Chapter 10 Destruction

Michael walked into the house and was immediately hit by a racket coming from inside. His heart skipped a beat, thinking Isabella might be back. He rushed to her room, but when he opened the door, his eyes widened in shock and anger.

The place was a mess. Grace was tearing up Isabella's room like a tornado. She was slashing Isabella's clothes with a pair of scissors, a wild grin on her face. Furniture and jewelry were trashed, and the floor was covered in broken pieces.

"Grace, what the hell are you doing?" Michael blurted out, stunned.

Grace spun around, still smiling but with a hint of defiance. "I hate the traces of Olivia living here. If it weren't for Olivia, we wouldn't have lost three years. She took my place, and now she acts like I'm the bad guy, making me look like the mistress!"

"Grace, you're not a mistress. Stop overthinking," Michael said, trying to calm her down.

Then Michael's eyes landed on a brand-new men's suit in the wardrobe. His heart sank, and he thought of Samuel. His anger flared up again.

"Cut it out!" he yelled, marching over to Grace to stop her rampage. In her frenzy, Grace accidentally jabbed Michael with the scissors. Blood splattered, staining his sleeve.

"Oh my God, Michael, I'm so sorry!" Grace dropped the scissors, covering her mouth in shock, tears welling up.

"What is going on here?" Zoey burst in with the servants, her eyes widening at the sight of Michael bleeding onto the white carpet. "Michael! What happened?"

"David, get a car and take Grace home," Michael said, trying to keep his cool despite the pain.

Grace didn't want to leave, and Zoey didn't want her to go either. If Zoey had her way, she'd have Michael and Grace make up right then and there. But they couldn't go against Michael's orders, so they arranged for a driver to take Grace home to cool off.

Once Grace and Zoey were gone, the house finally quieted down. Michael didn't want to stay in the wrecked room and, for some reason, didn't want anyone to clean it up either. He just closed the door and headed to the study.

Michael's mind was still buzzing from the fight with Grace. He needed a coffee to calm down, so David quickly made him one.

"Here, it's fresh," David said, handing him the cup with a hopeful look.

Michael took a sip, but the bitterness hit him hard. He frowned, missing the smooth, slightly sweet coffee Isabella used to make. "How did you make this?" Michael asked, a bit annoyed.

David, looking a bit lost, fumbled with the notes Isabella had left. "I followed the steps, but I don't know why it tastes off."

Michael's eyes landed on a notebook on the table, just sitting there quietly, almost like it was whispering Isabella's care. He flipped through it and found it filled with little details about their life: "a few pieces of sugar, a proper amount of milk," "brew the coffee for a few minutes," "don't wear a red tie on Mondays," "Michael prefers desserts," "never add cream," and so on. These small, seemingly mundane notes were full of love.

A wave of mixed emotions hit Michael. He thought to himself, 'Did she analyze my thoughts with some hidden agenda or just pure love?'

He could feel the deep affection in those notes, but his anger wouldn't let him admit his softening heart. He thought, 'If she loved me that much, how could she just leave? How could she be so close to Samuel? It has to be a lie!'

"David, do you think Olivia has ulterior motives towards me?" Michael suddenly asked.

David looked surprised, then shook his head. "I think Mrs. Johnson just loves you a lot."

David's honest words made Michael's feelings even more tangled. Michael couldn't resist calling Samuel.

He could only reach Isabella through Samuel now. They used to be married, but now he couldn't even get her contact info. He was sick of having to go through Samuel every time.

Samuel took his sweet time answering the phone, as usual. "Mr. Harris, I'm looking for my wife," Michael said, his tone more natural than earlier, with a hint of possessiveness.

Daniel was about to snap but was silenced by Isabella with a pillow. "Mr. Johnson, Olivia is no longer your wife; you're divorced," Samuel calmly reminded him, carefully choosing his words.

"I want to speak to her alone," Michael insisted, not wanting to waste more words on Samuel.

Samuel glanced at Isabella, who nodded, so he and Daniel headed to the kitchen. They still had to finish cooking for Isabella. They couldn't let Michael ruin her appetite.

Once the door closed, Isabella finally spoke, "I'm busy, make it quick."

"I want your new phone number," Michael demanded.

"No!" Isabella shot back.

"Then how do I contact you?"

"Through Samuel."

"Olivia, is this your way of getting back at me? You left me and couldn't wait to move in with Samuel? You're Olivia in front of me, but what identity will you assume in front of Samuel? You want freedom, fine, but keep it together until Grandpa's 80th birthday. Don't let any scandal reach him! I don't want him to know the woman he cherishes is promiscuous!"

The phone slipped from Isabella's hand. She leaned weakly against the wall, her hand hanging limply by her side.

Her heart felt crushed, her chest heavy and tight, making it hard to breathe. Everything around her seemed to blur. Despair and pain wrapped around her like dark clouds, leaving her no escape.

"Michael, how could you see me this way? Thirteen years of admiration, all of it is a mistake, " she whispered.