pieces, each fragment aching with a deep, relentless throb.

She had thought she was ready for the divorce. She had believed she could handle it. But the moment she saw Sophia’s post, the brutal truth crashed down—she had severely overestimated her own strength.

On the glaring screen, Sophia’s smug expression seemed to mock her, taunting her fragility and her foolish confidence.

Isabella’s fingers tightened around her phone, her knuckles turning white with resolve.

She couldn’t spend another moment tied to that despicable man.

Divorce was the only way to free herself from his toxicity.

This conviction burned within her, consuming every thought, leaving no space for peace.

Sleep never came that night.

The next morning, Isabella forced herself out of bed. The evidence of the long night was stamped beneath her eyes in dark, puffy circles.

Her reflection stared back, pale and drained. She reached for her makeup, layering foundation in a futile attempt to hide the exhaustion.

But no cosmetic could mask the profound weariness and despair that had settled into her bones.

That unbearable post from Sophia was the final straw—Isabella’s last thread of restraint snapped.

She realized, with painful clarity, that some things were simply beyond saving, no matter how desperately she wished otherwise.

She drew a slow, steadying breath and set her compact down with a soft click.

Divorce was her only path forward.

It was time to build a new life—for herself, and for the unborn child she carried.

Walking into the office, Isabella’s day immediately soured as she came face to face with Sophia.