Isabella's POV

I didn't sleep that night. How could I? I sat in the guest room I'd claimed as my own years ago, when Julien made it clear he didn't want me in his bed anymore, staring at the envelope I'd hidden in the bottom of my drawer for months.

Divorce papers.

I'd gotten them prepared six months ago, after another humiliating family dinner where Margaret had made a joke about my "barren womb" while everyone laughed. I'd contacted a lawyer in secret, had everything drawn up, signed my part. All that was left was Julien's signature.

But I'd kept them hidden. Locked away. Because some stupid, naive part of me still hoped. Still believed that maybe, somehow, things would change.

Tonight killed that hope.

The sun was barely rising when I finally moved. My hands were steady as I pulled out the envelope, my decision made. I'd spent six years being weak. Six years being silent. Not anymore.

I changed into a simple white blouse and black pants. No makeup. No carefully styled hair. I was done performing for people who never saw me anyway. I pulled my hair into a neat bun, looked at myself in the mirror, and almost didn't recognize the woman staring back at me. Her eyes were different. Harder. Emptier.

Good.

I found Julien in his study at seven in the morning, already dressed in another one of his expensive suits, probably preparing for another day of pretending I didn't exist. He looked up when I walked in, and I saw the irritation flash across his face.

"What do you want, Isabella? I'm busy."

I didn't answer. Instead, I walked to his desk and dropped the envelope in front of him. It landed with a soft thud that seemed to echo in the silent room.

He stared at it, then at me. "What is this?"

"Divorce papers." My voice came out stronger than I expected. "Sign them."

For a moment, just a moment, something flickered in his dark eyes. Surprise, maybe. But it was gone so quickly I might have imagined it.

"You're being dramatic," he said, leaning back in his chair like this was amusing. "Because of last night? Victoria is just…"

"Don't." I cut him off, my voice sharp. "Don't insult me by lying. Not now. Not after everything."

He went quiet, studying me with those cold eyes that used to make my heart race. Now they just made me feel hollow.

"Six years," I said, and I hated how my voice trembled. "Six years of humiliation. Six years of being treated like I was nothing. Like I was invisible. Your mother telling me I'm not good enough. Your relatives laughing at my background. You looking through me like I'm a ghost in my own home."

I stepped closer to his desk, my hands gripping the edge to keep them from shaking.

"But this, Julien. Bringing her here. Bringing Victoria into our house, letting her humiliate me at my own dinner table, this is the highest form of it all. You're rubbing it in my face, aren't you? That I'm useless to you now. That I've always been useless."

I waited for him to deny it. Some pathetic part of me still wanted him to deny it, to say I was wrong, that I mattered.

Instead, he smirked.

That cold, cruel smirk that told me everything I needed to know.

"You finally understand," he said, his voice matter-of-fact, like he was discussing a business deal. "This marriage was for convenience, Isabella. My mother wanted me to settle down, to look respectable. You were there, suitable enough, quiet enough. I never pretended it was more than that."

Each word was a knife, clean and precise, cutting away the last threads of whatever I'd been holding onto.

"My family never liked you," he continued, and there was something almost bored in his tone. "They tolerated you because I chose you, but let's be honest. You're from nowhere. You have nothing. No connections, no background worth mentioning. And yet you stayed, living in this house, using the Sterling name, shameless enough to keep pretending you belong here."

Tears burned in my eyes, hot and bitter. I'd cried so many times over this man, alone in my room where no one could hear. But these tears felt different. They felt like anger, like rage burning through the sadness.

"I believed," I whispered, and my voice broke on the word. "I believed that if I just stayed, if I just kept trying, things would change. That you would see me. That you would love me. I was such a fool."

"Yes," he agreed simply. "You were."

The silence that followed was suffocating. I stared at this man I'd married, this stranger I'd wasted six years loving, and I felt something inside me die. Something that had been holding on, hoping, believing.

It was finally dead.

Julien opened the envelope, glanced at the papers, then looked back at me with that infuriating calm.

"I have a better solution," he said. "An open marriage."

I almost laughed. Almost. "What?"

"An open marriage," he repeated, as if it was the most reasonable thing in the world. "You keep the Sterling name, the house, the security. I do what I want. You do what you want. Everyone wins."

The audacity. The absolute audacity of this man.

"Over my dead body," I said, my voice low and dangerous. "Sign the papers, Julien. I'm done."

"Are you sure about that, dear?"

The new voice made me turn. Margaret Sterling stood in the doorway, and my stomach dropped. Victoria was with her, clinging to Margaret's arm like they were old friends, like she belonged there.

Margaret smiled at Victoria, actually smiled, with more warmth than she'd ever shown me in six years. She put her arm around Victoria's shoulders, pulling her close like a daughter.

"Isabella," Margaret said, her voice dripping with false sweetness. "You should accept Julien's generous offer. An open marriage is more than someone like you deserves."

"Mother…" Julien started, but Margaret held up her hand.

"Let me speak." She turned those cold eyes on me, the same eyes Julien had inherited. "You're worthless, Isabella. You always have been. But if Julien signs those papers, if he divorces you, you'll become even more worthless. The whole world will know. The media will tear you apart. 'Sterling CEO divorces unsuitable wife.' They'll sing your name in bitterness, drag your past through every newspaper, every gossip column. You'll be nothing. Less than nothing."

Each word was designed to hurt, to make me small, to make me stay in my place. And six years ago, it would have worked. Six years ago, I would have bowed my head and accepted it.

But I wasn't that woman anymore.

"I don't care," I said, and I meant it. "Sign the papers."

Margaret's expression turned ugly. "You stupid girl. You don't understand, do you? You couldn't give me a grandchild. You couldn't give my son an heir. Six years and your womb is as empty as your background."

The words stung, like they always did. She knew exactly where to cut.

But then she smiled, a smile so cruel it made my skin crawl.

"But Victoria," Margaret continued, turning to look at the other woman with genuine affection. "Victoria is carrying Julien's child."

The world stopped.

I watched as Victoria's hand moved to her stomach, still flat beneath her expensive dress. She smiled at me, that sweet, innocent smile that was anything but.

"It's true," Victoria said softly. "I'm pregnant. With Julien's baby."

I couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. The room tilted, and I gripped the edge of Julien's desk to keep from falling.

Pregnant. She was pregnant. With his child.

The child I'd wanted for six years. The child I'd prayed for, hoped for, cried over every month when my body reminded me I'd failed again. The child that Margaret had used as a weapon against me for years.

And he'd given it to her. To Victoria. His first love. The woman he'd brought into our home.

I looked at Julien, and for the first time since I'd known him, I saw something in his eyes. Not regret. Not guilt. Just a flicker of discomfort, like he wished this revelation had come at a better time.

"Isabella…" he started.

But I didn't hear the rest. The roaring in my ears drowned out everything. My vision blurred with tears, with rage, with a pain so deep it felt like my chest was caving in.

My whole world came crumbling down at once.