A Man is Caught Cheating on His Wife and Acts as if Nothing Wrong – Story of the Day

Isabel unexpectedly returns home early to find her wealthy husband, Paul, with his mistress, Jane. Unfazed, Paul boldly moves Jane into their home. Paul is powerful and dangerous. Isabel can't leave but soon demonstrates her strength against him.

Isabel stepped into her home, arms laden with bags and gifts to surprise her husband, Paul, for his birthday. But as she heard muffled sounds from upstairs, a knot of dread tightened in her stomach. Her eyes caught sight of unfamiliar clothes strewn on the floor, and her heart began to race.

Ascending the stairs felt like walking into a nightmare. Paul wasn't supposed to be home yet; he should have been out celebrating with friends while she prepared his surprise. But as Isabel pushed open their bedroom door, her world came crashing down.

There, in the heart of their marital sanctuary, was Paul, intertwined with another woman. Frozen in shock, Isabel could only stare as the woman in her bed laughed softly, her head resting against Paul's chest.

"Would you like to go again?" she heard Paul whisper seductively, wholly absorbed in his mistress, oblivious to Isabel's presence. The seconds dragged on, each one a fresh wound to Isabel's heart until Paul finally noticed her. Instead of guilt or panic, his face broke into a relaxed smile as if welcoming a guest.

"June, this is my wife, Isabel. Isabel, this is June," Paul said, introducing them with a casualness that stung Isabel deeply.

"Hi," the woman, Jane, greeted from beneath the sheets, her voice dripping with smugness, not bothered by being caught with a married man.

"This is insane!" Isabel's voice rose, a mix of disbelief and fury, as she dropped the bags to the floor. Her hands trembled, and her voice cracked with emotion.

"Relax," Paul said, his tone dismissive. "Moreover, what are you doing back so early?"

"Who's that?" Isabel's voice grew louder, her eyes fixed on Jane, who lay comfortably on the bed, making no move to escape.

"Calm down!" Paul snapped, irritation replacing his earlier nonchalance as he climbed out of bed. "Why don't you just shut up and listen? There's no need for drama!"

"That's my robe!" Isabel's voice broke as she pointed at the robe draped over Jane. It was a physical manifestation of her betrayal, symbolizing her shattered trust.

"You said you'd be back by seven. It's not even 5:30!" Paul deflected, changing the subject, showing no remorse.

"Why are you back?" He continued his words like daggers to Isabel's heart.

"You know what? Pick your stuff up and get lost for a couple of hours, alright?" Paul's words were cold and heartless.

"You have 10 seconds to disappear, honey," Jane said, her tone insinuating as she lounged in bed, confident and unashamed. "You wouldn't want to be here when we continue."

"You heard her!" Paul added, smirking as he returned to bed.

Everything was happening so fast that Isabel struggled to comprehend. Her mind was a whirlwind of pain, disbelief, and betrayal.

"Wha-what?" she stammered, her voice barely a whisper.

"Time's up!" Jane chuckled, leaning closer to Paul, who mirrored her movement.

"You're still here? Oh, come on!" Paul snapped, and with those words, something inside Isabel snapped, too.

She turned to leave, her face a mask of calm, but inside, she was seething. She had loved and cared for Paul, trusting him implicitly. His audacity to bring his mistress into their home, to defile the sanctity of their marriage, was unfathomable.

As she walked away, her steps were heavy with the weight of a broken heart. Yet, there was a resolve in her stride. The man in that room was a stranger to her now. In that moment of profound betrayal, Isabel knew she had to leave.

Isabel, overwhelmed with a mix of heartache and determination, knew she couldn't hesitate any longer. Most of her belongings were still in the bedroom she shared with Paul, but she couldn't bear the thought of returning there. So, she began to pack what little she had in other parts of the house into her suitcase.

"I need to get out of here," she mumbled, her hands trembling as she threw clothes and personal items into her bag. She wanted to be far away from Paul and his mistress, Jane, who was still in their bedroom.

As she was zipping up her suitcase, lost in her thoughts of escape, she was startled by Paul's voice behind her. "Where are you going?" he asked, his tone laced with anger. Isabel didn't turn to face him, her heart pounding.

"What does it look like? I'm leaving you!" Isabel snapped back, her gaze flicking toward the bedroom's open door, where Jane was likely still waiting.

"Leaving me? And where exactly are you going to? Your god-forsaken town where I saved you from?" Paul's words were cruel, cutting deep.

Isabel tried to respond, but Paul didn't let her finish. "Or are you going to your mother, who is dead and no longer with us? Or maybe it's your friend's place - but wait, you don't have any friends. Nobody wants you. Nobody!"

He then used their children as leverage. "What about Julia and John? What will happen to them when I block your card?" His words were like a slap in the face.

"You have your mistress. What could you possibly want from me and my children?" Isabel's voice broke, tears threatening to spill. She was relieved that Julia and John were at a friend's house for a sleepover, spared from witnessing this nightmare.

"They're my children too. Without me, you're nothing. You'll end up under a bridge, desperately looking for a job," Paul continued, his words dripping with contempt.

Isabel, on the verge of tears but with a determined look in her eyes, picked up her small luggage. "I'm leaving, Paul. There's nothing you can do or say to stop me!" Her voice was firm despite the turmoil inside her.

As she headed for the door, Paul's voice stopped her. "If you want to leave, be my guest. But know that you'll never see your children again."

"How will you explain your mistress to our children? They'll never—" Isabel started, but Paul cut her off.

"I don't need to explain my actions to two adolescents. But I promise you you'll never see Julia or John again!" His words were a harsh whisper, his face twisted into a sneer.

Isabel was speechless, her mind racing. Paul didn't wait for a response; he turned and walked away, his final look a dare for her to leave.

For a moment, Isabel considered leaving, but then reality set in. She remembered the power Paul wielded. They lived in a mansion filled with security cameras, a symbol of Paul's control and influence. He had connections in high places, while she was just a housewife with barely a few dollars to her name.

She knew Paul would do everything he threatened, perhaps out of spite, to punish her. The thought was paralyzing. Isabel stood there, suitcase in hand, torn between the urge to flee and the fear of losing everything, especially her children. Realizing her vulnerability in the face of Paul's power was crushing, leaving her feeling trapped and helpless.

Isabel awoke to a new day, her heart heavy and her mind clouded with the tumultuous events that had unfolded. She had made a tough but necessary decision - instead of letting her children, Julia and John, return home, she directed them to the summer camp they had eagerly awaited.

The thought of their young, innocent eyes falling upon Jane, their father's mistress, and bombarding her with questions she had no strength to answer was unbearable.

The house felt eerily quiet and suffocating without the cheerful voices of her children. Paul hadn't returned home the previous night, and Isabel didn't need to ponder where he had spent it.

The betrayal stung afresh as she stood in the kitchen, mechanically preparing breakfast, her movements robotic, starkly contrasting the turmoil within her.

Her solitude was abruptly shattered when the front door creaked open. Her heart sank as she heard the laughter and chatter, the unmistakable sounds of Paul and Jane. As they strolled into the kitchen, Paul's hands were possessively wrapped around Jane's waist, a sight that made Isabel's stomach churn with disgust and despair.

"Hello to the wife," Paul greeted with a cheerfulness like a slap to Isabel's face. She remained stoically silent, her hands continuing to chop the vegetables with a precision that belied her inner turmoil.

"Sweetheart, how are you doing?" Paul continued, his grin wide and mocking. Isabel's heart ached with the insincerity of his words, her grip on the knife tightening as she fought back the tears threatening to spill.

"Hi, Isabel," Jane purred from behind, her voice dripping with arrogance. Isabel felt the sting of the nickname, a diminutive form of her name used to belittle her, but she refused to give them the satisfaction of a response.

"Babe, where are your manners? Say hello to our guest," Paul admonished, his words dripping with condescension. Isabel met his gaze with a glare that spoke volumes, her silence a testament to her wounded dignity.

"I see. Well then, set the table for three, please," Paul said, gently pulling Jane towards the dining table. "Trust me, she cooks well. Why do you think I married her? Plus, she can be as quiet as a mouse," he whispered loud enough for Isabel to hear, each word a needle pricking her heart.

Isabel felt a mixture of anger and sorrow. She could have protested and refused to serve them, but she knew that would only bring more pain upon herself.

I thought he loved me. I became a housewife so he could care for our family. Now he treats me like a mere servant! she thought bitterly, her eyes brimming with unshed tears as she prepared breakfast for two additional unwelcome guests.

After setting the table, Isabel took her place, her movements methodical and emotionless. Paul launched into a boastful tale, speaking to Jane with a painfully evident smugness. Isabel ate her breakfast in silence, her mind far from the conversation, lost in a maze of hurt and betrayal.

"Getting him to sell his company was easy. He was a fool to doubt me, and now I'm sure he regrets it," Paul bragged, glancing occasionally at Isabel, who kept her head lowered, focusing entirely on the food before her.

Annoyed at not getting a reaction from Isabel, Paul turned his full attention to Jane. "When he realized he had indirectly sold it to me, he just turned around and went silent."

"You're a dangerous man, Mr. Yeats," Jane cooed, her admiration palpable as she stroked his hand.

"You bet I am. And you'd do well to remember that," Paul replied, basking in Jane's adulation. He glanced at Isabel again, seeking some sign of jealousy or hurt, but she ignored him, her silence a shield against his cruelty.

Sensing an opportunity to unsettle Isabel further, Paul announced a decision bound to provoke a reaction. "You know what, ladies, I've been thinking. Since we're having such a great time, we should make this a regular affair."

Jane looked puzzled, and even Isabel, who had been detached until now, couldn't help but look up, alarmed at the implication of Paul's words.

"I mean, Jane should move in," Paul declared, his face lit up with a twisted joy.

"What?" Isabel couldn't contain her shock, her voice echoing her disbelief and pain.

"Finally, the spectator speaks. What? Is there a problem?" Paul snapped, his eyes gleaming with malice, expecting Isabel to react, yet unsurprised when she remained silent.

"Thought so," he smirked, turning back to Jane.

"Now, what do you say, babe?"

Jane paused, her smile widening. "Will you help me move my stuff?"

"Of course, why not?" Paul responded, his excitement palpable. Isabel sat in stunned silence, the reality of her situation sinking in. The home that was once her sanctuary, filled with love and laughter, had transformed into a place of her most profound sorrow and betrayal.

Isabel watched in silence, her emotions a tumultuous mix of fear, anger, and resolve, as Paul eagerly assisted Jane in moving into their home.

The reality that her husband was openly bringing his mistress into their shared space shattered any hesitations Isabel had harbored about leaving him. The audacity of his actions stoked a fire within her, fueling her determination to act.

It was just past noon when Paul and Jane left the house. Seizing the opportunity, Isabel's hands trembled as she dialed the number of a reputable divorce lawyer she had found online. She held the phone to her ear, her heart pounding as she waited for the call to connect.

"Good afternoon. Charles here. How may I be of help?" The voice that greeted her was deep and comforting, starkly contrasting the chaos that didn't exist in Isabel's mind. She had seen Charles's picture online, and as she spoke to him, she could easily picture him in a professional suit, exuding confidence.

Without hesitation, Isabel introduced herself and explained her urgent need for his services. "I need to ensure he doesn't get custody of our children," she said, her voice quivering with the fear of losing her kids to Paul.

"Mrs. Yeats, I'm sorry, but I cannot take your case," Charles replied, his tone apologetic yet firm. Isabel's heart sank.

"But why? He's got another woman in the—"

"Do you know what your husband does, Mrs. Yeats?" Charles interjected before she could continue. "Your husband is a mighty and dangerous man. He has connections in high places, some of which aren't entirely legal. Normally, I would contact him about this call, but I won't because I sympathize with your situation."

Isabel's desperation grew as she pleaded with Charles, tears streaming down her face. "Please, I'm begging you. I have two children, and I don't want to lose them! He brought his mistress into our house. I-I—" Sobs choked her words.

"Okay, okay. It might work if you find something incriminating against him, something you could use. Otherwise, your husband is too powerful for you to go against," Charles advised hurriedly.

"Call me back when you have something. I have to go, alright?" With that, Charles ended the call, leaving Isabel staring blankly at her phone, tears marking her cheeks. She wiped them away, fighting the overwhelming urge to crumble under the weight of her situation.

Isabel's despair deepened when Jane moved into the house later that day, her luggage in tow, marking her territory in what was once Isabel's sanctuary.

That night was particularly harrowing for Isabel. She lay awake, knowing that Paul had chosen to sleep in Jane's room, not theirs, gnawing at her heart. Each moment was a reminder of her marriage's betrayal and crumbling facade.

As the night stretched, Isabel's mind raced with thoughts of how to turn the tide against Paul. She needed something substantial that could tilt the scales in her favor. But what could she possibly find against a man as powerful and well-connected as Paul? The challenge seemed insurmountable, yet determination still burned within her, fueled by her love for her children and her desire for justice.

With eyes heavy from a sleepless night yet filled with a steely resolve, Isabel knew the time had come to take action. After Paul had left for work, she purposefully moved to the kitchen. There, she began making coffee, her every move calculated, waiting for Jane to appear inevitably. True to her prediction, Jane soon entered, seemingly on her way to the kitchen.

"Coffee?" Isabel offered, knowing Jane's tendency to seek benefits without exerting effort. "I'm making coffee. Do you want some?" Isabel asked, her voice tinged with a feigned casualness. She was almost certain Jane wouldn't pass up such an offer.

"Yeah, why not? Great," Jane responded immediately, her tone nonchalant as she strolled to the dining table, expecting Isabel to serve her.

"That's my cape, right?" Isabel initiated a conversation, pointing out Jane's appropriation of her clothing. Unlike Isabel, who felt a pang of irritation at this, Jane showed no signs of embarrassment, simply nodding in acknowledgment.

"Yeah, it's gonna rain," Jane replied dismissively, as if wearing Isabel's cape was the most natural thing in the world.

"Oh, don't worry, it's okay. Sit down," Isabel responded, mustering a friendly smile as she poured the coffee. She carried the cups over to Jane, her heart pounding with a mixture of anxiety and determination.

"I hope it's not poisoned," Jane quipped with a sly grin as Isabel set the cups down, implying a mistrust that was both insulting and expected.

In response, Isabel picked up what was ostensibly Jane's cup and took a deliberate sip, her actions calculated to assuage any fears. Jane watched closely, then, seemingly satisfied, picked up the cup Isabel had initially intended for herself.

"Delicious," Jane sighed, a smirk playing on her lips. But her expression soon turned more serious as she addressed Isabel directly. "What is this about?" she inquired, her eyes narrowing, sensing that there was more to this encounter than just coffee.

"Alright, let's not beat around the bush. I know exactly why you're with Paul," Isabel leaned in, her voice barely above a whisper, a mix of bitterness and strategy evident in her tone.

"And what is that?" Jane replied, her smugness evident. She put down her cup, her full attention now on Isabel, curious about what she had to say.

"Money. You can't deny it, but you know it won't last long," Isabel stated, her voice laced with both a warning and a hint of sadness. She knew all too well the transient nature of what Jane sought.

"Paul loves me," Jane asserted, her voice oozing confidence, though a flicker of doubt crossed her eyes.

"Paul loves only himself. He loves nothing else but himself and maybe order at home. Everything else is just temporary fun for him," Isabel retorted, her voice growing harsher yet layered with a sincerity born from painful experience.

"Okay, what then? Are you trying to scare me off or proposing something?" Jane's impatience was palpable, her readiness to dismiss Isabel's warnings clear in her tone.

"Help me! Help me, and I'll make you rich," Isabel finally laid her cards on the table, her voice blending desperation and cunning.

"I don't need his money. I only want my freedom. If you help me win, we'll split everything I get from him 50/50," Isabel proposed earnestly, her eyes searching Jane's for any sign of agreement.

"Think about it. You'll get much more than you're getting from him right now," Isabel added, her voice persuasive, trying to appeal to Jane's greed.

"70/30, and I'm in," Jane countered sharply, her bargaining skills coming to the fore.

"You don't give up easily, do you? Okay, deal," Isabel agreed reluctantly, realizing she had no other option. She wasn't allowed at Paul's office, but Jane, now his confidante, likely had access.

"Okay, so what do I need to do right now?" Jane asked, her tone shifting to readiness to engage in this covert mission.

"You need documents that show anything illegal or even gray that he might be involved in. It's the only way for us to get what we want," Isabel instructed her voice firm, conveying the gravity of their endeavor. Jane nodded, a flicker of excitement in her eyes as she agreed to the plan.

For the subsequent days, Isabel became a shadow in her home, her presence muted as she anxiously awaited news from Jane about the plan they had concocted. Her mind was a constant whirlwind of worry and anticipation, each passing moment stretching into an eternity.

Two days later, with her heart pounding, she finally mustered the courage to confront Jane. The house was quiet; the usual morning bustle had subsided with Paul's departure for work. Isabel approached Jane, her steps hesitant but determined.

"Were you able to get it?" Isabel's voice was barely above a whisper as she closed the distance between them.

"Get what?" came a startlingly familiar and entirely unexpected voice. It was Paul. Isabel's heart skipped a beat, her body jerking forward in shock and disbelief. She hadn't heard him return. "Pau-paul," she gasped, her voice faltering, as she spun around to find Paul standing ominously behind her.

Isabel's eyes darted towards Jane, desperate for some sign that their plan was still secret. But all hope crumbled when Jane spoke, her words laced with betrayal and smug satisfaction.

"What? You thought I would side with your plan? Do you know what Paul's connections can get me even without his money? Moreover, why should I side with you when Paul loves me?" Jane said, her smirk expansive and triumphant, confident of her newfound position in Paul's life.

"Paul, whatever she must have told you isn't true," Isabel stammered, scrambling to salvage the situation. Fear gripped her heart, the potential consequences of Paul's wrath for her and her children making her stomach churn with dread.

"Jane darling, can you give my wife and me a few minutes to talk?" Paul's voice was deceptively sweet, his face devoid of any visible anger.

Jane nodded obediently and left the room. As soon as she was out of sight, Paul's demeanor changed drastically. He advanced towards Isabel menacingly, his anger now palpable. Isabel recoiled instinctively, fear written all over her face as Paul raised his hand as if to strike her, only to stop abruptly.

"I won't hit you and give you a weapon to use against me, but I promise to make your life unbearable," Paul hissed, his face inches from Isabel's, his breath hot with fury.

"Paul, please. I promise to be obedient from now on!" Isabel pleaded, her voice breaking as tears streamed down her cheeks. She knelt before him, her body trembling, her plea for mercy laced with genuine fear.

"Please, don't keep me away from my children!" she begged, her voice a desperate whisper.

An expression of cruelty spread across Paul's face as he stared into Isabel's tear-filled eyes. "Thank you. Thank you for the suggestion. Until I decide what to do with you, you're not allowed outside," he declared coldly before turning and leaving the room.

Isabel remained on the ground, her body wracked with sobs, the reality of her situation crashing down on her. She was trapped, her last hope of escape shattered by Jane's betrayal. Paul's threats echoed in her mind, each word a foreboding promise of the hardships.

The worst part was the realization that, after the failure of her carefully planned scheme with Jane, she was now utterly powerless against him.

His guard would be perpetually up, and Isabel knew she had to tread carefully, her every move watched, her freedom stripped away. The weight of her predicament felt suffocating, leaving her feeling helpless and utterly alone in the sprawling house that had once been her home.

In a last-ditch effort to escape her home's luxurious yet suffocating confines, Isabel reached for her phone urgently. Her hands shook as she dialed Charles, the lawyer she had previously contacted, her mind racing to offer him any amount necessary to secure her freedom and that of her children.

"Hello, this is Mrs. Yeats," she said, her voice quivering as she tried to mask the evidence of her tears. But the response on the other end was nothing like she had expected from the seemingly understanding lawyer.

"Don't ever call this number again! I am not helping you, and I refuse to endanger me and my family!" Charles's voice was stern and final, cutting through the phone line before abruptly hanging up. Isabel stared at the phone in shock, the realization sinking in that she was completely and utterly alone.

As weeks passed, Isabel's situation only worsened. Her every move was tracked, and she lived under the constant surveillance of Paul's watchful eye. Jane continued to live with them, flaunting her presence, while Isabel was treated no better than a servant.

When her children returned from camp, she couldn't see them. "Don't worry about them. I told them that their mother was sick, and they'll be able to see you once you get better," Paul said calmly, his words laced with deceit.

Unable to contain her frustration and desperation, Isabel reacted impulsively. "Paul, why are you doing this? I promise to let you be with Jane if that's what you want!" she pleaded, tears streaming down her face.

"Let me be with Jane? What are you talking about? Jane is my assistant, and she helps me take care of you. Why do you think I'm with her?" Paul replied, his words mocking and dismissive.

Isabel felt a surge of anger and helplessness. She longed to smash everything around her in the room, releasing the pent-up frustration. But she knew that such action would only exacerbate her already dire situation.

After Paul left, Isabel did the only thing she felt capable of—she collapsed, crying from the overwhelming frustration of being powerless in her own home.

Even when Paul was away on a work trip with Jane obediently in tow, Isabel remained confined, not daring to do anything that might provoke his wrath further.

On the third day of their absence, after another tearful episode, Isabel stood up from her despair. She was exhausted from fear, tired of being manipulated and threatened. The thought of Paul painting her as unstable to take her children away galvanized her into action.

With determination, Isabel realized she could no longer let fear control her. She had to find a way out for her and her children's sake. Her eyes, once dull with hopelessness, now burned with the resolve of a woman ready to reclaim her life, no matter the cost. She knew she had to act quickly and decisively before Paul's return. The time for tears was over; it was now time for action.

Isabel's heart pounded as she hastily assembled a dummy in her bed, skillfully arranging pillows under the blanket to mimic her sleeping form. She hoped it would buy her some precious time, a small window of opportunity to execute her desperate plan.

Disguised from head to toe in the uniform of one of their servants, she stealthily made her way out of the mansion. Securing an access card to one of the side gates had been surprisingly easy, and soon, she found herself outside.

Her plan wasn't fully formed, but Isabel had a rough idea and was prepared to follow it. She hurried to the company, regretting not having taken this bold step on the first day of Paul's absence rather than waiting until the day of his return.

Moving as fast as she could, Isabel headed straight to his office, which she had only visited once when Paul urgently needed her assistance. As she approached the door, the key card she had discreetly taken from home felt heavy in her side pocket. Her heart raced with every step, fearing that she might be stopped before entering.

To her surprise, no one intercepted her. She slipped inside the office and closed the door behind her, her eyes quickly scanning the room as she moved toward the large desk. Her phone rang, breaking the silence, but she ignored it, focusing on her mission.

Isabel had just pulled open the first drawer when her phone rang again. Curiosity got the better of her, and she pulled it out, only to see Paul's name flashing on the screen. Panic set in, her heart pounding louder as she realized the implications.

Looking up, she saw three security cameras positioned strategically around the room. It dawned on her that Paul must have known she was there and likely had already sent someone to apprehend her.

The reality of her situation hit her hard. She knew her only chance of gaining leverage was to find something incriminating among the papers in the drawers. With trembling hands, Isabel rifled through the documents, desperately searching for anything that could be used against Paul.

Each second felt like an eternity as Isabel shuffled through the papers, aware that time was not on her side. The looming threat of being caught hung over her like a dark cloud, but she pushed on, driven by the need to find anything that could free her from Paul's tyrannical grasp.

Realizing Paul was already aware of her presence in his office, Isabel's mind raced urgently. The game was up, and her only chance for freedom hinged on finding something incriminating among the documents in Paul's drawers.

With hands that trembled yet worked with lightning speed, she began photographing every document she could find. The drawer revealed a trove of papers, each potentially holding the key to her liberation. Her phone's camera clicked continuously, capturing page after page.

Once done with the drawers, Isabel turned her attention to the safe. A part of her smirked humorlessly upon discovering the password, "ILOVEPAUL" – a testament to his egotism. Inside, she found more documents, which she photographed with even greater haste, aware that time was slipping through her fingers like sand.

Determined to leave no stone unturned, Isabel sent the images to various media outlets and the police, particularly those handling financial fraud. She also sent it to everyone on her contact list.

She wasn't sure if any of the documents contained the incriminating evidence she desperately needed, but it was a chance she had to take. "That will have to be enough," she thought, her heart pounding as she rushed out of the office, not bothering to close the compromised safe.

As Isabel neared the lobby, she saw Paul entering the building, flanked by security officials. The fear she felt at that moment was more intense than any she had ever felt. She stood frozen, her mind racing, trying to predict Paul's next move.

"Paul–" she began, her voice faltering as she caught sight of the furious expression on his face. It was a look that spoke volumes of his rage and desire to harm her. The only thing restraining him, she realized, was the public setting they were in.

"Take her! She's my wife, and I can attest that she's crazy. She broke into my office, and who knows what damage she has done to the files I keep there," Paul commanded the officials behind him.

His words struck Isabel like a physical blow, her jaw dropping in shock as she watched the company's security officials move to apprehend her.

The realization that she was being publicly denounced as insane, as a criminal, was almost too much to bear. She could feel the eyes of the onlookers on her, their judgmental stares piercing through her. The humiliation and helplessness she felt were overwhelming, but a part of her clung to the hope that the documents she had sent out would expose Paul for who he indeed was.

As the security officials escorted her out, Isabel's mind was a whirlwind of fear, uncertainty, and a faint glimmer of hope. She had played her last card, and now all she could do was wait to see if it would be enough to free her from the nightmare her life had become.

"Paul!" Isabel's voice pierced the air, her desperation fueling her to create a scene.

"What are you trying to do?" she screamed louder, her heart pounding as one of the security guards gripped her arm, pulling her forcefully. Her eyes darted around the lobby, seeking any sign of help or sympathy, but all she found was Jane standing a few steps away, wearing a smug grin of triumph.

At that moment, despair gripped Isabel. She felt confident this was the end – that Paul would have her vanish into the obscurity of a psychiatric ward, never to be heard from again. Once filled with dreams and love, the future loomed like a dark abyss.

But just as this bleak realization settled in her mind, the entrance doors burst open, and police officers rushed into the company lobby. The officers appeared solid and fierce to the stunned onlookers, but to Isabel, they were nothing short of saviors – angels without wings.

Amid her silent prayers, authoritative voices cut through the tension. "Mr. Yeats?" One of the officers stepped forward, his hand resting near his gun holster, his demeanor exuding authority.

"Yes?" Paul responded, annoyance etching his features. "Why are you in my–"

"Mr. Yeats, you're under arrest. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law," another officer interjected, reciting his rights as handcuffs clicked around Paul's wrists.

"WHAT!" Paul's protest was cut short as he was briskly led away, his expression a mix of shock and anger.

The security guards, dragging Isabel away moments ago, halted in their tracks, unsure how to proceed now that their boss was being detained. The tide had turned dramatically, and Isabel felt immense relief. She even allowed herself a slight, triumphant grin as she watched Jane, who quickly distanced herself from the unfolding scene of Paul's arrest.

As Isabel watched Paul being led away by the police, she couldn't help but wonder who had acted with such swiftness, someone who had sifted through the documents she had sent out and helped orchestrate Paul's arrest.

Lost in her thoughts, trying to piece together the puzzle, her gaze drifted across the scene unfolding before her. That's when she spotted a familiar figure standing beside the police vans into which Paul was being ushered.

It was Charles, the very lawyer who had vehemently told her never to contact him again.

"I guess he's a good man after all," Isabel mused silently, her heart swelling with gratitude. She began to go to the entrance, eager to leave the chaotic scene behind.

But as she stepped outside, she was drawn to Jane, Paul's mistress, who stood isolated in a corner. Jane's face was a canvas of confusion and shock as she watched the police van drive away with Paul. Her posture showed a palpable sense of disbelief, as if the ground beneath her had shifted.

"I should have taken your offer," Jane murmured loud enough for Isabel to hear. The bitterness in her voice was unmistakable, a stark contrast to her earlier smug confidence.

Isabel paused, turning to face Jane.

"I wouldn't have given it to you. You deserve to have no part of my money," she replied, her voice steady and imbued with a newfound strength.

The smugness in her tone was evident, a reflection of the tables having turned in her favor. She knew that with Paul's impending imprisonment, most of his assets would likely fall to her, his legal wife.

As Isabel walked away from Jane, there was a spring in her step, a sense of liberation that she hadn't felt in a long time. The fear and oppression that had clouded her life were dissipating, giving way to a hopeful future. She had fought against overwhelming odds and emerged victorious, her resilience and courage paving the way for her freedom.

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A maid stumbles upon a startling scene in her boss's bedroom: a half-nude man tied to the bed with a rose clenched in his mouth. As she attempts to free him upon learning he's her boss's wife's 'secret' lover, her boss walks in and catches them in a compromising position. Here is the full story.

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