Chapter 5
As Isabella stepped into the backyard, his final words kept echoing in her
mind.
“Even if I marry her, I’ll never let her have my child.”
Those words sliced through her heart like a knife, leaving her numb from the pain.
Under the cold moonlight, memories drifted through her mind.
Not long after the wedding, her usually frugal parents had sent a package from the United Kingdom to congratulate her–thoughtful gifts, each picked with care.
Among them was an elegant haute couture dress.
She’d been thrilled, slipping it on with excitement, secretly imagining the look of surprise and admiration on James’s face when he saw her in it.
But the moment he walked through the door and saw her in the dress, hist face darkened.
“Who permitted you to wear this brand? Take it off.”
She’d thought he simply disliked the brand, so she never wore it again.
Then one day, Jessie mentioned it with a mocking gleam in her eyes, “James knows I love Loro Piana, so he invested in the company and became a shareholder. All their custom pieces are designed to suit me perfectly.
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“I’ve already exchanged all the dresses and jewelry–do you want them, by any chance?”
Jessie paused, then let out a laugh, as if suddenly remembering something.
“Oh, silly me. I forgot. This brand was made for me. It wouldn’t suit you.
The night breeze brushed across Isabella’s face, leaving it cold and expressionless.
Only when she reached up did she realize her face was soaked with tears. She closed her eyes and wiped them roughly.
If his heart was forever locked, then she would find her way forward.
He could have his beloved. She would return to the United Kingdom and resume her role as an Interpol officer.
They would go their separate ways, no longer entangled. Better for both
of them.
At dinner the next evening, James was gentle and attentive as he served food to Jessie.
Isabella paused, her appetite vanishing. She stood, about to leave.
“Sit down!” James barked.
She turned and saw the anger etched between his brows.
But the next moment, his expression softened as his gaze settled on her worn–out face.
“You’ve lost so much weight,” he said with a sigh, then pointed to a few dishes on the table.
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“Send these to Ms. Coffey’s room.”
Jessie glanced at him, her tone laced with sarcasm. “I always thought. James was aloof and indifferent, too proud to care about these little things.
“But marriage does change a man. Seems like he’s learned how to care for others.”
Isabella’s heart twisted with bitterness.
James’s actions looked considerate, but the dishes he pointed out were the same ones she used to deliver to the chapel for him.
Just catching a whiff of his favorite–bluefin tuna sashimi–made her
stomach turn.
And yet, he had never even noticed.
“Take good care of Madam Catley,” he told the servants before turning to leave.
Thud!
His wallet slipped from the pocket of his suit jacket and landed on the floor, flipping open to reveal half a photo.
Jessie frowned and bent down to pick it up, but James rushed over and blocked her.
She narrowed her eyes, a mocking smile spreading across her face. “Was that a photo of a woman? Could it be Ms. Coffey?”
“Don’t be ridiculous! You saw it wrong!”
James snapped, his jaw tightening. He seized her wrist, his voice rough
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and strained.
Isabella felt as though a blade had cut through her chest. The pain was raw and biting.
She didn’t believe the woman in the photo was her.
In their three years of marriage, he’d never even spared her a second glance–so, why would he carry a photo of her in his wallet?
“I’m heading to the office,” James muttered and quickly grabbed the wallet before walking away.
The sweep of his coat brought a chill that cut straight through her, like ice thawing in early spring–sharp and merciless.
The next morning, a blood–curdling scream jolted her awake.
“Mrs. Keane… You…”
A maid stood at the door, face pale, so shocked she couldn’t form a full
sentence.
Isabella’s stomach dropped. She bolted to the vanity.
In the mirror, she once fair chest was now defiled by a tattoo–crude, filthy words inked deep into her skin. No matter how hard she scrubbed, they wouldn’t come off.
Her vision darkened, the world spinning around her.
For someone in law enforcement–especially someone who worked undercover–a tattoo was forbidden.
This wasn’t just a violation. It was a cruelty worse than death.
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Jessie strolled in casually, her voice soft and sweet with poison.
“James has been praying for me at the chapel for years. I figured it was time I returned the favor.
“Too bad I’m not good with plant–based dye. I meant to make a handkerchief, but your fair skin was the perfect practice canvas.”
Rage and humiliation exploded inside Isabella, shattering her last bit of
control.
She stepped forward and raised her hand.
Slap!
Slap!
Two crisp, merciless slaps landed squarely on Jessie’s face.
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