Betrayed Wife: Claimed By The Ruthless CEO

Isolde burst into her bedroom, her chest heaving. She ran to the closet and hauled her largest suitcase from the back, throwing it onto the bed. Her hands shook as she unzipped it, but her mind was crystal clear.

She moved to the connecting door and pushed it open. The nightlight cast a soft glow over Bria's sleeping form. Her daughter was curled up, clutching a stuffed rabbit, her breathing soft and even.

"I promise you," Isolde whispered, her throat tight. "I won't let them ruin you. I won't let you become one of them."

She went back to her room and started grabbing clothes from the hangers, not caring if they matched. She shoved them into the suitcase.

A soft knock at the bedroom door made her freeze. She grabbed the heavy brass lamp from the nightstand, her knuckles white around the base.

"Mrs. Ruiz?" Linda's muffled voice came through the wood. "It's me."

Isolde let out a breath and set the lamp down. She opened the door. Linda stood there, holding a mug of steaming milk. Her eyes were red-rimmed.

"I heard the argument," Linda said, stepping inside and closing the door. She set the milk down and began folding the clothes Isolde had crumpled. "Mr. Clark isn't coming home tonight. He's at the apartment in the city. This is your best chance."

Isolde stared at her. "Linda, I can't ask you to-"

"You're not asking." Linda reached into her apron pocket and pulled out a thick wad of bills. She pressed them into Isolde's hand. "It's my savings. Take it. You need cash right now."

Isolde's eyes burned. She squeezed the older woman's hand. "Thank you."

She went back into Bria's room and gently shook her daughter awake. "Hey, sweetie. We're going on an adventure."

Bria rubbed her eyes, her voice sleepy. "An adventure?"

"A big one. We have to be very quiet, okay? Like little mice."

Bria nodded, too tired to argue. Isolde scooped her up, grabbing the stuffed rabbit. They crept down the back stairs, avoiding the main hall. Linda walked ahead, peering around corners. When they reached the side door, Linda created a distraction, dropping a tray of glasses in the kitchen. The guard posted in the hall went to investigate.

Isolde slipped out into the night. She strapped Bria into her car seat, her fingers fumbling with the buckles. She jumped into the driver's seat and started the engine. The tires crunched over the gravel, but she didn't slow down. She hit the gas, and the car shot forward, through the gates, and away from the Ruiz estate.

She didn't breathe easy until the Manhattan skyline appeared in her rearview mirror. She pulled up outside a brick apartment building in the West Village. Vivian Fletcher was already standing by the entrance, her dark hair pulled back, her face tight with worry.

The moment Isolde stepped out, Vivian was there, pulling her and Bria into a fierce hug. "I got your text. Come inside."

Once Bria was tucked away on the spare bed, Isolde collapsed onto Vivian's sofa. The adrenaline faded, leaving her hollowed out. She told Vivian everything. The club. The man with the cedar scent. Agnes's ultimatum. Kelsey's pregnancy.

Vivian's face was a mask of fury. "You need to divorce him, Isolde. Today. Take him for everything he's worth."

Isolde shook her head, her eyes fixed on the floor. "I can't. The prenup... if I file, I walk away with nothing. And Clark will fight me for Bria. He'll use his lawyers, his money. He'll take her just to punish me."

"There has to be a way," Vivian insisted.

The next morning, Isolde dropped Bria off at her elite pre-K program on the Upper East Side. She had just walked back to her car when her phone rang. The screen displayed Clark's name.

She answered, bracing herself. "What do you want, Clark?"

"My office. Now." His voice was devoid of emotion. Cold. Calculating.

"I have nothing to say to you."

"Then listen." The line went quiet for a moment. "I know where you spent the night, Isolde. Vivian Fletcher's apartment on West Village. Second floor, facing the street. Want me to send someone over to say hello?"

A chill ran down her spine. He was watching her. He had been watching the whole time.

"I'll be there," she said, her voice hard.

The drive to Ruiz Architecture was a blur. Isolde parked in the garage and took the elevator to the top floor. She walked into Clark's corner office, the floor-to-ceiling windows offering a sweeping view of the city he thought he owned.

Clark was practicing his golf swing, a putter in his hand. He didn't look up.

"I want a divorce," Isolde said, her voice echoing in the large room.

Clark laughed, a short, ugly sound. He set the putter down and walked toward her. He reached out and grabbed her chin, his fingers digging into her skin. "You ran away like a scared little rabbit last night. How did it feel? Did you think you were actually escaping?"

"I'm not playing games, Clark. I'm leaving."

He dropped his hand, his smile fading. "You're not going anywhere. You're going to do exactly what I tell you." He walked over to his desk and picked up a thick folder. "The Valdez deal is falling apart. You're going to fix it."

Isolde stared at him in disbelief. "You want me to fix your business deal? I'm not your secretary."

"No, you're my wife. And tonight, you're going to attend a dinner at The Cortland Hotel. Jacques Valdez will be there. You're going to go in there, smile, pour his drinks, and do whatever it takes to make him sign that contract."

"I'm not whoring for you," Isolde spat, turning to leave.

"Are you sure about that?" Clark's voice stopped her cold. "Are you sure Bria is safe at that little school of hers?"

Isolde froze. She turned slowly, her blood turning to ice. "What did you do?"

"Nothing yet." Clark leaned against his desk, looking entirely too pleased with himself. "But it's a big city. Accidents happen. Little girls wander off. It would be a shame if something happened to that little bastard of yours."

"You're a monster," Isolde whispered, her hands curling into fists.

"I'm a businessman. And right now, my business needs Valdez's signature. So you will go to that dinner, and you will make him happy. Or you will never see Bria again." He pulled a black credit card from his wallet and tossed it onto the desk. "Buy something appropriate. Don't embarrass me."

Isolde stared at the card, then at Clark. She wanted to scream. She wanted to claw his eyes out. But all she could see was Bria's face. She snatched the card off the desk and walked out, the door slamming shut behind her.