Chapter 8 - THE MISTRESS WHO WAS PLAYING TWO SIDESAdrian had been released from custody less than two hours when he appeared at the offices of the Isabella Vale Foundation.
He wasn't alone.
Two lawyers accompanied him.
So did a private security guard and a public relations consultant.
And according to Grace Bennett, he was furious.
"He wants the financial records," Grace told me over the phone.
I stood in my childhood kitchen, surrounded by five brothers, an elderly woman who claimed to be my mother, and enough secrets to destroy three families.
"Don't give him anything," I said.
"I'm not planning to."
"Has he threatened you?"
"He told me he'd have me arrested for mismanaging foundation funds."
I closed my eyes.
"That's ridiculous."
"I know."
In the background, I heard Adrian's voice.
"Grace! Put my wife on the phone!"
My body stiffened.
For seven years, that voice had controlled my life.
It had told me when to speak.
What to wear.
Whom to visit.
And whether I was allowed to leave the house.
Now, hearing it through a telephone, I felt the familiar instinct to obey.
I hated myself for the reaction.
Then I remembered the hospital.
The rope.
The crop.
The look on his face when he told two hundred people I was worthless.
"Grace," I whispered, "put me on speaker."
Dante immediately shook his head.
"Bella—"
I held up one hand.
My brother stopped.
A click sounded.
Then Adrian spoke.
"Isabella."
I took a slow breath.
"Hello, Adrian."
His voice softened instantly.
"Sweetheart, thank God. I've been trying to reach you."
I closed my eyes.
There it was.
The charming voice.
The one he'd used when we first met.
The one that made me believe I was special.
"Where are you?" he asked.
"Somewhere safe."
He sighed.
"Listen, I know things got out of hand."
I stared at the kitchen wall.
"Out of hand?"
"The party. The misunderstanding."
A bitter laugh escaped me.
"Is that what you're calling it?"
"I was under tremendous stress. You embarrassed Vanessa in front of important people, and I reacted badly."
I looked at Dante.
He stood motionless.
"Adrian," I said quietly, "you tied me to a beam and beat me."
Silence.
Then he lowered his voice.
"You know I didn't mean to hurt you."
My stomach turned.
"You struck me twenty-nine times."
"Because you kept arguing!"
The familiar rage flashed through his words.
Then he caught himself.
"Baby, please. I don't want to fight."
I felt strangely calm.
"Then stop calling me."
"Isabella, don't be dramatic."
I almost smiled.
There it was again.
The accusation he used whenever I refused to accept his version of events.
"Do you remember what you said before the party?" I asked.
He sighed impatiently.
"Not this again."
"You told me I should be grateful you married me because no respectable family would have wanted a woman with my background."
"Sweetheart—"
"You told me my brothers were criminals."
"They are!"
"You told me I had no money, no power, and no future without you."
"Isabella, listen—"
"And you told me that if I ever left, nobody would believe a word I said."
Silence.
I looked at my brothers.
Then at Evelyn.
For the first time, I understood that I didn't need Adrian's permission to tell the truth.
"Two hundred people saw what you did," I said.
His voice hardened.
"Be very careful."
The words sent a chill through my body.
I steadied myself.
"Are you threatening me?"
"Don't twist my words."
"I'm ending this call. Any necessary communication can go through my attorney."
"Isabella!"
I disconnected.
My hands were shaking.
But I had done it.
I had ended the conversation.
Dante approached.
"You okay?"
I nodded.
Then shook my head.
Then laughed and cried at the same time.
"I don't know."
He hugged me carefully.
"That's allowed."
Across the kitchen, Roman grinned.
"That was the best thing I've heard all week."
Marco checked his phone.
"Grace has already contacted the police about Adrian's visit. We'll also preserve any communications relevant to the financial investigation."
I nodded.
But my mind had returned to Vanessa.
My half sister.
The woman who had smiled while I suffered.
I turned toward Evelyn.
"Tell me everything you know about her."
Evelyn folded her hands.
"Samuel had been married before we met. His first wife was a woman named Caroline Monroe."
"Monroe?"
"Yes. After Samuel died, Caroline remarried, and Vanessa took her stepfather's name."
I thought of Vanessa's expensive clothes.
Her perfectly styled blonde hair.
Her effortless arrogance.
"Did she know about me?"
"I don't know when she learned. But she contacted me last year."
"What did she want?"
"Information about Samuel."
"Why?"
"She said she was investigating his death."
My heart tightened.
"His car accident?"
Evelyn nodded.
"She believed it wasn't an accident."
Marco glanced up.
"Does she have evidence?"
"She claimed she did."
"What happened?"
Evelyn sighed.
"She asked about Blackthorn, Gabriel, and William Vale. Then she disappeared for months."
"Until she became Adrian's mistress."
Evelyn lowered her eyes.
"Yes."
I laughed bitterly.
"How convenient."
Dante sat opposite me.
"Bella, she may have been investigating Adrian."
"By sleeping with him?"
He didn't answer.
"By laughing while he hurt me?"
Still nothing.
I pushed back my chair.
"I don't care what secret mission she thinks she's on. She stood there. She watched."
My voice cracked.
"She smiled."
Evelyn began crying.
"I'm sorry."
I shook my head.
"Don't apologize for her."
I walked to the living room.
My childhood piano still stood against the far wall.
Sofia had taught me to play when I was six.
I ran my fingers along the polished wood.
On top sat a framed photograph of our family.
Gabriel.
Sofia.
Five boys.
And me.
Everyone was smiling.
I stared at Sofia's face.
For the first time, I wondered whether she had ever been frightened that I would learn the truth.
Had she worried I would love her less?
Had she wondered whether Evelyn would someday return?
I touched the glass.
"You were my mother," I whispered.
Nothing could change that.
But maybe there was room in my life for another truth.
A knock sounded behind me.
Luca stood in the doorway.
"Hey, Bella Bean."
I smiled weakly.
"Hey."
He entered carrying two cups of tea.
"Peppermint."
"Thanks."
He sat on the couch.
For a while, we drank in silence.
Then he said, "I owe you an apology."
I looked at him.
"For what?"
"For not seeing what Adrian was doing."
I sighed.
"Luca—"
"No. Let me finish."
His eyes glistened.
"You stopped coming to family dinners. You stopped answering calls. Every time I asked whether you were okay, you said you were busy."
He swallowed.
"I thought you were choosing him over us."
My chest tightened.
"I wasn't."
"I know that now."
He looked down.
"I got angry. I thought you were ashamed of us."
Tears filled my eyes.
"Oh, Luca."
He laughed bitterly.
"I was such an idiot."
I put down my tea.
"Adrian told me you hated him."
Luca snorted.
"Well, that part was true."
Despite everything, I laughed.
"But he also told me you hated me for marrying him."
Luca's smile vanished.
"He said that?"
I nodded.
"He said Dante only cared about controlling me. That Roman would ruin my reputation. That Marco would interfere in our finances. That Nico looked down on Adrian's business."
"And me?"
"He said you were immature."
Luca blinked.
"Okay, rude."
I laughed through my tears.
Then he grew serious.
"Bella, I could never hate you."
He reached for my hand.
"You're my little sister. You could marry a circus clown and move to Antarctica, and I'd still show up with birthday presents."
I smiled.
"Even if the clown was Adrian?"
Luca considered it.
"Then I'd buy you better presents."
I laughed until my ribs hurt.
For the first time since the birthday party, the laughter felt real.
That evening, Marco received permission to review copies of several newly obtained records through the legal team.
The records came from Gerald Price, the attorney who had handled my post-wedding documents.
He was eighty-one now.
Retired.
Living in Connecticut.
And apparently terrified.
"He contacted us voluntarily," Marco explained. "He's asking to speak with investigators."
"Why now?"
"Because he saw the video of Adrian assaulting you."
My stomach tightened.
"What does that have to do with the documents?"
Marco looked grim.
"He says William Vale instructed him to prepare certain transactions before William died. Adrian later followed through with some of those plans."
I stared at him.
"What did I sign?"
Marco took a breath.
"Based on the copies Price supplied, you signed several documents purporting to waive or assign interests in trusts and related assets."
I felt faint.
"How much?"
"We don't have a reliable total yet."
"Millions?"
"Potentially."
I closed my eyes.
Adrian had promised that signing those documents would protect our future children.
He told me it was routine estate planning.
He bought me flowers afterward.
I remembered how happy I had been.
"Can we undo it?"
"We can challenge the transactions. The outcome will depend on the documents, the circumstances, and the evidence."
I opened my eyes.
"Then challenge everything."
Marco nodded.
"We will."
He hesitated.
"There's more."
I nearly laughed.
"Of course there is."
"Gerald Price says Adrian insisted on a special provision."
"What provision?"
"He wanted certain rights to revert to his control if you became legally incapacitated."
A chill moved through me.
"Why?"
"We don't know whether he planned to use it."
I stared at my brother.
Then remembered something.
The medication.
Three months earlier, Adrian had insisted I see a private physician because I was having trouble sleeping.
The physician prescribed medication.
Adrian kept the bottles in his bathroom cabinet.
He handed me the pills every night.
For weeks, I felt dizzy.
Confused.
Sometimes I struggled to remember conversations.
Adrian told me I was stressed.
He said I was becoming forgetful.
He joked to friends that his wife couldn't even remember where she'd parked her car.
I stopped taking the medication after a particularly frightening episode.
Adrian became furious.
I looked at Marco.
"There's something I need to tell you."
His expression sharpened.
"What?"
I described the physician.
The medication.
The dizziness.
The memory problems.
Marco listened carefully.
Then asked, "Do you still have the prescription details?"
"Maybe. Adrian kept everything."
"Do you remember the doctor's name?"
"Dr. Nathan Ellis."
Marco wrote it down.
"We should tell your treating physician and Detective Shaw. We can't assume anything about the medication without records and medical review."
I nodded.
But a terrible possibility had begun forming in my mind.
What if Adrian hadn't merely wanted my money?
What if he had been laying the groundwork to take legal control over me?
I looked toward the window.
Darkness had fallen.
The security lights illuminated the front yard.
Suddenly, headlights appeared at the end of the driveway.
A black sedan stopped outside the gate.
Roman stepped toward the security monitor.
"Someone's here."
I watched the screen.
A woman climbed from the back seat.
Blonde hair.
Red coat.
High heels.
I recognized her immediately.
Vanessa Monroe.
My husband's mistress.
My half sister.
Roman's expression turned murderous.
"She's got some nerve."
Dante moved toward the front door.
"Nobody touches her. Let security speak with her first."
The intercom rang.
A guard's voice sounded.
"Mrs. Moretti, the visitor says she has information for Isabella."
I stiffened.
Dante looked at me.
"You don't have to see her."
I stared at the monitor.
Vanessa stood outside the gate, holding a small black leather briefcase.
Her face looked pale.
Her hair was tangled by the wind.
And for the first time, she didn't look confident.
She looked frightened.
"What does she want?" I asked.
The guard relayed the question.
Vanessa looked directly into the camera.
Then she spoke.
"Tell Isabella I'm sorry."
My stomach twisted.
She continued.
"Tell her I know she hates me."
A tear rolled down her cheek.
"But I have proof Adrian planned to have her declared incompetent."
The kitchen went silent.
Vanessa lifted the briefcase.
"And I have the original recording of the night Gabriel Moretti died."
I stared at the screen.
The woman who had watched my husband hurt me was standing outside my childhood home.
Holding the evidence my brothers had searched for nearly three decades.
Then Vanessa looked over her shoulder.
A second vehicle appeared on the road.
She stepped backward.
Her face drained of color.
"Oh, God," she whispered.
The intercom picked up her trembling voice.
May you like
"They followed me."
And suddenly, every light along the driveway went out.
