The weeks that followed the Sky interview unfurled slowly — like dawn breaking after a long storm.
The tide had turned.
Public opinion had shifted decisively in Isabelle's favour. The clips of her calm rebuttals spread across social media — her poised expression, her quiet defiance, her unshakable calm.
Invitations poured in — to consult, to speak, to advise. Never Settle's inbox overflowed. Women from across the country — and even abroad — reached out to share their stories, their hopes, their fears. Some messages were brief; others were long confessions from mothers, carers, young graduates — women who had fought unseen battles and now wanted to fight differently. Isabelle read every one she could, sometimes with tears slipping quietly down her cheeks.
It was everything she'd dreamed of.
And yet, she was exhausted.
The morning sickness still clung to her, a quiet, persistent misery. She was hiding it as best she could — from her colleagues, from her children, from everyone except Robert and her mother. Helene made sure she ate what little she could stomach: dry toast, sliced banana, endless peppermint tea.
Robert hovered constantly. He'd scaled back his own workload, managing Never Settle's flood of interest and ensuring Isabelle didn't push herself too hard. "Eat," he'd remind her gently. "Rest. You can't change the world on an empty stomach."
One evening, as they sat together on the sofa with contracts spread out and the city humming softly outside, Robert said quietly, "We need to talk about the wedding."
Isabelle looked up from her notes, blinking. "Oh no," she said, a faint smile tugging at her lips. "Please tell me you're not getting cold feet." She teased.
He laughed softly. "Quite the opposite. I just think… maybe we wait until after the baby's born."
Her lips parted, the smile faltering. "You don't want to get married now?"
"I would marry you this second," he said simply. "But I want you healthy, Izzy. I want you to enjoy it — not push yourself through fittings and planning when you can barely eat. We'll have our day. Just later. When it's about us, not damage control and exhaustion."
Emotion rose in her chest, bittersweet and full. "You always make it sound so simple."
"That's because it is," he said, brushing his thumb over her knuckles.
Work resumed in cautious steps. Isabelle returned to Hale & Partners for mornings only, then worked from home in the afternoons — mostly on Never Settle's launch partnerships. Richard welcomed her back warmly, insisting she take breaks, he fussed in a quiet, protective way.
"You're working too much again," he said one morning, appearing at her office door. "Robert wouldn't forgive me if you get sick again."
"I'm working efficiently," she replied, sipping her tea with an arch of her brow.
He smiled faintly. "You're impossible. But it's good to have you back."
It was good to be back. In her absence, things had run smoothly — perhaps too smoothly — thanks to Carla, the new marketing assistant.
Carla was eager. Relentlessly eager. She shadowed Isabelle everywhere, taking notes, anticipating questions before they were asked. "I can handle that," she'd chirp, or "Leave it with me!" Her energy might have been endearing if it hadn't felt so performative — too polished, too careful.
One afternoon, after Carla had scurried off with a stack of proofs, Richard leaned on the doorframe, lowering his voice. "She's trying too hard."
Isabelle smiled wryly. "You noticed too?"
"She's ambitious," he said. "That's not a bad thing. But she's watching you a little too closely."
"I don't have the strength for office politics," Isabelle sighed. "But… I'll keep an eye on her."
"Good," Richard said, a concerned note in his tone. "You've had enough snakes for one lifetime."
A few days later, her phone buzzed.
Eleanor Hale:
Darling Isabelle — I'm planning a surprise 50th for Richard and need your help. You're the only one I trust to pull it off without him noticing. Lunch tomorrow to discuss? xx
Isabelle stared at the message. Her first instinct was to delete it. Her second — a weary sigh — was to type:
Isabelle:
Of course. For Richard. I'll make it work.
She could almost see Eleanor's self-satisfied smirk through the screen.
Lunch was as dreadful as she'd imagined. Eleanor swept into the restaurant wrapped in soft grey cashmere and the faint scent of gardenia, her smile the kind that could slice glass.
"My dear Isabelle, I'm so grateful," she said, air-kissing both cheeks. "I wouldn't trust anyone else with this. You always make things look so effortless."
Isabelle smiled, polite and restrained. "That's kind of you. I'll make sure Richard's none the wiser."
They discussed flowers, menus, the guest list. Eleanor's tone was syrupy, her glances assessing. "You're looking a bit pale. I hope work isn't wearing you out again," she remarked, eyes lingering just long enough to sting.
"I'm fine," Isabelle said smoothly. "Just pacing myself."
By the time she left, her smile felt carved from stone.
When she got home later that day, Helene was waiting with folded arms and concern etched deep in her features. "You need to stop saying yes to everyone," she said.
"I can't," Isabelle murmured, sinking onto the sofa. "This is what I built my reputation on — showing up, even when it's hard."
Helene pressed a mug of tea into her hands and sat beside her. "You've built more than a reputation now," she said softly. "You've built a life. You've got Robert. The children. And now… this one." She reached out, brushing Isabelle's stomach with gentle fingers.
"I know," Isabelle whispered, eyes glistening. "I just don't know how to slow down."
"Then learn," Helene said simply.
Later that night, Robert came home from a late meeting to find Isabelle half-asleep on the sofa. Helene nodded toward her as she left the room. "She barely ate. She's trying to be strong, but she's worn out."
Robert crouched beside her, tucking a blanket around her. He watched her for a moment — her face softened in sleep, her hand curled loosely over her stomach.
"Strongest woman I've ever met," he murmured. "But even strong things need care."
Her eyes fluttered open, hazy and warm. "You're talking to yourself again, Mr Blake." she teased, her voice soft with sleep.
He smiled. "Guilty."
"Don't ever change," she whispered, her voice fading as she drifted back to sleep.
Outside, London shimmered beneath a veil of mist and streetlights. Inside, their small world was still, wrapped in the quiet hum of a fragile peace.
But beneath that stillness, Isabelle could feel it: the next wave gathering. The small shifts in the air. The sense that peace, for her, was always temporary.
Robert brushed a kiss against her temple before rising. Her phone, lying face-down on the coffee table, buzzed softly.
He turned it over.
Eleanor Hale:
All set for Saturday? Everything must be perfect. He deserves that much — don't you think?
The message glowed in the half-light.
Robert exhaled slowly, setting the phone back down.