Her Affair Killed His Mom,Now He’ll Never Take Her Back

After Isabella Fox cheated on me, I wanted revenge.

So over the next six months, I went through no fewer than ten girlfriends.

The night I ended things with number ten, I asked Isabella for a divorce.

"Mr. Fox."

She didn't even look up from her phone.

"How many times is this now?"

Isabella finally finished her message and raised her eyes to meet mine.

"What, another girlfriend didn't work out?"

"Must be serious if the unflappable Mr. Fox is here throwing a tantrum."

She smiled, reaching for her coat.

"But I don't have time for this, Mr. Fox."

"I have plans tonight."

I watched her, still unable to understand.

How did she separate love and sex so cleanly? Like they existed in completely different worlds?

"Isabella." I pulled out the divorce papers and blocked her path, my voice flat. "I'm serious."

"Let's just... let each other go."

——

Silence.

"Mr. Fox."

Isabella's expression remained careless, almost bored.

"I really don't have time to play along with your little dramas."

She opened WeChat and waved it in front of me.

"My baby's getting upset."

"You should understand—" Her voice lilted with amusement, her features softening in a way I hadn't seen directed at me in years. "He's very hard to coax when he's mad, Mr. Fox."

On the screen: matching profile pictures.

A couple's set. Hers and his.

The guy was complaining, punctuating his texts with an angry emoji sticker.

[How much longer do you have to babysit that old man?]

[Didn't you say he has his own girlfriends? Or what, you decided the old man's more your type after all? Finally ready to get back together with him?]

He mocked my age without a shred of shame.

And Isabella? She found it adorable. Her reply was playful, indulgent:

[Someone's jealous over nothing.]

A voice call came through.

The shrill ringtone shattered our standoff. Isabella gestured at the screen apologetically. "Mr. Fox, I really am busy."

She answered it right in front of me.

A petulant male voice poured out.

"Isabella."

"I'm already at your door."

"You have three seconds."

"If you don't come out—"

"We're done!"

I listened to his brazen entitlement. Watched Isabella's expression freeze for just a heartbeat—then melt into a smile.

"You little terror."

"My husband's home, you know," she cooed into the phone. "Aren't you afraid he'll hack you to pieces?"

"If he actually hits you, don't come crying to me."

I stood there as Isabella flirted shamelessly, like I wasn't even in the room. The guy on the other end didn't care either.

"You won't let him."

"You promised you'd protect me!"

I knew what I should do.

Stay silent. Let Isabella leave. Give her space, just like everyone always told me. As long as I remained "Mr. Fox," I'd never want for anything. I could keep living this gilded life. And my mother—still fighting for her life in that hospital bed—would continue to receive the best care money could buy.

But I was done.

Done swallowing this.

I snatched the phone from Isabella's hand. Her eyes went wide with shock as I spoke into the receiver.

"Oh, he's very fierce."

My voice was ice.

"You walk through that door, and I'll make sure you leave on a stretcher."

The guy shrieked obscenities—called me shameless, pathetic—but I was already moving. I hurled the phone against the marble floor. It shattered.

Then I threw open the villa's front door.

A flushed face greeted me. Young. Arrogant.

Afraid.

My palm connected with his cheek before he could speak.

The crack echoed off the walls.

"Do you know what you are?"

My tone was razor-sharp, but my expression stayed perfectly blank.

"As long as I'm still here—as long as I hold the title of Mr. Fox for one more second—you're nothing but a dirty little side piece who'll never see the light of day."

I grabbed a fistful of his hair and slammed his head into the doorframe.

The impact thundered through the entryway.

He screamed, voice cracking.

"You're insane!"

"ISABELLA!"