Robert sat in the back of a cab, watching rain trace crooked lines down the window. When he'd answered Richard's call, he'd heard something in the man's voice — not anger, but the brittle calm of someone holding themselves together by sheer will.
The streets gleamed darkly when the cab pulled up outside the bar — a quiet place in South Kensington, half-lit and half-empty, where privacy came without asking. Through the misted windows, a piano played something low and melancholic, as the dim lights spilled out onto the wet pavement.
Richard sat alone at a corner table, a half-drained whisky before him. He looked smaller somehow — not the steady, composed figure Robert had known for years. The edges of confidence were gone, stripped bare to something raw and human.
Robert approached quietly.
"Richard," he said, pulling out the chair opposite.
Richard looked up. His eyes were rimmed red, but steady. "Thanks for coming."
"Of course." Robert studied him. "What's happened?"
Richard gave a small, hollow laugh. "Eleanor's been cheating on me."
He stared into the whisky as if the truth were somewhere at the bottom of the glass. "I walked in on her," he said finally. "With her personal trainer. A man barely older than our son."
The words landed like a slow, heavy blow.
Robert said nothing.
"Some twenty-something she's been 'training' with for two years," Richard went on, voice low, detached. "All these years, she accused me — of affairs, of secrets. I thought she was just insecure. But she was projecting. Every accusation was her own reflection."
He laughed again, brittle and hoarse. "All those years she doubted me… and I never once gave her reason to."
Robert let the silence breathe. "I'm sorry, Richard."
"I don't even know what I'm upset about," Richard said quietly. "The marriage was dead long before tonight — I just refused to see it." He rubbed a hand over his face, weary. "But that's not all... She's been trying to destroy Isabelle."
Robert frowned. "Go on."
Richard hesitated, his jaw tightening. "Her trainer — his name's Toby Marks." He gave a mirthless laugh. "I looked him up on social media. His sister is Sienna Marks."
Robert's expression darkened.
"Exactly," Richard said. "Eleanor was behind it. She encouraged Sienna to dig into Isabelle, to find proof of an affair that didn't exist. And when she couldn't, she tried to ruin her anyway — her job, her reputation, everything."
He shook his head, the anger trembling beneath exhaustion. "I thought I was being fair. Objective. But my wife was pulling strings the whole time — humiliating the one person who's only ever been loyal to me and to my company."
Robert swallowed hard. "Does Isabelle know?"
"No," Richard said. His voice cracked slightly. "I can't tell her. I'd have to face how blind I've been."
Robert leaned forward, quiet, but firm. "You trusted your wife. That's not blindness — that's decency."
Richard's mouth curved into something that might once have been a smile. "Feels like stupidity now."
The bartender brought over two coffees which Robert had ordered. Neither man touched it.
"I wanted to tell you because… I can't face Isabelle yet," Richard said softly. "Not after everything she's done for me. I don't know how to look her in the eye and admit I let this happen."
Robert rested a hand on his shoulder. "She'll understand more than you think."
Richard nodded, eyes falling to the table. "Maybe. Right now, I just need someone to tell me I'm not losing my mind."
"You're not," Robert said. "You're heartbroken. You're still a good man, Richard. You never cheated."
For a long moment, neither spoke — two men sitting in the hush of shared fatigue, each carrying his own quiet weight.
"She didn't even deny it," Richard murmured finally. "Didn't cry, didn't apologise — just looked bored. Like I was interrupting her evening." He took another swallow of his drink. "Years, Robert. Years of being made to feel like the guilty one."
Robert watched him — the slump of his shoulders, the hollow behind his eyes. Then, gently, "You can't go back there tonight. Come with me."
Richard frowned. "Where?"
"My apartment. It's quiet. Empty most of the time. Stay as long as you need."
"Robert, I can't —"
"You can," Robert said firmly. "It's not up for debate. Come on."
They left the bar in silence. The rain had stopped, leaving the streets slick and luminous under the streetlights.
At the apartment, Robert unlocked the door and turned on a light. The space smelled faintly of cedar and paper — the kind of silence that belonged to rooms without heartbeats.
"Get some sleep," Robert said quietly. "We'll figure things out in the morning."
As he turned to leave, Richard called after him. "Robert?"
He paused at the door.
"Don't tell Isabelle, not yet," Richard said. "She's got enough to worry about."
"Richard," Robert said carefully, "I can't promise that. I won't keep secrets from her. But she'll be on your side — you know that."
Richard nodded, defeated but grateful. "Thanks. For coming. For this."
"Try to rest," Robert said. "I'll check on you in the morning."
Isabelle was asleep when Robert got home. He didn't wake her. He stood for a while by the bed, watching the soft rise and fall of her breathing — her hand resting lightly over her stomach, the faintest trace of peace on her face.
He thought of what Richard had said — of Eleanor's betrayal, of Sienna's scheme, of how close Isabelle had come to losing everything because of someone else's malice.
That fierce protectiveness inside him deepened. He'd done it then; and he'd do it again. Isabelle would never fight another battle alone. Not while he drew breath.
The next morning, Isabelle was already in the kitchen when Robert got up. She looked up, reading everything in his face before he spoke.
"What happened?" she asked quietly.
Robert sat down across from her, dragging a hand through his hair. "It's Richard," he said. "He found Eleanor... with someone else."
Her hand flew to her mouth. "Oh my God."
"Her trainer," Robert said grimly. "At their house. He walked in on them."
Isabelle sank back in her chair, stunned. "That poor man…"
"He's shattered," Robert said. "He's staying at my apartment for now."
She nodded, absorbing the blow. "And the party?"
Robert hesitated. "That's the problem."
For a moment, they just sat there, the clock ticking softly, the city stirring awake outside.
"We can't just cancel," Isabelle said at last. "Caterers, guests — everything's set."
"I know."
"But we can't pretend either," she whispered. "Not after this. Not when he's…"
She trailed off, shaking her head.
Robert reached across the table, his hand warm over hers. "Let's talk to him first. See what he wants to do."
She nodded, though the worry didn't leave her face.
As they drove through the pale morning light, Isabelle's thoughts tumbled — Richard's heartbreak, Eleanor's cruelty, the party waiting like a storm she couldn't delay.
And for the first time, she wasn't sure she had the strength to face it.