Divorce After Hotel Drama

The cold had seeped into my bones, numbing my fingers and toes. My teeth chattered uncontrollably as I huddled against the metal rack, my injured knee throbbing with each heartbeat. I'd lost track of time in the freezer's sterile white haze. Minutes? Hours? The world outside seemed to have forgotten me.

Then I heard it—a voice, distant but familiar, cutting through the mechanical hum of the freezer.

"Isabella!"

The door burst open, flooding the space with warm light. Marcel Baker stood in the doorway, his normally composed face twisted with alarm. His eyes widened when he saw me.

"My God, Isabella." He rushed toward me, shrugging off his coat in one fluid motion and wrapping it around my shoulders. "What have they done to you?"

"Marcel," I whispered, my voice hoarse. "How did you—"

"I've been trying to reach you for hours." His hands moved quickly, checking my injuries. "When you didn't answer, I tracked your location through Sophie. What were you thinking, coming here alone?"

"I was looking for my husband," I said, the words bitter on my tongue.

Marcel's jaw tightened. "And they put you in here? Who did this?"

"Kenna Hart." The name felt like poison. "The front desk manager. She's—"

"She's what?" Marcel's voice was dangerously quiet.

"She's claiming to be Braxton's mistress." The words burned my throat. "She said she's pregnant."

Something dark flashed across Marcel's face. Without another word, he scooped me into his arms as if I weighed nothing.

"I'm getting you out of here," he said, his chest warm against my frozen cheek.

The kitchen staff scattered as Marcel carried me through, their eyes wide with shock. A security guard stepped forward, but Marcel's glare stopped him cold.

"Call an ambulance," Marcel ordered, his voice brooking no argument. "And get me the hotel manager. Now."

By the time we reached the lobby, my body was shaking violently, not just from cold but from the shock of what had happened. Marcel lowered me gently onto a couch, keeping his coat tucked around me.

"Stay here," he murmured. "I need to make some calls."

Before I could respond, the hotel doors burst open. Braxton stood there, his face ashen, eyes wild.

"Isabella!" He rushed toward me, but Marcel stepped between us.

"Where the hell were you?" Marcel demanded, his voice low and dangerous.

"I was in a meeting," Braxton stammered, trying to peer around Marcel. "The security team called—"

"A meeting with Kenna Hart?" I asked, my voice steadier than I felt.

Braxton flinched. "Isabella, I can explain—"

"Explain what?" I cut him off, my voice ice-cold. "That your hotel staff locked your wife in a freezer? That your mistress is running wild in your hotel?"

Paramedics arrived, pushing past Braxton with their medical bags. As they knelt beside me, examining my knee and taking my vitals, I caught Braxton's desperate expression.

"Isabella, please," he pleaded. "Just let me explain."

I turned away, focusing on the paramedic's gentle hands as she wrapped my knee. My silence was more devastating than any accusation.

Marcel stood protectively at my side, his presence a silent comfort. "The police are on their way," he told Braxton. "Your security team will have some explaining to do."

Before Braxton could respond, a commotion erupted near the elevators. Kenna appeared, her face contorted with rage, something glinting in her hand.

"There you are!" she shrieked, pointing at me with a kitchen knife. "You think you can just waltz in here and ruin everything?"

The paramedics moved protectively in front of me, but Kenna pushed past them, her eyes wild.

"I won't let you do this!" she screamed. "I'm carrying his child! He loves me, not you!"

She lunged forward, the knife raised. Braxton moved with surprising speed, grabbing her wrist and wrestling the weapon away.

"Kenna, stop!" he shouted, restraining her as she thrashed in his grip.

Marcel stepped in front of me, shielding me with his body as hotel security rushed over to help subdue Kenna.

"You're ruining everything!" she sobbed, her makeup streaking down her face. "He promised me! We were going to be a family!"

As security dragged her away, her screams echoed through the lobby. I watched her go, a strange calm settling over me despite the chaos.

"Isabella," Braxton whispered, stepping closer. "There's something you need to know about her."

I looked up at him, suddenly exhausted beyond measure. Whatever secret he was about to share, I wasn't sure I wanted to hear it anymore.