Betrayed Wife: Claimed By The Ruthless CEO

The lawyer's office was all glass and steel, perched high above Park Avenue. Isolde sat across from the mahogany desk, her signature drying on the retainer agreement.

"Clark Ruiz will not take this lying down," the lawyer warned, steepling his fingers. "He will fight for every penny, and he will fight for the child."

"I know," Isolde said, her jaw set. "But I'm not giving up."

An hour later, Isolde walked into the lobby of Ruiz Architecture. She wasn't alone. Two paralegals from the law firm flanked her. The receptionist tried to stop them, but a flash of legal documents sent her scrambling for the phone.

Isolde didn't wait to be announced. She pushed open the doors to Clark's office.

He was standing by the window, a golf club in his hand. When he saw her, his face twisted with rage. He threw the club at the wall, the metal clanging loudly. "You have some nerve showing your face here."

He lunged toward her, but one of the paralegals stepped in front of Isolde. Clark stopped, his chest heaving.

Isolde reached into her bag and pulled out the divorce papers. She threw them onto his desk. "It's over, Clark. I'm filing for divorce, and I'm seeking full custody of Bria."

Clark laughed, a harsh, grating sound. "You think you can take my daughter? You'll leave this marriage with nothing, Isolde. The prenup guarantees it."

Isolde didn't flinch. She nodded to the paralegal, who stepped forward and placed a second document on the desk. "Have you read your own prenup recently, Clark? Section four, paragraph two. The infidelity clause."

Clark's smile faltered.

The paralegal spoke up, his voice clear and professional. "In the event of documented marital infidelity, Mrs. Ruiz is entitled to thirty percent of the company's shares. A significant stake. Enough to give her a seat on the board and challenge your authority."

Clark's face went pale. "That's bullshit. I never-"

Isolde pulled a manila envelope from her bag and tossed it onto the pile. Inside were photos of Clark and Kelsey entering a hotel room, along with a copy of Kelsey's ultrasound. "You're having a child with another woman. The courts don't look kindly on that."

Clark's hands balled into fists. He looked like a cornered animal. Then, suddenly, his expression shifted. The rage melted away, replaced by a cold, calculating smile.

"Fine," he said softly. "You want a divorce? You can have it. And you can have full custody of Bria. I won't fight you."

Isolde narrowed her eyes. This was too easy. "What's the catch?"

"No catch." Clark walked around the desk, leaning against the edge. "I just have one little condition. You fix the Valdez deal. You get Jacques Valdez to sign that contract by the end of the week, and I'll give you everything you want."

Isolde stared at him in disbelief. "You're delusional. You ruined that deal. He hates us."

"Then I guess you'll be staying married to me for a very long time." Clark's smile was venomous. "And if you can't close the deal, it just proves how worthless you are. I'll make sure the judge knows you're an unfit mother."

Isolde's nails dug into her palms. It was an impossible task. Jacques had made his feelings perfectly clear. But it was the only way out.

"Fine," she said, the word tasting like ash in her mouth. "I'll do it."

Clark chuckled, straightening his tie. "Good luck. You're going to need it."

Isolde walked out of the office, her legs trembling. In the elevator, she leaned against the wall, closing her eyes. How was she supposed to convince a man like Jacques Valdez to give her a second chance?

Back at Vivian's apartment, Isolde sat on the edge of her bed, staring at the business card she had taken from Bria's pillow. She pulled out her phone and typed in the number. Her finger hovered over the call button.

Bria skipped into the room, holding a piece of paper. It was a crayon drawing of a tall man in a suit, holding hands with a little girl. "Look, Mommy! It's me and the prince!"

Isolde looked at the drawing, a desperate plan forming in her mind. She took a deep breath and pressed call.

It rang once. Twice. Three times. Isolde was about to hang up when the line clicked.

"What?" Jacques's voice was curt, annoyed.

"It's Isolde," she said quickly. "Isolde Ruiz. I need to speak with you about the contract-"

"No." The word was flat, final.

"Please," Isolde begged. "Just give me five minutes. I can explain everything. The dinner, the club, all of it."

There was a long pause. Isolde could hear the faint sound of ice clinking in a glass.

"Fine," Jacques said, his tone shifting. "You want to talk? Come to my apartment. Tonight."

He rattled off an address in the most exclusive building in the city. Before Isolde could respond, the line went dead.

She stared at the phone in her hand. Going to a powerful man's private residence at night, a man who thought she was a liar and a spy. It was dangerous. It was stupid.

But it was her only chance.