Chapter 3

James stood there for a long moment before finally turning sideways and saying, in a cold, detached voice, "Do whatever you want."

The front door slammed shut with a bang, and Isabella collapsed onto the sofa, trembling all over.

She couldn't help remembering six years ago—standing on a stage in a dress she had designed herself, blinded by camera flashes, the thunder of applause rolling up from the crowd. 

And now she was here. Locked away in a mansion like some abandoned wife. Even her own son wouldn't call her 'Mom' anymore.

She was done living like this.

Isabella went back to the bedroom and pulled a suitcase from beneath the bed. She opened her closet and began folding her clothes one by one, placing each piece neatly inside.

There weren't many. Six years in this house, and she still couldn't fill even half a suitcase.

James had never bought her anything. And she had never asked him to. Every dollar she saved had gone to Jasper—his clothes, his toys, his books—everything she wished someone would have given her.

She opened a drawer and reached into the very back, pulling out a small box. Inside was her college capstone award, a small silver sculpture with clean, elegant lines. She had carved and shaped it over an entire semester. It held the last pure piece of her ambition.

She placed it carefully into the suitcase, then took out her phone and dialed a familiar number.

"Hello? Isabella?" Chloe's voice came through the line.

"I miss Mom and Dad," Isabella said. The moment she heard her sister's voice, something in her unraveled, heat stinging the back of her nose.

Back then, her relationship with James had exploded into a public scandal. The Tudor Family had been humiliated, furious, and unwilling to let her marry into a situation that already looked toxic. They had begged her to leave the country until the dust settled.

But she insisted. She married James anyway. And spent months locked in a silent war with her parents for it.

The line was quiet for a second, then Chloe asked softly, "Isabella, are you crying?"

Isabella touched her cheek. Only then did she realize her face was already wet.

"Isabella, hey, you're scaring me. Where are you? Did James do something again?" Chloe's voice rose, panic edging every word.

"I'm fine." Isabella drew in a breath, forcing her voice to even out. "Chloe, I'm filing for divorce."

That afternoon, Isabella rolled her suitcase out of the mansion that had caged her for six years. She didn't text James. She just left a signed divorce agreement on the table.

Six hours later, her plane landed at Tech Harbor International Airport.

Dragging her suitcase into the arrivals hall, she spotted Chloe immediately at the exit.

"Isabella!" Chloe ran straight into her, hugging her so tightly that Isabella stumbled back a step.

Isabella patted her sister's back, her voice hoarse. "Alright, alright. You're too old to cry like that."

"I'm not crying!" Chloe swiped at her face, red-eyed and indignant. "You're the one crying. Your eyes look like two walnuts."

A laugh slipped out of Isabella before she could stop it. Then, without warning, her eyes filled again.

"Let's go home," Chloe said, looping her arm through hers.

In the parking lot, Chloe's car was waiting in their usual spot. She started the engine and pulled out onto the road.

"Oh, by the way," Chloe said as she drove. "Do you remember Joseph? Your old business partner?"

Isabella thought for a moment. Back before she'd even graduated, she really had worked with someone named Joseph Miller. 

They'd rented a drafty underground garage as a studio. In the winter, she had designed sketches wrapped in a comforter, her fingers numb and aching.

Eventually, the studio gained enough traction to catch the attention of a major design company. They bought it out. That payout had been her first real success.

And then she'd met James. She left everything behind. Joseph drifted out of her life soon after.

She nodded. "Yeah, I remember. What about him?"

"He reached out last month. Said his company is looking for a design director and asked if you'd be interested. I didn't want to answer for you, so I told him I'd pass the message along."

Isabella didn't respond at first. She watched the landscape move past the window, her voice barely above a whisper when she finally spoke, "I haven't touched design in six years. I'm scared I won't be good enough anymore."

Chloe slid her a sidelong glance. "Just try. You've got nothing to lose."

Isabella looked at Chloe, understanding her well-intentioned efforts.

She also thought that now that she had divorced James, she deserved to live the life she truly wanted. With a soft smile, she said, "Alright then, give me his contact information."

The car turned into the Tudor Family driveway minutes later.

When Isabella stepped out, she saw them—her parents—waiting at the door.

"Dad… Mom…" Her voice broke as she walked toward them.

Ava Davis didn't say a word. She simply wrapped her arms around Isabella, holding her with a gentleness that almost undid her completely. Hayden Tudor stood beside them and ruffled Isabella's hair the same way he used to when she was little.

"You're home," Hayden said, his voice rough but warm with love.

Isabella buried her face in her mother's shoulder as silent tears slipped free.

That night, the Tudor Family laid out a full dinner for her—everything she loved, every comfort she had starved for. Chloe sat across the table, chattering away about everything that had happened over the years.

It had been so long since Isabella had felt wanted. The warmth seeped into places in her chest she didn't even realize were frozen.

Her phone rang. A number she didn't recognize.

She hesitated, then answered.

A warm, low voice came through. "Is this Isabella? It's Joseph."

Isabella shot up from the couch and stepped out onto the balcony, steadying her breath. "Yes. It's me."

"I heard you're back in town. Would you like to grab dinner sometime?" Joseph paused midsentence, then corrected himself quickly. "To talk about work, I mean. If your husband minds—"

"It's fine," Isabella cut in, her tone light, almost weightless. "He won't. We're getting divorced."