Chapter 2:Betrayal Runs Deep

Isabelle stood on the dimly lit sidewalk, clutching the strap of her bag. The cool night air was refreshing against her face which was wet with tears, but it did little to calm the storm inside her. She had no plan, no destination, only the desperate need to escape.

Her feet moved instinctively, leading her toward the only place she could think of: her father’s house. The thought of facing him after all these years was daunting, but she needed help. Surely, he’d understand.

By the time she reached the familiar iron gate of her childhood home, it was very late in the night. She hesitated, her hand hovering over the buzzer. A small voice in her head screamed at her to turn back, but she pushed it aside and pressed the button. She knew she might not be welcomed because of her stepmother but at least her birth father was in there too and he wouldn't watch her get abused and not do anything about it.

A long pause followed before the speaker crackled. “Who is it?”

“It’s Isabelle,” she said, her voice trembling.

There was another pause, and then the gate clicked open. She stepped through, dragging her bag behind her, tiredly, and approached the front door.

When it opened, Margaret, her stepmother, stood in the doorway. The years they spent apart had not softened her sharp features or the coldness in her eyes.

“Isabelle,” Margaret said, her tone laced with surprise and something closer to disdain. “What brings you here?”

Isabelle's mother died when she was five years old and her Dad remarried. He said it was to make her happy and to have a mother figure in her life, but for Isabelle, it was torture. Especially when Margaret had her own daughter and eventually manipulated her Dad into disliking her.

“I need to see Dad,” Isabelle said softly, avoiding her stepmother’s piercing gaze.

Margaret’s lips curled into a mockery of a smile. “After all these years? And looking like a total mess?” She gestured dismissively at Isabelle’s disheveled appearance.

“Please, I just need to see my father,” Isabelle whispered, her voice cracking.

Margaret stepped aside with a dramatic sigh, letting Isabelle enter the house. The warmth inside was a big dif from the cold welcome she received.

“Wait here,” Margaret said before disappearing up the stairs.

Isabelle sank into the edge of the couch, clutching her bag like a lifeline. The once-familiar surroundings felt more foreign than it did years ago since Margaret came into the house. Isabelle had always thought evil stepmothers were only in books, but Margaret proved her wrong.

Her father’s voice interrupted her thoughts. “Isabelle? What’s going on?”

She stood as he entered the room, his hair grayer and his posture slightly crooked. But his sharp eyes were the same as they were, and they scanned her with a mix of concern and suspicion.

“Dad,” Isabelle began, her voice shaking. “I need your help.”

His brow furrowed. “Help? What’s happened? What can I do that your husband can't?”

Isabelle hesitated, the words lodging in her throat. Saying them out loud would make it real. “It's about Richard… Richard had been hurting me.”

Margaret reappeared, her arms crossed. “Hurting you? What does that mean, exactly?”

Isabelle hesitated before continuing “It means he hits me,” She said, her voice rising with frustration. “And he—he has another family. He’s been lying to me for years.”

Her father’s expression darkened, but not with the anger or outrage she had hoped for. She had hoped he'd ask her if she was okay first or get mad at her husband for laying hands on her. “What did you do to make him hit you?”

Isabelle’s jaw dropped. “What?”

Margaret sighed, shaking her head. “Oh, Isabelle. A man doesn’t just hit his wife for no reason. I'm sure you were the one at fault. What aren’t you telling us?”

“I’m telling you the truth!” Isabelle cried, her voice breaking. “He’s been cheating on me, lying to me, and treating me like I’m nothing. I couldn’t stay there any longer.”

Her father’s gaze hardened. “Marriage isn’t easy, Isabelle. You don’t just walk out because things get tough.”

“Tough?” Isabelle’s voice was barely a whisper now. “He’s abusive, Dad. Don't you get it? He hits me. He doesn't love me!”

Margaret chimed in, her tone condescending. “Maybe if you acted like a proper wife, he wouldn’t have to resort to hitting you. What's wrong with a man like Richard Carter teaching his wife some lessons and asking her to act accordingly? Plus, where's proof that he hit you? See anything? There's no scratch on your body.”

Isabelle felt the walls closing in around her. This was a mistake. Coming here, thinking they would help, thinking her father would take her side with the manipulative stepmother beside him—it was all a mistake.

Her father straightened, his expression resolute. “You’re going back to him.”

“No!” Isabelle backed away, shaking her head. “I won’t.”

“Yes, you will,” he said firmly. “You’re not going to embarrass this family by running away from your husband. You’ll fix this, Isabelle. You’ll make it right.”

Before she could protest further, he turned to Margaret. “Call Richard. Tell him to come get her.”

“Dad, please—” Isabelle begged, tears streaming down her face.

But her father’s decision was final. “Enough, Isabelle. You’ll go back, and you’ll fix your marriage. That’s the end of it.”

“ I'm going to leave here and you won't see me again.” Isabelle threatened, thinking it would move her father to change his mind.

Instead, he glanced at her, then at his wife. “ Dear, lock the door and make sure she doesn't get out until Richard comes in to take her. I don't have time for her rubbish. ”

---

Richard arrived less than an hour later, his face a mixture of anger and smug satisfaction. Isabelle stood by the door, her bag still clutched in her trembling hands, as her father greeted him.

“Thank you for coming, Richard,” her father said, clapping him on the shoulder. “I trust you’ll sort this out.”

“Oh, I will,” Richard said, his voice cold.

He turned to Isabelle, his eyes narrowing. “Let’s go, baby.”

She looked at her father one last time, silently pleading for him to change his mind. But he avoided her gaze, and Margaret simply smirked in satisfaction.

With no other choice, Isabelle followed Richard out the door, her heart sinking with every step.

---

The car ride back to their house was silent, the tension was so thick, that it was suffocating. Richard’s knuckles were white on the steering wheel, his jaw clenched in barely restrained anger.

When they arrived, he didn’t say a word as he pulled her inside. But the moment the door closed behind them, he exploded.

“Do you have any idea how much trouble you’ve caused me?” he snarled, shoving her against the wall.

Isabelle flinched, her body tensing as he leaned in close. “Running to your daddy? Making me look like a fool?”

“I didn’t tell them anything,” she said weakly. She lied to at least, save herself from some beating that night. She had a little life in her that had to survive, no matter what. She hadn't gotten time to inform Richard about the new development and this was surely not the best time to let him know. Even if she wanted him to know, he wouldn't allow her to talk.

“Don’t lie to me!” he shouted, his hand slamming into the wall beside her head.

Tears streamed down her face, but she didn’t dare move.

“You’re mine, Isabelle,” he hissed. “And you’re not going anywhere. If you try to run, I'll find you, bring you back, and teach you a lesson.”

As he stormed off, leaving her trembling and broken, Isabelle realized one thing: she had to find a way out, no matter what it took.