CHAPTER 7

Isabella's POV

I promised I wasn't going to do anything stupid. But I guess breaking into my ex-husband's house to retrieve what rightfully belongs to me doesn't count as stupidity. If Martin didn't think twice to steal from me, I shouldn't hesitate to take back what's mine.

I wasn't going to let it slide–No, not this time. I didn't care if it made me reckless or foolish. I wasn't going to leave it. I will drag it out even if there's just one left.

I clenched my jaw, trying to hold back the anger that was swelling inside of me as I got to the house.

The place was quiet… too quiet than usual. Martin's car was not parked in the driveway.

Great–I could search the place without having to deal with him, his lies or his little side piece getting in my way.

I slipped inside and went straight for the studio, my heart racing as I opened the door. The doors were not locked.

Typical Martin.

The scent in the room hit me first

The old oil paint.

Faint but still lingering in the air.

Memories began to hit me like a fist in the gut.

Memories I wanted to forget.

This was the same place our love began.

The same room he proposed to me. The same room I spent countless nights pouring my soul out to create everything I ever created.

And this was where he betrayed me.

Everything looked different now.

The tables and chairs were stacked in a corner and covered with a white cloth.

The flower pot that sat proudly at the side of the window was no longer in its place. But I could still see it in my mind. Dust had settled on all of the shelves a testament to the time that had passed since anyone cared enough to tend to it.

I began to search every corner. Every storage bin. Every drawer.

But nothing. Everything was gone.

I couldn't think of anywhere else he was going to hide it.

Panic started to claw at my chest. Had he sold everything already?

I rushed to his bedroom.

The one place I had never dared to step foot in during my stay in this house. It always felt haunted, like a place I wasn't meant for.

I searched every part of the room. High and Low.

But still nothing

Tears blurred my vision, and my chest tightened.

That was when I heard it—the click of the door to the bedroom

And then Footsteps—it was too late to hide

I had been so caught up in my thoughts that I didn't notice someone had entered the house.

I froze.

“Well, well…” he said, his tone laced with mockery, “look who couldn't stay without me and came crawling back to apologize”

I turned slowly, my back straight refusing to flinch.

“Where are my paintings?” I demanded

He raised an eyebrow, feigning ignorance. “Your what?”

“Don't try to play dumb, Martin. You know exactly what I'm talking about. I know you sold my paintings.”

He smirked and began to walk towards me like a predator, savouring the fear of its prey. “Hey, you should really be careful what you accuse me of.”

“Cut the crap, Martin,” I snapped, "I am stating facts. Now, where are they?”

Martin stopped just inches away from me

“What if I told you I sold them? or destroyed them? or I gave them to someone who had real talent.”

“You mean someone gullible enough to believe you painted them.” I shot back

“It's called business, sweetheart.”

“No, that's theft. You stole from me.”

“You think you can walk into my house, act like you own the place, and accuse me of something you know nothing about? You ungrateful soul. All you ever did was to sit pretty at home— my home. I did all the work. I provided everything you needed.”

“Martin, you know that is not true.”

“They were never yours Bella”

He shrugged, “But it doesn't matter now anyway. But if you insist, then give me back every single thing I ever bought for you.”

I blinked, trying to make sense of what he said as I was caught off guard. “What?”

“You heard me. Give me back everything. The dress you're wearing now. The jewellery, the shoes. Give everything back.Strip.”

“If you want your art back, then you don't get to keep anything that belongs to me.”

“What do you mean? You can't be serious.”

He stepped back, folding his arms. “Try me.”

“You're disgusting!”

He dropped onto the bed, his eyes ranking me. “Then walk out and don't ask about your painting ever again.”

My lips parted in disbelief. My hands curled into a fist at the side. For a second, I was considering arguing and pleading. But it hit me–that was just what he wanted.

I reached for the zipper of my dress and slowly began to take it off. The silence in the room was suffocating, but I didn't let it break me. Not in front of him. Not when he was staring deep into my eyes, hoping to see me break.

Somehow, I was hoping he was going to ask me to stop. But rather, his smirk deepened.

I peeled off my dress, my hands trembling, my movements slow and deliberate. I let the fabric slip off my shoulders, and it fell to the floor. Then, the necklace— he got it to me on our first anniversary. But now it meant nothing —I unclasped it and dropped it to the floor.

I slowly took off every piece he bought for me off my body. One by one. Until I stood in the middle of the room with just my bra and underwear.

Martin didn't say a word.

“Now my paintings.”I demanded, my voice firm.

He didn't answer

I couldn't find the strength to argue anymore. Instead, I gathered the last pride I had left and turned toward the door. My barefoot hitting on the hardwood floor as I stepped out of the house.

The air kissed my body like ice.

But I didn't care. Not about what the neighbours had to say. Not about the ache in my chest. Not about the humiliation.

I walked down the street like I wasn't half naked. Like I hadn't just experienced another nightmare from the same man I would have vouched for a few days ago.

Then, a familiar voice cut through the haze,

“Hey…”

I turned, squinting through the blur of the lights. The face…it rang a bell but I wasn't in the mood to be pitied or mocked by another one of Martin's friends. All they ever do is to laugh behind closed doors and pretend to care.

I folded my arms tighter and kept walking. He should say whatever he had to say to my silence.

Then I felt a touch on my shoulder. Gentle but firm.

“Hey, get in the car. You shouldn't be walking around like this.”

I looked up, ready to snap, but the face wasn't what I expected.

There was no smirk. No judgement. Just concern….and genuine kindness.

“Adrian.” I muttered

“I can't get into the car with you.” I murmured

“ I am not going to harm you. Just get in.” he said calmly. “I will make sure to get you somewhere safe.”

My legs ached. My mind was a mess. The hotel still felt miles away, and I was already tired of walking. I had no other option.

Without another word, I slid into the open passenger seat, and he shut the door behind me with a soft thud. Sealing me inside the quiet

He walked around and got in on the other side as the driver started the engine. No questions, no stares. Just the hum of the car and the rhythm of my heartbeat.

Then, without a word, he reached over and gently wrapped his arm around my shoulders–slowly, gently.

I went rigid.

But then I felt it.

Warmth and a strength I hadn't felt in a long time.

I felt safe.