Prepare the Divorce and Ruin My Husband

DAVID'S POV

Roxanne was asleep when I got her back to the hospital.

She looked small on that big bed. Pale. Fragile. Like she might shatter if the lights were too bright. I sat beside her and held her hand, careful, gentle. Her skin was warm. Mine felt cold.

Even asleep, she was crying.

“David…” she murmured, barely audible. “Don’t leave me. I’m scared.”

My chest tightened. I leaned closer, lowering my voice. “I’m here. Rest. You’re safe.”

But my mind would not shut up.

The sea kept crashing in my head. Over and over. Isabella’s face right before she jumped.

I eased my hand out of Roxanne’s grip and stepped into the hallway. The moment the door closed, I called my assistant.

“Any news?” I asked.

There was a pause. Too long.

“Sir… we’re still searching. The waves are rough. It was dark. We added more boats, but—”

“Don’t stop,” I snapped. “She didn’t drown.”

I pressed my fingers to my forehead. “Isabella can swim. She’s strong. She’s done this kind of thing before.”

And Ryle.

My jaw clenched.

“She didn’t jump to die,” I said, more to myself than him. “She jumped because Ryle was in the water. She was saving him. She always does that.”

The image burned behind my eyes. My father in law was shoving Ryle forward. The splash. Isabella not even hesitating before jumping in after him.

“She wouldn’t leave the boy,” I said. “She’s probably keeping him afloat somewhere. Looking for a way out.”

I hung up and stood there longer than I meant to. Snow was piling up outside the window. White. Silent. Cold.

...

The next morning, I made sure Roxanne was watched closely and drove home alone.

The house felt wrong the second I stepped inside.

Too quiet.

“Belle?” I called.

Nothing.

“Ryle?” My voice echoed back at me.

I walked faster. The living room looked normal at first. Furniture untouched. Her coat still hanging where she always left it. Shoes lined up neatly by the door.

Then I stopped.

The wall.

Empty.

Every photo was gone. Wedding photos. Family pictures. The ones with Ryle sitting between us, grinning with his missing teeth. The frames were still there. Clean. Bare.

My chest tightened hard.

I grabbed the servant. “Where are the photos?”

They hesitated. “A few days ago, sir. After Madam came back… she ordered all pictures with you and the young master burned. She watched them herself. She said none were to be kept.”

My ears rang.

Burned?

She used to dust those frames every morning even before she got kidnapped. Scold anyone who touched them. She said they were proof we existed.

I walked into the bedroom. The closet was full. Her clothes still there. Dresses. Coats. Even the white ones she loved.

She took nothing.

Only erased us.

My phone rang.

Roxanne.

Her voice was weak, trembling. “David… where are you? I woke up and you weren’t here. I dreamed about the babies. I’m scared.”

I looked around the empty house again. At the photos that used to prove I had a family.

“I’m on my way,” I said automatically.

But my grip on the phone tightened.

Isabella was gone. Ryle was gone. And for the first time, I did not know if they would ever come back.

Still, one thought stayed sharp in my mind.

I would find them.

No matter where they ran.

…

Roxanne crashed into my chest the moment I stepped back into the hospital room.

She was shaking hard, crying like the world had ended. Her fists clutched my coat, knuckles white. I wrapped my arms around her and held her steady, one hand rubbing her back, slow and firm. That was what I did. I kept things from falling apart.

But my head was somewhere else.

She looked up at me, eyes red, lashes wet. “David… you’re distracted. Are you thinking about them?”

I felt her body tense. “You still haven’t found my sister and Ryle, have you? Are they… alive?”

My jaw locked. I hated questions I could not answer.

“No updates yet,” I said. “My people are still searching.”

Her face folded instantly. Tears spilled faster. “This is my fault,” she whispered. “If I wasn’t there, Isabella wouldn’t have jumped. She wouldn’t have done something so extreme.”

I tightened my hold on her. “Stop blaming yourself,” I said low. “We already lost the twins. That’s enough pain for one body to carry.”

Then I added, slower, firmer, “She jumped because Ryle was in the water. She was saving our son. That’s all.”

Roxanne nodded against my chest, quiet now. I felt the slightest shift in her breathing, like something passing behind her eyes. I ignored it.

Inside, I was already doing the math.

Isabella was not weak. She was terrifyingly strong. She used to slice through water like it belonged to her. She nearly made the national swim team back then. And Ryle? He trained young. Too young. But he was fast, disciplined.

“They didn’t drown,” I said more to myself than her. “They swam away. She doesn’t want to face me yet. That’s why there’s no call.”

Isabella had always been intense about family. About me. About our son. She loved too hard. That kind of woman did not vanish easily.

I lifted Roxanne’s chin gently. “Rest,” I told her. “You’ve been through hell.”

....

For the next two days, I stayed by her side. Made sure she ate. Made sure the room stayed warm. Made sure no reporters got close. I handled everything.

But at night, when the lights dimmed and the hallways went quiet, my mind turned on me.

I kept seeing Isabella’s face on the yacht. Not angry. Not desperate.

Resolved.

I told myself she would come back soon. She always did. She was dramatic sometimes. Emotional. She wanted me to chase her, panic a little.

Fine. It worked.

By the third morning, I was sitting outside the operating wing, elbows on my knees, fingers tapping without rhythm. I did not even notice I was doing it until someone stopped in front of me.

A man in a suit. Calm. Professional. Dangerous in a quiet way.

“Mr. Vanderbilt,” he said. “I’m Mrs Vanderbilt’s lawyer.”

I looked up slowly.

He handed me a folder. “These are the divorce papers she prepared. Everything is ready. She just needs your signature.”

My eyes dropped to the folder.

Divorce?