Isabella didn't expect that the first day of her return to the Lancaster mansion would feel more like a trap than a homecoming.
Everything was the same—too same. The white marble floors gleamed with cold elegance, the winding staircase still curved like a snake guarding secrets, and the air still smelled faintly of cedar and regret. But now, she wasn't the naïve wife who once tried to make this house a home.
She was a guest. Worse—an unwanted one.
"Your room is ready," the housekeeper, Martha, announced politely, avoiding eye contact.
"Which room?" Isabella asked, her voice low but steady.
Martha flinched. "The one next to the guest wing."
Not her old room. Not the master bedroom. A clear message.
Isabella gave a tight smile. "Perfect."
As she walked through the hall, she passed by the study. The door creaked open, and there he was—Alexander Lancaster, billionaire, CEO, and the man who had once sworn to love her forever.
He was sitting behind the massive oak desk, fingers steepled, gaze cold.
"You're here early," he said without looking up.
"I'm not here for you," she replied. "I'm here for the truth."
His eyes lifted. "The truth?"
"The truth about the child," she said. "The one you thought wasn't yours."
Alexander's expression tightened. "We already talked about this."
"No," she said sharply. "You talked. I listened. Now, it's my turn."
Before he could respond, a soft giggle floated down the hallway. Isabella turned just in time to see a small figure dart past the open doorway.
A child. A little girl. Her breath hitched.
Alexander stood. "You weren't supposed to see her."
Isabella's heart pounded. "That's… your daughter?"
He nodded, slowly.
"And the mother?"
A shadow flickered in his eyes. "Not who you think."
For a second, silence choked the air between them.
"Alexander," she said, voice trembling. "How many secrets are you hiding in this house?"
He took a step closer. "Enough to destroy us both. Or save us. Depending on what you do next."