Dying, I Left His Ruthless Bed

Isabelle POV I didn't know how I managed to stand. Perhaps it was the adrenaline, or maybe it was the sheer, unadulterated hatred burning through the fog of my pain. I wiped the blood from my mouth with the back of my hand, leaving a crimson smear across my pale skin, and dragged myself into the bedroom. Kade was pacing by the window, his silhouette framed against the sprawling Cameron estate grounds. He turned as I entered, his eyes narrowing not with concern, but with calculation. "Why did you come back?" I asked, my voice a broken rasp. I leaned against the doorframe, my legs trembling under the weight of my own body. "If I'm such a liar, such a burden... why are you here?" "Because I know how your mind works, Isabelle," he said, his tone clipped and professional, as if he were addressing a subordinate rather than his wife. "You saw Carla at the clinic. You saw me help her." "I saw you choose her," I corrected him. "Over your dead child." He crossed the room in two long strides, stopping just inches from me. The scent of his cologne—sandalwood and cold steel—filled my lungs, making me nauseous. "Don't twist this," he warned, his voice dropping to a dangerous octave. "Carla is a Shaw. If word gets out that the Underboss of the Cameron family was seen intimately assisting a woman from a rival clan, it compromises everything. My position. My authority." He reached out, gripping my chin and forcing me to look up at him. His fingers were warm, a cruel contrast to the ice in his gray eyes. "You are not going to run to my grandfather," he commanded. "You will not go to Elder Cameron and spin some sob story to undermine me. Do you understand?" A dry, humorless laugh bubbled up in my throat, tasting of iron. "You think I care about your politics? You think I care about the Shaw family's honor?" "You should," he sneered, releasing me with a shove that sent me stumbling back against the dresser. "Because that's the only reason you're in this room. You seem to forget, Isabelle. You weren't a bride chosen for love. You were collateral. A debt payment from your father to mine three years ago. You have no rights here. And you certainly have no right to judge Carla." Collateral. The word hung in the air, stripping away the last shred of dignity I had clung to. For three years, I had tried to be a good wife. I had tried to turn this prison into a home. But to him, I was just a receipt for a paid bill. Something inside me snapped. It wasn't a loud break, but a quiet, final severance. "You're right," I whispered. The pain in my womb seemed to dull, replaced by a strange, hollow calm. "I have no rights. So let's end this." Kade scoffed, turning away to adjust his cufflinks in the mirror. "Stop the dramatics. I'm not in the mood for your games." "It's not a game, Kade." I opened the top drawer of the nightstand. My hands shook, not from fear, but from weakness, as I pulled out the manila envelope I had hidden there months ago, back when the cancer diagnosis first came in. Back when I thought I might have a choice. I tossed the document onto the polished mahogany surface. It landed with a soft thud. "Divorce papers," I said. "I had them drawn up a while ago. I never had the courage to give them to you. Until now." Kade stared at the papers, then looked at me, a flicker of genuine surprise cracking his mask. Then, his expression hardened into something ugly. "Is this your play?" he asked, his voice dripping with disdain. "You threaten to leave, hoping I'll beg? Hoping I'll chase after you?" He laughed, a cold, sharp sound. "You're delusional. If you think this will make me forget your betrayal, you're wrong." "Just sign it," I said, pushing a Montblanc pen toward him. "Sign it, and I disappear. No Elder Cameron. No scandal. Just... gone." He looked at the pen, then at me. For a second, I thought he might actually do it. I thought he might set me free. Then, his phone rang. The shrill ringtone cut through the tension like a knife. Kade pulled it from his pocket, and the moment he saw the screen, the cruelty vanished from his face, replaced by urgent concern. "Carla?" he answered, turning his back to me. I couldn't hear her words, but I heard the fear in her voice through the receiver. "Slow down," Kade said, his voice gentle—the voice he used to use with me. "Where are you? ... Okay. Stay there. Don't move. I'm coming." He hung up and grabbed his suit jacket from the bed. He didn't even look at the divorce papers. He didn't look at me. He was already halfway to the door. "Kade," I said, my voice barely a whisper. "The papers. It will take one second." He paused in the doorway, glancing back over his shoulder. His eyes were impatient, his mind already miles away with another woman. "I don't have time for your tantrums, Isabelle," he snapped. "We'll deal with your little rebellion when I get back. Stay here." And then he was gone. The silence that followed was deafening. I stood there, staring at the empty doorway, realizing that I didn't even rank high enough to be divorced. I wasn't a wife to him. I was furniture. I was a possession he expected to find exactly where he left it. "No," I said to the empty room. I picked up the pen. My hand trembled as I uncapped it. I didn't need his permission to die. And I certainly didn't need his permission to leave. I signed my name on the line. Isabelle Dawson. Not Cameron. Never again Cameron. I left the papers on the nightstand, right next to his wedding ring, which I pulled off my finger and dropped with a clatter. I didn't take much. Just a small duffel bag with a few changes of clothes—the cheap ones I had bought myself, not the designer silk he had draped me in. I walked over to the chaise lounge where Fluffy was sleeping and scooped the white cat into my arms. She meowed softly, nuzzling into my chest. "We're going, Fluffy," I whispered, burying my face in her fur to hide the first tear that escaped. With my free hand, I dialed the only number I had left. "Izzy?" Addisyn's voice was groggy, confused. "It's late. Is everything okay?" "Addy," I said, staring at the bloodstain on the Persian rug one last time. "Come get me. Please."