The statement went out just after noon.
Isabelle read it aloud one final time; her voice even, deliberate — the voice of someone who'd weathered a hundred storms and learned never to raise her tone against the wind.
Statement on Behalf of Isabelle Cole
In recent days, false and damaging statements have circulated regarding Isabelle Cole, her professional conduct and her personal life.
These claims, made by her former husband, Clive Cole, and a former employee of Hale & Partners, Sienna Marks, are entirely unfounded.
Mr. Cole has repeatedly declined opportunities to see his children, despite Isabelle's attempts to arrange contact and visits over the past few months, including at Christmas. He has chosen instead to attack her publicly.
Ms. Marks was dismissed for a serious breach of data protection — accessing confidential client information without authorisation. Her current claims appear retaliatory in nature.
Isabelle's colleagues have provided statements attesting to her integrity, professionalism and empathy. Many have witnessed her rise from an entry-level role to a senior one while raising two children as a single mother.
Isabelle has always championed fairness, inclusion, and opportunity. She remains committed to those values through her work and through her new venture, Never Settle, which supports women in achieving equal footing in the workplace.
We ask for privacy for Isabelle and her family during this time, and remind all parties that speculation harms not only reputations, but real lives.
When she finished, the flat felt unnaturally still. Isabelle's eyes blurred as she reached the end of the document, her throat tight with emotion.
"It's perfect," she whispered. "You even made it sound like me."
Robert's lips curved slightly. "I wanted it to sound like you — composed, professional, undeniable."
She leaned back into the cushions, exhaling deeply for what felt like the first time in a week. "Release it," she said softly. "Before I change my mind."
He hit send, closed the laptop, and came to sit beside her. "It's done," he murmured. "Now you rest. Doctor's orders."
"Your orders, you mean."
He smiled, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "Exactly."
The rest of the afternoon passed in a hush broken only by the soft clatter of dishes and the faint hum of the heating. Helene moved through the flat like a quiet force of nature — making soup, folding blankets, muttering under her breath about "certain people who deserve a slap rather than an interview."
At four o'clock, the front door opened as Helene and the children arrived home after school. The sound of their hushed voices filled the flat.
"Mummy's not well, she's resting," Helene said gently before the children could rush into the sitting room. "She's been working too hard, so we're going to use our quiet voices today."
Luke nodded solemnly, while Becca whispered, "Can I draw her a picture?"
Helene smiled, softening. "That would be lovely, sweetheart. She'll love that."
From the sofa, Isabelle listened to their footsteps and the low murmur of her mother's voice as she guided them into the kitchen. The domestic sound of it all — crayons scratching on paper, the kettle whistling, her children giggling in little bursts — wrapped around her like balm. For a moment, she let herself simply be.
Robert, sitting beside her, reached for her hand. "See?" he said quietly. "Everything is fine. The world can wait for you to rest."
She nodded, her chest tight with gratitude.
By early evening, the first reactions to the statement began to trickle in. Robert's phone pinged continuously — messages from colleagues, journalists, even a few sympathetic public figures.
"Look," he said, handing her the screen. "Most of the comments are people taking your side. They're seeing through it."
Isabelle scrolled slowly, absorbing the wave of support — former clients, friends, women she'd once met, even briefly. The kindness of strangers felt almost too much.
Then a new message flashed up. Sky News requests exclusive interview — live broadcast. Topic: Women, truth, and resilience.
Her pulse jumped. "Robert, this — this could help Never Settle. Think about it. Exposure like that, after everything —"
His jaw tightened. "Izzy, you've been through a lot, you've just been discharged from hospital. You're barely eating. You don't need to go on television."
"It's not about being on television," she said, sitting up straighter. "It's about control. I can't keep letting other people tell my story. This is my chance to take back control of my story."
Robert hesitated, then exhaled slowly. "Fine. But if you do this, I'm coming with you. I'll field the questions. You don't have to defend yourself again and again."
Her eyes flashed. "Robert, you can't speak for me. This is my life, my work, my reputation."
"I'm not trying to speak for you," he said evenly. "I'm trying to protect you. They'll twist your words, push you until you break."
"Maybe," she whispered, "but I'd rather break on my own terms."
Silence stretched between them — thick, taut, painful.
In the next room, Becca laughed softly at something, the sound pure and light. It cut through the tension like a small mercy.
Robert ran a hand through his hair, his expression softening. "I just don't want to see you get hurt again."
She looked at him for a long moment, her voice quiet but steady. "You can't keep me safe from everything. You fell in love with someone who doesn't know how to sit quietly and let other people speak for her."
He sighed, the fight draining out of him. "Then at least promise me you'll let me be there."
Her lips curved faintly. "You'll be there. As my partner, in life and business. But I'm answering the questions about myself."
Later, after the children were asleep and Helene had gone to her room, they remained sitting side by side on the sofa — not touching, but not apart either. The rain drummed softly against the window, a quiet rhythm that matched the pulse of the city beyond.
Robert finally broke the silence. "You're stronger than anyone gives you credit for, Izzy."
She smiled faintly. "That includes you."
He looked at her then — really looked — and the edges of worry in his eyes softened into something else entirely. "You're right."
Outside, the rain deepened to a steady patter. Inside, Isabelle's world — shaken, bruised, but still standing — began, slowly, to settle again.
And somewhere between the sound of rain and Robert's steady breathing beside her, she found it: a small, steady ember of calm.
Tomorrow, she would speak.
Not to defend.
But to reclaim.