CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
ISABELLA
I do not sleep again.
This time, however, Alexander is not downstairs in the kitchen working beside an abandoned cup of coffee, and the entire house feels wrong without him. That only makes me angrier because I was the one who told him to leave, and I needed him gone.
I should not miss him.
The sentence from the email remains lodged in my mind:
I do not want any further investigation into fertility or Isabella.
I do not want.
Alexander had been given another chance, one free from the initial panic, the shock of a newly revealed pregnancy, and Richard’s insinuations filling the room. Months had passed. Edmund had placed concrete inconsistencies in front of him, and Lily was close to being born.
He still chose not to know because knowing might have forced him to admit that he had destroyed an innocent woman.
That decision feels different from the first. It is deeper, uglier, and far more difficult to reconcile with the changes I have watched him make over the past few weeks.
At seven, Lily walks into the kitchen still wearing her pajamas.
“Did Dad come back?”
“No.”
She climbs onto a chair.
“When is he coming back?”
“I don’t know yet.”
Lily stays quiet while she waits for her cereal.
“Are you getting divorced?”
My chest tightens. I want to tell her that children should not have to worry about contract marriages, trusts, and mistakes made before they were born, but it was our decision to place her in the middle of a temporary household and ask her to live with its consequences.
“I don’t know what is going to happen between your dad and me.”
“Because of the old mistake?”
“Yes.”
“Is it an adult thing?”
We have used that phrase far too often.
“Yes.”
Lily looks down at her bowl.
“I don’t like adult things.”
“Neither do I.”
My phone vibrates on the counter. Helena first, then Clara, then my mother. Before I can answer any of them, a news alert appears.
I open it and feel my blood turn cold.
A website has published documents relating to the family. They are not the memoranda found in Edmund’s archive, but partial copies of Alexander’s old medical report, photographs of me at the Beaumont, excerpts from the trust, and our marriage certificate.
The headline is worse than the last one:
WAS THE BILLIONAIRE MARRIAGE A SCHEME TO LEGITIMIZE AN HEIRESS?
The article suggests that our marriage was arranged to circumvent the trust clause and questions why Alexander’s paternity became public only after Edmund’s death.
The cropped photographs of Daniel are presented as supposed evidence that the circumstances of my pregnancy remain “controversial,” despite the DNA test.
“Shit.”
Lily looks up.
“Bad word.”
“I know, sweetheart.”
Another message arrives.
There are photographers outside the school.
I stand immediately.
“Get your backpack and Oliver. We’re spending the day at Grandma’s.”
“What about school?”
“You’re not going today.”
I call the headteacher first, then the security team. Alexander’s name appears on my screen before I decide whether I want to speak to him.
I do not.
I call anyway because Lily needs her parents to coordinate, regardless of what I feel about my husband.
He answers on the first ring.
“Isabella.”
“Documents have leaked, and there are photographers outside the school.”
“I saw the article. I already sent a team to the perimeter.”
My body tightens.
“No one goes inside.”
“External security only, no contact with teachers or pupils. Margaret is speaking with the headteacher and will send everything to you for approval.”
He remembers the boundaries even after I threw him out.
“I’m taking Lily to my mother’s.”
“All right.”
“Do not come there.”
There is a brief pause.
“I won’t.”
The ease with which he accepts hurts, which is ridiculous.
At my mother’s house, Lily stays close to the windows until she notices the photographers across the street. Security keeps them back, but the lenses remain pointed toward the property.
“Do they want pictures of me?”
“They do.”
“Why?”
“Because your dad is well known, and some people think that gives them the right to know everything about our lives.”
“Are you famous too?”
“More than I would like.”
Lily hugs Oliver against her chest.
“I don’t want them taking pictures.”
“We won’t let them come near you.”
The school calls a little later. The headteacher assures me that the entrances have been secured, that no child has spoken directly to journalists, and that the school will send guidance to all the families.
Then she hesitates.
“There was an incident yesterday.”
My stomach drops.
“What kind of incident?”
“One mother asked, in front of several pupils, whether Lily was ‘the money girl.’ The teacher intervened immediately, but we believe your daughter may have heard.”
I close my eyes.
“Who was it?”
The headteacher gives me the name, but I barely hear the rest.
My daughter has been turned into part of a public dispute because of Richard, the inheritance, our marriage, and every decision the adults around her made.
Guilt immediately tries to arrange a list. I accepted the contract. Alexander published the statement. Edmund preserved the trust. Richard leaked—
I stop myself.
Guilt will not protect Lily from the next camera flash.
By the afternoon, she begins to cry.
“I want to go home.”
I sit beside her.
“We’ll go back when things are calmer.”
“I want Dad.”
The words break something in me.
“Sweetheart…”
“He makes hot chocolate wrong.”
A wet laugh escapes me.
“Wrong how?”
“He doesn’t put enough chocolate.”
“That is very serious.”
Lily hugs a cushion.
“Can he come?”
My conflict with Alexander belongs to me. His place as Lily’s father cannot depend upon whether I want him present as my husband. We wrote that into the contract and repeated the same promise to our daughter.
“Do you want to call him?”
She nods.
I start a video call. Alexander answers from the office at the old house with red eyes and a creased shirt. Lily does not notice.
“Dad.”
His expression softens immediately.
“Hi, star.”
“Mum is angry with you.”
My body tenses, but Alexander makes no attempt to recruit our daughter into his version of events.
“She has a reason to be.”
“Are you coming back today?”
He looks at me through the screen.
“Only if your mum thinks that would be good.”
Lily frowns.
“What if she never thinks it’s good?”
My heart stops.
Alexander pauses only long enough to choose words a five-year-old can understand.
“I will still see you in other ways. We can go to the park, I can collect you from school, or I can see you at Grandma’s whenever your mum and I agree.”
“You’re not disappearing?”
“No.”
“Promise?”
He closes his eyes for a moment.
“I promise.”
Lily tells him about the photographers and makes Alexander promise that he will not allow anyone to publish a picture in which her hair looks “bad.” He treats the concern with complete seriousness and explains that no photograph will be authorized, regardless of the state of her hair.
After the call, a message from him arrives.
Thank you for letting her call. I won’t come over. Security will remain at a distance and follow only the instructions you approve.
I do not reply.
By the end of the day, more excerpts appear on other websites. A car carrying photographers follows us when we leave my mother’s house. Security keeps another vehicle between us, but a flash cuts through the window while we are stopped at a traffic light.
Lily screams.
I pull her against me and cover her face while my heart breaks.
By the time we reach the townhouse, I decide we need to leave London for a few days. Clara owns a house in the countryside at an address that is not publicly connected to me, and she offers it the moment I call.
I begin packing. Lily asks whether Alexander is coming with us.
“No.”
She looks disappointed, but I cannot solve everything at once.
My phone rings.
Alexander.
I answer.
“What?”
“Margaret told me you intend to leave London.”
“For a few days.”
“I can help with transport, provided you approve everything.”
“I don’t want you trying to stop us.”
The silence lasts only a moment.
“I won’t.”
“The contract includes provisions about cohabitation and Lily’s residence.”
“I won’t invoke them.”
“And custody?”
“No.”
“Security?”
“If you agree, I can provide a discreet team that receives instructions through your lawyer. If you decline, I’ll withdraw everyone.”
My throat tightens.
“You could make this very difficult.”
“I could.”
“Why don’t you?”
Alexander takes a moment before answering.
“Because you want to go, and you have valid reasons to need distance. Turning my fear into a prison would only repeat the behavior I’m trying to change.”
Tears threaten again.
“Don’t talk like that.”
“Sorry.”
“I don’t want emotional promises either.”
“Then I’ll rephrase. You’ve decided to take Lily away for a few days. I won’t oppose it, and I’ll exercise my role as her father within whatever boundaries we agree.”
“Lily wants you.”
“I know, and that makes the distance painful, but it does not give me the right to use her affection to reach you.”
I close my eyes.
“Stop acting as though you know everything.”
Something close to a laugh reaches me through the phone.
“I know almost nothing. I only know Lily needs me to remain her father even if you no longer want me as your husband.”
The sentence goes too deep.
“Good night, Alexander.”
I end the call.
The suitcases remain in the hall, and the contract is still locked away in a drawer. Alexander has lawyers, money, influence, and clauses he could choose to interpret aggressively.
He uses none of them.
He confirms in writing to the lawyers that he will not oppose the trip, keeps security at a distance, and does not appear to say goodbye after I told him to stay away.
For the first time, the man who spent his life trying to hold on to everything leaves the door open and allows me to walk through it.