A soft knock interrupted Isabella's silence. She turned to see a middle-aged man in a crisp suit step into the hospital room, holding a thin envelope.
"Ms. Soren—" he paused, then corrected himself, "—Miss Bennett. Mr. Soren asked me to deliver this."
Isabella's lips curled with sarcasm. "He couldn't even hand me his betrayal personally?"
The man looked uncomfortable but said nothing, simply extending the envelope.
She opened it slowly, her hands trembling—not from emotion, but fury held tightly beneath the surface.
Inside was a revised divorce settlement. Already signed.
She skimmed through the cold legal terms. Nothing about love. Nothing about regret. Just money and silence.
He gave her the mansion on Laurel Hill—like tossing a coin to a beggar to avoid guilt.
He also added a non-disclosure clause. She was expected to keep quiet about everything: the affair, the betrayal, the unborn child she lost while he held another woman.
Isabella's grip tightened, crumpling the corner of the papers.
"He thinks I can be bought?"
The man spoke hesitantly, "Mr. Soren wanted to make things easier. He thought—"
"He thought wrong."
Her voice was icy now. Measured. Powerful.
She stood, her hospital gown fluttering slightly as she walked to the window. Rain tapped lightly against the glass.
She would sign nothing. She would accept nothing.
Let him keep his money. His reputation. His hollow guilt.
She didn't want any of it.
What she wanted… was vengeance.
And she would build it one step at a time—with or without his precious contract.