All Chapters of Ruining my cheating ex husband’s life: Chapter 11 - Chapter 20

Isla I was out the door before sunrise. No dramatic exit. No tearful note. Just me, a duffel bag, and the quiet click of the penthouse door locking behind me. Rolin would wake up to cold sheets and an emptier closet. Good. Let him wonder. The Uber smelled like pine air freshener and bad decisions. I watched skyscrapers dissolve into scrubland through the window, my reflection ghostly in the glass. Three hours later, the car crunched onto the gravel driveway of my safehouse—a tiny white cottage the world had forgotten. Maria, my housekeeper, nearly dropped her mop when I walked in. "Dios mío! You look like hell." I managed a real smile for the first time in weeks. Her familiar scolding was a balm. She bullied me into the shower, then force-fed me arroz con pollo while muttering in Spanish about "skinny rich girls." By sunset, she was gone, leaving me alone with the kind of silence that doesn't demand anything from you. I didn't sit with it long. The lapto

Isla Kali handed me the gear bag, but her fingers didn’t let go right away. They hovered over mine a beat too long—warm, deliberate, like she was trying to say something without moving her lips. The air turned thick in an instant. Her palm brushed the back of my hand, feather-light, but it set my nerves on edge. I blinked, forced a smile, and did what I do best—shattered the moment with a question sharp enough to slice through the tension. “How’s your girlfriend?” I asked, casually—too casually. She hesitated, jaw ticking. “We broke up.” I raised an eyebrow. “That fast?” “It wasn’t serious,” she muttered, brushing it off like lint on her sleeve. “We ended things on good terms.” Sure… I nodded slowly, the weight of her stare still on my skin. “Alright.” And with that, I walked out, the silence between us still echoing in my chest. When I got home, I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. The cottage’s quiet wrapped around me like an old friend. I lock

Isla We stepped out of the room, the muffled chaos growing louder with every stride toward the ballroom. Voices buzzed like angry wasps. Whispers darted through the air, sharp and curious. As we pushed closer, my eyes caught them—Alex and Jane—standing dead center like two badly written plot twists. Jane clutched one of those masquerade masks-on-a-stick, more for flair than function, and in her other hand… a silver glass purse. Identical to mine. My brow lifted instinctively. Rolin kept walking, and I followed, letting the noise wash over me in pieces. “She copied the woman that came in with Chairman McCatty!” “That bag—look at it. Exactly the same.” “It’s fake. Has to be. That purse is exclusive. The designer LM said she only made one and it was for a special client, and it’s definitely not *Miss sleep with a married man.*” The words rolled out of the mouth of Loretta Monroe—socialite, certified gossip goblin, and known terror in luxury circles. She was pointing at Jane like

Isla Sleep didn't come easy that night. Rolin took his time in the bathroom, giving me space to curl up on my side and fake sleep. The lights dimmed. Water ran. Then the soft click of the door. I felt more than heard his quiet chuckle—that knowing sound that said he wasn't fooled. The mattress dipped as he slid in behind me. I stiffened. Didn't matter. His arm slipped around my waist, pulling me back against his bare chest like I was something precious. Something worth holding gently. I stopped breathing. His nose brushed my damp hair. "You smell like milk and almonds," he murmured. My stomach did something complicated. What even was this feeling? Before I could figure it out, exhaustion dragged me under. — The nightmare hit like a sucker punch. Concrete biting my knees. Shadows with glowing eyes. Hands everywhere, tearing at my clothes. My screams bouncing back at me, useless. Then the hospital. White walls. That nurse's pitying face. "The baby didn't make it

IslaI pulled on a pair of black pants—sleek, tailored—then the silver silk top. Yeah, silver again. At this point, it was basically my signature. Was it even a real color? Didn’t matter. It caught the light, made my skin glow, and gave me that don’t mess with me edge. Good enough. A few silver hoops, a thin bracelet, and my Louboutins clicked into place like armor locking into position. The mirror didn’t sugarcoat it—I looked expensive.Gran-Gran whistled when I stepped out, like I was some K-drama lead strutting off a runway. “Gran-Gran,” I groaned, my face heating up. “Seriously?” She cackled—the kind of laugh that meant trouble—and hooked her arm through mine. I could already feel the chaos brewing. Her cane tapped against the pavement as we walked, sharp and unyielding, just like her. The car was waiting. I helped her in, and with a quiet nod from the driver, we were off. The McCatty mall was all polished floors and overpriced serenity, the kind of place where the air