Isabel returned home earlier than planned, arms full of gifts for Paul’s birthday, only to hear voices upstairs. Her heart pounded as she climbed the stairs, spotting a trail of unfamiliar clothing.

Peering through the slightly open bedroom door, she froze. Her husband, Paul, lay in their bed—another woman beside him.

“Again?” Paul smirked, turning to Jane, his mistress, oblivious to Isabel standing at the doorway.

When he finally noticed her, he remained completely unfazed. “Oh, you’re early. Isabel, meet Jane.”

“Hi,” Jane said nonchalantly, making no effort to cover herself.

Isabel’s shock turned to fury.

“She’s in our bed, Paul! Wearing my robe!”

“You said you’d be home by seven. It’s not even 5:30,” he replied, as if that justified everything. “Pick up your stuff and leave for a few hours.”

Jane stretched lazily. “Yes, honey, ten seconds to disappear.”

Shattered, Isabel decided to leave him for good. As she packed, Paul confronted her. “Leaving? And where exactly do you plan to go?” he taunted.

“I’ll take the kids with me!” she declared.

Paul chuckled darkly. “Without my money? Without a home? Think again. And if you go, you’ll never see Julia and John again.”

Terror gripped her. She had no resources, no allies. Paul held all the power. For now, she had to stay.

The next day, Paul returned home with Jane as if nothing had happened. “Morning, sweetheart,” he said, grinning. “Set the table for three, would you?”

During breakfast, he made an announcement. “Jane is moving in.”

Isabel’s heart clenched. Enough.

She contacted a lawyer, Charles, but he refused to help. “Paul is too powerful. Find something against him, then call me,” he said before hanging up.